Neither Radical Nor Incredibly Optimistic, Dua Lipa’s Radical Optimism Still Manages to Contend For Album of the Summer (Hell, Maybe Even the Year)

Commencing with an immediate callback to the sound of Crystal Waters’ “Gypsy Woman,” Dua Lipa kicks off what is sure to be the album of the summer with a song called, appropriately, “End Of An Era.” For a long time, it has been. Especially as 2024 marks a major political shift yet again in terms of upcoming elections and shifting allegiances amid two fraught wars (Israel-Palestine and Russia-Ukraine). By the same token, every other month feels like the dawning of a new era in an age where everything is accelerated: media, news cycles, political melees. Thus, for Lipa to title her third record Radical Optimism is, indeed, very radical. Or perhaps endlessly naive and delusional. Either way, the cover of the album now famously features the exposed fin of a shark swimming directly next to a simultaneously backgrounded and foregrounded Lipa, who seems to be wearing something akin to an evening gown rather than a bathing suit (or “swimming costume,” as the Brits prefer to say). Let’s just say it doesn’t quite top Rihanna’s more bombastic photoshoot inside the mouth of “Jaws” for a 2015 issue of Bazaar (obviously, Ri was the cover star). 

In fact, Rihanna posed for said photoshoot partially in honor of the movie’s fortieth anniversary that year. One that seemed to render sharks very on-trend, what with Katy Perry’s Super Bowl performance also featuring a dancer (the left one) in a shark costume that stole the show…for struggling to keep up with his fellow shark-costumed dancer (the right one). As for Rihanna’s commentary on sharks, she noted, “I try my best to avoid the sharks of life, but I have had my share of experiences with them. In those cases I just have to handle them accordingly. But I do not swim with sharks…sharks swim with sharks.” And yet, Lipa certainly isn’t one. This is the woman who talks of “manifesting” things and presently makes 70s-inspired psychedelic music. Granted, that’s largely Kevin Parker a.k.a. Tame Impala’s doing—a musician that Lipa has wanted to work with since her first album, citing 2015’s Currents as “the record that completely shook me.”

And now, Lipa aims to do the same with Radical Optimism. Like Future Nostalgia, it borrows heavily from musical genres past. Though Lipa says those genres are “70s,” it still smacks of the 80s electrobeats she’s so fond of. However, Lipa remarked that, in terms of influences, “I found myself looking through the music history of psychedelia, trip hop and Britpop. It has always felt so confidently optimistic to me, and that honesty and attitude is a feeling I took into my recording sessions.” Regarding that term, “radical optimism,” Lipa also explained, “A couple years ago, a friend introduced me to the term Radical Optimism. It’s a concept that resonated with me, and I became more curious as I started to play with it and weave it into my life. It struck me—the idea of going through chaos gracefully and feeling like you can weather any storm.” It’s a concept, of course, that the rich are well-equipped to “play with” and “weave” into their lives. Just as they are to have the time and energy to romanticize love (see also: Taylor Swift). So it is that “End Of An Era” begins with the lyrics, “What’s it about a kiss/That makes me feel like this?/Makes me an optimist, I guess/I always jump too quick/Hoping this one might stick/Hopelessly romantic.”

In contrast to Swift, however, Lipa combines both the magic of falling in love with the “ew you’re gross” breakup aftermath into one song. For, halfway through it, she shrugs, “No more, you’re not my type/No more, at least I tried/Done with the lonely nights, I guess/One chapter might be done/God knows I had some fun.” So it is that she moves on to the “next chapter” (read: another dude) in the same song. By the time the post-chorus comes around, Lipa is majorly channeling Marina Diamandis’ Electra Heart persona as she sings the following in a manner that sounds like the intro to “Homewrecker”: “In the clouds, there she goes/Butterflies, let them flow/Another girl falls in love/Another girl leaves the club/Send a big kiss goodbye/To all of the pretty eyes/Another girl falls in love/Another girl leaves the club.” And so it is that the tinge of jadedness amid Lipa’s so-called optimism is already noticeable from the outset, complete with Lipa sighing, “Here she goes again” as the song comes to a close. What’s more, Lipa makes a commentary on the notion that it’s easy to “fall in love” with the “illusion” of someone when you first meet them (a topic also discussed on her third single from the record, called, what else, “Illusion”). Particularly if one’s first impression of them takes place in a club setting. 

And while Gen Z might find such notions of club meetings “quaint,” Lipa still lays that setting on thick in terms of being a viable meeting place for “love.” Even if the people you meet there often turn out to be “disappearing acts” the following morning. An image that segues nicely into “Houdini,” along with the “End Of An Era” line, “In the clouds, there she goes.” This idea of a girl only being “for the taking” for a split second before her mood changes and she comes to her senses is the crux of “Houdini” (e.g., “It’s your moment/Baby, don’t let it slip”). As the first single from the album, it is arguably the most Tame Impala-sounding, with lyrical imagery that continues to focus on kisses and lips (“See you watching and you blow me a kiss” and “Come in closer, are you reading my lips?”). But, more than anything, it’s about the urgency of capturing that lightning in a bottle moment—or, in this scenario, that lightning in a bottle person. So it is that Lipa declares during a chorus soundtracked by an utterly frenetic musical backdrop, “They say I come and I go/Tell me all the ways you need me/I’m not here for long/Catch me or I go/Houdini.”

At another point in the song, Lipa tells her would-be suitor, “If you’re good enough, you’ll find a way.” Something in that line smacks of pro-capitalist propaganda, the type of “how bad do you want it” mumbo-jumbo that ensures anyone who doesn’t “succeed” (a.k.a. make gobs of money) will feel like total shit about it. Lipa appears, ultimately, to be aiming for the same effect with her suitor, making him feel as though he’s totally inadequate and unworthy of her “charms” in the first place. 

The Sheryl Crow-esque (thematically speaking) “Training Season” follows “Houdini,” and also serves as Radical Optimism’s second single. In a similar fashion, Lipa trolls her would-be suitors by posing the shade-drenched question, “Are you someone that I could give my heart to?/Or just the poison that I’m drawn to?” Adding, “It can be hard to tell the difference late at night” as though to emphasize her intent that, like Future Nostalgia, this is another “club album.” Designed for those women who like to go out on the town and make “bad decisions,” usually related to the men they’re drunkenly attracted to. And being drunk, to be sure, can make ones expectations even more unrealistically honest. Ergo Lipa’s pronouncement, “Need someone to hold me close/Whose love feels like a rodeo/Deeper than I’ve ever known.”

Talking of drunkenness, the standout fourth track on the album, “These Walls,” immediately dives into the image, “And when the night ends up in tears/Wake up and we blame it all on being wasted.” This after the song’s gentle, whimsy-filled intro (which also reappears later in the chorus) that sounds like something The Beatles would have approved of sonically (particularly George Harrison). Less cavalier about relationships being ephemeral than she has been on the previous three tracks, Lipa woefully sings, “Oh, this love is fadin’/So much we’re not sayin’/But if these walls could talk, they’d say, ‘Enough’/They’d say, ‘Give up’/If these walls could talk/They’d say, ‘You know’/They’d say, ‘You’re fucked/It’s not supposed to hurt this much/Oh, if these walls could talk/They’d tell us to break up.” Considering it’s been a while since someone put that classic expression to good use (probably not since the abortion-centric HBO movie from 1996, If These Walls Could Talk), Lipa brings it back in the best way possible. The 80s-inspired emotiveness of her vocal delivery is also part of what makes “These Walls” among the most memorable tunes on Radical Optimism. 

That’s less the case for the more generic-sounding “Whatcha Doin” (a question she’ll also ask on “Illusion”), which sounds like a combination of Mariah Carey’s “Dreamlover” at the beginning followed by homogenous-sounding 90s R&B as the song progresses. It also marks another lyrical and thematic advancement in terms of gradually showing Lipa becoming more vulnerable the deeper into Radical Optimism one gets. As such, “Whatcha Doin” is all about her fear of becoming too “unguarded” when it comes to falling in love with the latest bloke who has her attention. So it is that she confesses, “After midnight [how Taylor]/Me and my thoughts alone/There’s a part of me that wants to steal your heart/And a part that tells me, ‘Don’t’/‘Cause I’m no good at givin’ up control” (well, no, that’s actually Madonna—a renowned control freak in all aspects of her life both personal and professional). This sentiment corroborates what she already said about her “bucking bronco” nature on “Training Season”: “I need someone to hold me close, deeper than I’ve ever known/Whose love feels like a rodeo, knows just how to take control.”

Lipa continues, “But if control is my religion [as it is Janet Jackson’s]/And I’m headin’ for collision/Lost my 20/20 vision/Please [a word that harkens back to her Future Nostalgia song, “Pretty Please”]/Whatcha doin’ to me, baby?/I’m scared to death that you might be the one to change me/You’re in my head and now you’re cloudin’ my decisions/Got me headin’ for collision.” The not-so-optimistic assumption being that Lipa is destined for heartbreak as all relationships are doomed to end, no matter how “magical” they seem at the beginning. 

That perspective ties in nicely with “French Exit” (sorry to those who think it should be “Irish Goodbye”). A number that speaks to Lipa’s belief that you can’t get hurt if you don’t say goodbye. As for the instrumentals backing the lyrics, “French Exit” is the most acoustic guitar-laden (serving as a precursor for the even more Spanish-sounding “Maria”), which gives it a different feel from the other offerings on Radical Optimism. Here Lipa continues to explore her intense fear of becoming vulnerable, wielding the metaphor of the dance floor yet again to say, “Everybody’s still dancin’/Everybody’s holdin’ hands and romancin’/Someone’s gotta be the last one standin’/And I hate that I’m leaving you stranded/But I gotta hit the road.” The reason she has to? Why, so as not to get too attached, of course. After all, she’s learned her lesson from past heartbreaks, hasn’t she?

Using this “logic,” she insists, “It’s not a broken heart if I don’t break it/‘Goodbye’ doesn’t hurt if I don’t say it/And I really hope you’ll understand it/Only way to go is a French exit.” Considering Lipa’s affinity for speaking French (see/hear also: her 2020 collaboration with Angèle, “Fever”), she isn’t one to miss the opportunity to pepper in little phrases to drive home the point of her love of a French exit, sultrily uttering things like, filer à l’anglaise (which means, more or less, “to dash off, English-style”) and “French exit, c’est la seule solution.”

During another moment, Lipa gets even more candid with the assertion, “I’m better at a clеan break than leaving doors open/I know you’re gonna say I shoulda stayed ’til the end/But, right now, I can’t give you what you want.” Which is a funny thing to admit when taking into account that the bulk of this album is about other people (read: men) not being able to give her what she wants. The same is true on “Illusion,” which marks Lipa’s return to the “can’t pin me down” motif of the first three songs. With intermittent musical echoes of Anita Ward’s “Ring My Bell,” Lipa proceeds to announce that she’s taken her rose-colored glasses off and won’t be falling for any bullshit going forward.

With that in mind, it’s no wonder she balks, “I already know your type, tellin’ me the things I like/Tryna make me yours for life, takin’ me for a ride/I already know your type, think you playin’ your cards right/Don’t you know I could do this dance all night?” There’s that dance floor metaphor again. Lipa then continues her confident “fuck you” vibe with the chorus, “Ooh, what you doin’?/Don’t know who you think that you’re confusin’/I be like, ooh, it’s amusin’/You think I’m gonna fall for an illusion.”

Switching back to her vulnerable side again on “Falling Forever,” Lipa oozes an 80s power ballad atmosphere (with production help from Danny L Harle, Ian Kirkpatrick and Cameron Gower Poole), giving her best neo-interpretation of Bonnie Tyler as she asks, “Are you good at holding on?/I know the mind is quick to throw away the moment/Where this takes us, maybe I don’t wanna know yet/‘Cause for now, you’re all I want/They say you got it, then it’s gone/I don’t believe that every flame has to get colder/I hope the feelings that you give me carry over/‘Til tomorrow and beyond” (or “to infinity and beyond”). Her optimism is belied by the tinge of doubt present in additional questions like, “How long, how long?/Can it just keep getting better?/Can we keep falling forever?” 

Lipa’s examination of whether or not there really can be such a thing as “forever” in matters of love is at its most soul-baring on “Anything For Love,” the shortest song on the album (perhaps because Lipa doesn’t want get “too real” for too long). Starting out as a stripped-down piano ditty, “Anything For Love,” crystallizes all the fears Lipa has expressed thus far. Which leads her to confess what she does and doesn’t want out of a true love: “And I’m not interested in a love that gives up so easily/I want a love that’s set on keeping me/When it hurts, we don’t even think to cut it off/And I’m not interested in a heart that doesn’t beat for me/I want a mind that meets me equally/When it’s hard, it won’t evеr feel like it’s too much/Remembеr when we used to do anything for love?” The music picks up the rhythm (jettisoning the piano in the process) with the first verse, transitioning to an 80s sound again as Lipa ruminates, “We’re all terrified of heartbreak/Run at first signs of problems/Make it look way too easy/We all got too many options.”

In many ways, she seems to be romanticizing the heyday of monogamy’s hold over people (particularly in the mid-twentieth century, before divorce rates started to pop off in the 70s and 80s). When married couples or even long-term relationship couples weren’t as quick to use the “get out of jail free card” as they are now. And yes, that’s in large part because dating apps have promised “so many other choices.” All amounting to ending up alone. 

Because Lipa wouldn’t be a true pop star if she didn’t offer up her rendition of a “Spanish-flavored song,” she brings us the penultimate “Maria.” With acoustic guitars that are even heavier than the ones on “French Exit,” the uptempo rhythm is a positive rumination on a current boyfriend’s ex. While it might initially come across as a garden-variety “jealousy” track (à la “Jolene,” which Beyoncé unfortunately saw fit to remake this year) with the lyrics, “​​Maria, I know you’re gone/But I feel ya when we’re alone/Even when I’m here in his arms/I know you’re somewhere in his heart,” the truth is that Lipa actually appreciates this ex. And all she’s done to mold her boyfriend into a better man. A man who has learned some lessons from his mistakes with Maria. Being that love triangles that manage to accommodate everyone without leaving the “third wheel” out are a seeming trend this year (thanks to Challengers, and now this), it shows pop culture has come a long way from the days of the Carrie, Big and Natasha love triangle from Sex and the City. Because, no, Natasha definitely wasn’t grateful for “everything” Carrie did to “break” Big in. 

You’d never hear the likes of her singing, “Never thought I could feel this way/Grateful for all the love you gave/Here’s to the lovers that make you change/Maria, Maria, Maria.” Lipa’s love for exes persists on the reminiscent-of-Olivia-Rodrigo’s-“happier” “Happy For You.” As the track that serves as the, that’s right, optimistic coda to Radical Optimism, it’s a pointed note to end on. And, needless to say, it’s more “mature” than Rodrigo’s sentiments on “happier” when she sings, “I hope you’re happy/But not like how you were with me/I’m selfish, I know, I can’t let you go/So find someone great, but don’t find no one better/I hope you’re happy/I wish you all the best, really/Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me.” 

Thus, Lipa’s more “evolved” emotions about a breakup are a mirror of Gwen Stefani’s 2004 single, “Cool.” Something that tracks when considering she told Rolling Stone earlier this year, ​​“I think I’ve had breakups in my life where I felt like the only kind of breakup you could have was when things just ended really badly. Things ending in a nice way was such a new thing… It taught me a lot… When you have a feeling like that one, you feel really grown because you’re like, ‘Oh, whoa, I’m such an evolved human being that I can see my ex move on and feel good about it.’” 

Accordingly, she sings in the chorus, “I must’ve loved you more than I ever knew (didn’t know I could ever feel)/‘Cause I’m happy for you (now I know everything was real)/I’m not mad, I’m not hurt/You got everything you deserve/I must’ve loved you more than I ever knеw/I’m happy for you.” Of all her exes, the most likely inspiration seems to be Anwar Hadid, currently dating a model named Sophia Piccirilli. And yes, Lipa does mention a model in the opening verse that goes: “Late on a Tuesday, I saw your picture/You were so happy, I could just tell/She’s really pretty, I think she’s a model/Baby, together you look hot as hell.” How “grown” of Lipa indeed. Though, naturally, it helps when you’re model hot yourself to have these “beneficent feelings.”

With the album over in under thirty-eight minutes, perhaps the most refreshing and “radical” thing about it is that, in a sea of “blockbuster” records that are overstuffed with songs this year (*cough cough* Cowboy Carter and The Tortured Poets Department), Lipa keeps it classic in terms of the record’s relative “shortness” (eleven tracks). Making the album breezy, enjoyable to listen to and, in effect, the ideal “no-frills” pièce de résistance for summer (a major step up from that flaccid “song of the summer” “contender” Lipa once tried to offer with 2022’s “Poison”). 

As for the overarching message, Lipa reminds listeners that to surrender to falling in love is to be radically optimistic before it all gives way to unbridled cynicism (and sometimes, starting over again in a new relationship after being badly burned in the last one is part of that optimism in love, too). Lipa pictured next to that shark, however, is more than just a representation of taking a risk on love. No, instead, this image is a representation of how most of us live now: forcing ourselves to believe it will all be fine, knowing full well that catastrophe is imminent. In that sense, Lipa gives us a summer album for a decade that has wielded denial like a vaccine (pandemic allusion intended) against reality.