P!nk review, Trustfall: Pop artist’s mix of dance-pop, folk and rock feels oddly unsettled

No one puts on a show like P!nk. Just look at last year’s tour, a carnival of flashing lights and giant balloons that culminated each night in the US pop artist somersaulting through the air while suspended on wires. She’s a born ringleader.

Be that as it may, she’s sometimes missed the mark. Second LP Missundaztood, with its merging of DIY punk, garage, hip-hop and R&B asserted her dominance over pop princesses such as Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. But Try This, in 2003, tried too hard to replicate its predecessor’s success. P!nk does best when she makes and breaks her own rules.

Perhaps that’s why Trustfall, her ninth record, falls short. It’s less a kaleidoscope than a clash of influences, with frenetic, thrashy pop-punk competing for attention against characterless dance music. This is P!nk’s latest collaboration with pop guru Max Martin, who worked on her 2019 record, Hurts 2B Human. Joining the fray is Martin’s fellow Swede, Shellback, and Ed Sheeran collaborators Johnny McDaid and Amy Wadge. It's a far cry from P!nk’s fruitful Noughties sessions with Linda Perry of alt-rock group 4 Non Blondes.

Opener “When I Get There”, a tribute to her late father, is a rare reminder of P!nk’s emotional heft. Her distinctive contralto is as strong as ever – the stripped-back production allows her voice to do the work, as she sings over stark piano notes and a subtle acoustic guitar hook. Lyrically, too, the song touches on the qualities – vulnerability and self-criticism – that made her stand out at the very beginning of her career. “Will you save me a place with all those pearls of wisdom?” she asks. “Yeah I’ll make some mistakes and you’ll watch me as I live them/ Til I’m through, ’til I’m with you.”

From there, though, Trustfall tumbles down into a spiral of forgettable dance-pop, throwbacks and oddly chosen collaborations. Folk-influenced ballads with The Lumineers and First Aid Kit sit uncomfortably when surrounded by dance-pop anthems such as the catchy but soulless “Runaway”, which is bogged down with just about every Eighties cliche – juddering synths, bright, funky keys, a reference to driving with the top down – going. The title track borrows too heavily from Robyn's playbook and consequently only serves to remind you that the “Dancing On My Own” artist does it better. “Hate Me” is a half-hearted nod to her pop-rock heyday, all scuzzy vocals and punkish guitars. Closer “Just Say I’m Sorry” with Chris Stapleton feels overwrought compared to their 2019 duet, “Love Me Anyway”.

She fares better on the shimmering disco and funk-influenced number “Never Gonna Not Dance Again”, which has her twirling around a dancefloor in pure ecstasy. The production is lush and bold, melding a charisma-filled brass section with jubilant percussion, layered harmonies and a short but sweet sax solo. It’s one of her best songs to date.

The record’s problem is that it never settles on one cohesive sound. P!nk has always chopped and changed; her best albums are usually ones that make a distinctive shift from the one before. Only now, she can’t seem to decide which direction she wants to take. Maybe she placed her trust in producers and co-writers who don’t quite understand what makes her so unique in the first place.