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In 2019, British singer-songwriter Beatrice Laus (known as Beabadoobee) released the Space Cadet EP, her fourth project under Dirty Hit Records. Centered on teenage ennui and disenfranchisement, she crystallized her appeal across rock subgenres and bedroom pop in five excellent tracks. While the wispy unrequited love of “She Plays Bass” and the punchy ode to loneliness “Are You Sure” were potent, “I Wish I Was Stephen Malkmus” was an anthem for adolescents in the flux-filled Internet Age. As she wailed, “‘Cause I sit at home, cry to Pavement / I wish I was Stephen Malkmus / I wanted change, no one forced it / My hair is blue, it’s pretty obvious / That I kinda like it,” Laus found solace in uncertainty, self-affirming in its Gen-Z (by way of Gen-X) irony (“And I’m pretty sure I’ll get used to it”).
Since then, her steady rise to stardom has been supported by a consistent discography and multiple askew pop culture moments. 2020’s critically-acclaimed debut Fake It Flowers balanced pop-rock sensibility (“Dye It Red,” “Charlie Brown,” “Care”) with riotous swerves like alt-rock closer “Yoshimi, Forest, Magdalene.” Nevertheless, her breakout moment came when a remix of one of her earliest songs, “Coffee,” became a massive TikTok hit. Her 2022 release, Beatopia, is her most diverse work, with inspirations ranging from Corinne Bailey Rae and Nelly Furtado to Cibo Matto and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs; however, this time may be best known for her stint as an opening act on Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour. This culminated in 2024’s This Is How Tomorrow Moves, her most self-assured, mature work to date, although this record’s more tasteful presentation yielded fewer standout moments. Two years later, Beabadoobee is releasing her fourth studio album, Pylon. A record born out of the newfound anxieties of entering your mid-twenties, she brought a long list of respected veterans—Hayley Williams, Evan Stephens Hall of Pinegrove, Brendan Yates of Turnstile, Chino Moreno of Deftones, and The 1975’s Matty Healy and George Daniel—to assist on a harder rock album spanning pop-punk, Midwest emo, and more.
Pylon, as a result, is less of a full-fledged leap into new sounds after Tomorrow Moves, but more so a collection of half-steps toward darker sonic ideas and higher-concept themes. The eponymous pylons are an inspired analogy, capturing the listlessness of adulthood and newfound fame. On the opening title track, Bea toys with the dichotomy of mundane maturity and capricious adolescence through lines like “I’d rather be nowhere with you, then somewhere without you” and “But you’re always worth the wait.” The titular pylon is used to highlight their connectivity as the sprawling open road accentuates the breadth of their love (“And when I am somewhere, at least we are connected like a pylon on an open road”). Compositionally, however, this is reflected by idleness; a steady guitar progression evolves into a scuzzy outro, but the song lacks the dynamic verve to intrigue. Instead, she takes a measured beat as the song plays out in contentment.
Lead single “Sun Has Set,” on the other hand, captures that much-needed firepower. Sentence fragments amalgamate into rage atop a chugging guitar riff and crashing drums (“Steal / Weigh it down / Tough lovin’ / Don’t let go”) until the explosive hook tears into an ex-partner with righteous fury (“When I say, ‘We’ll never be friends’ / I mean, we’ll never pretend / Fuck that / You can never run back to me now / The sun has set”). The Hayley Williams collaboration “Nothing to Prove” works in a similar vein as Bea strings together definitive three-word sentences (“I make it, you waste it, I own it, I know it / You want it, I got it, I flaunt it, you need it”) before Williams’ incendiary vocables eviscerate this ex with every subsequent la. On both tracks, Beabadoobee approaches relationship melodrama with a reckless abandon that may feel juvenile on the surface, but is biting and riotous for it. If anything, Pylon could have benefited from more moments that approach maturity with as few emotional guardrails as these songs.
The third single “Memories” is the antithesis of “Sun Has Set.” A brighter song in Bea’s willowy upper register, fragmented expressions of rage are traded for overwritten declarations of love (“When I’m with you, don’t need to feel the need to feel removed”) that aim to find beauty in banality and effortlessness (“Found through you that love like this is not so hard to find”). Accompanied by a conventional pop-rock sound palette, the track is more ordinary than purposefully serene. “Radio” also explores themes of idleness, albeit paired with more sinuous, shoegazy riffs. In the face of burnout in a relationship, she opts for inaction (“Not gonna call you out this time, not gonna make you to be someone who gets to get to me”) and passivity; she’d rather find solace in escapism than confronting reality. “Write Me a Letter,” a cut with George Daniel and Matty Healy of The 1975 on production, fares better, its mid-song pivot from more acoustic pop to pop-punk adding a lively dimension to the track. Similarly, Bea’s self-aware framing—finding herself only capable of honesty with her partner via letter—makes the track’s storytelling endlessly compelling. “Estranged,” however, is the record’s strongest showing in this vein. Paired with a power pop sound reminiscent of This Is How Tomorrow Moves, she juxtaposes isolation under stasis (“Told you I need a change / stuck in a familiar state”) with one of the most infectious hooks on the album (“Feeling estranged, yeah / God, I need it / But I don’t wanna feel it”).
Many of Pylon’s strongest moments come in Beabadoobee’s explorations of alienation and boredom, attempting to find escapism through evocative imagery and darker impulses. On the record’s second single, she’s the titular “Switchblade,” prying her way out of conventionality as a “life with blinders doesn’t seem to fit the pace.” By “Spark,” co-written by Evan Stephens Hall, she’s taking a “shiny pair of scissors, picking at the socket” to free herself from “this obnoxious dark.” Through grungy, bass riffs on the former and haunting cyclic acoustic guitar lines on the latter, both tracks pay off their lyrical complexity with compositions that match the eeriness below the surface. Brendan Yates’ assist on “Powerline” works similarly, fleshing out a story of two partners who fail to communicate, but who remain bound through palpable energy; cosmic fate is likened to high-voltage electricity emanating through miles-long connections as the stalking down-tempo groove carries the song forward.
The album closer, “Satellite,” is another highlight on the record. As Beabadoobee is left alone in her room post-breakup, she passes the time by reminiscing on love lost; however, lines like “every day doomscrolling like I’ve lost all control / I’d give the generation a new infatuation, if only I knew how to cope with the times” provide a welcome perspective shift, looking outward to a world that will provide even less comfort. As the record closes with Bea’s impassioned vocals and explosive, Deftonesesque post-grunge production, “Satellite” is a testament to Gen Z’s current boredom and stasis as they enter adulthood, desperately wanting change but lacking the resources, material or emotional, to do so. And while Pylon is still “carving through wallpaper” in an attempt to truly let loose, Beabadoobee chipped away just enough to see the light in the distance.
Disappointing / Average / Good / Great / Phenomenal
Pylon is out now.
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E.L. Suarez-Thomas | @insomniblvck



































































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