Not Miley Cyrus, not Beck, not Tove Lo, and certainly not Carly Rae Jepsen. The next number-one album in the United Kingdom is awarded to beabadoobee. A number of her songs have connected massively in recent years: the bossa-inflected vibe of The Perfect Pair, her tightly crafted collaboration with Powfu Death Bed, the delicate Glue Song, and, overall, several tracks from her second and third albums that have earned Silver certifications in the UK.
Pylon is her fourth album, anchored in her preferred soundscape: post-grunge. She has long demonstrated her admiration for Pavement, Elliott Smith, and Avril Lavigne, and she has repeatedly praised projects like My Bloody Valentine—something that is especially noticeable in some of the distortions here, such as In Motion. Of course, adapted to the pop world.
This “high-tension tower” contains 90s indie-rock anthems like the single Sun Has Set, though its main purpose is to address heartbreak disappointments. “Kiss me the way you kiss someone you’ve never been with,” declares It’s Alright. “I know I’m not your type but I don’t care,” adds Memories. Or “I wonder if you think of me as you used to,” ponders Satellites.
It is especially striking how anachronistic some images are. As if fleeing from that world of “screens” that the title track Pylon critiques, one of the songs is called Write Me a Letter, as if such a thing were still an option in 2026. And another track is titled Radio, as if that remained as relevant as in the days of R.E.M.’s “Radio Song,” Cranberries’ “Copycat,” and The Corrs’ “Radio.”
That brings us to the album’s substantial roster of collaborators. Almost all of them appear in the background, but we cannot help noticing that Beatrice Kristi Ilejay Laus wanted to collaborate with Hayley Williams, Brendan Yates of Turnstile, Chino Moreno of Deftones, a couple of members of The 1975, or Shane Moran of Title Fight. Beyond the excitement she has expressed about working with Hayley on Nothing to Prove, a track that explains itself by its title and is exactly what you imagine, the standout collaboration is Brendan Yates. Powerlines sounds like a song truly overwhelmed and bled dry by the breakup—puppet-like—theatrically staged: “Despite everything, I only want what’s best for you.”
Otherwise, Pylon is a pleasant record, suitable for background listening, with no glaring missteps nor epoch-defining breakthroughs, nor any grand outbursts despite the inclusion of strings, for example in the opening track. It is curious that, amid all this drama of disappointing relationships and the struggle to find your place in your twenties, the best song turns out to be the happiest. Memories, which offers a sunny view of a relationship, and that transmits, sounds like the Sundays at their best.
