by Amity Hereweard
Reneé Rapp throws the doors wide open and struts in like she owns the room, spilling charisma in every direction on her album, BITE ME. Where Snow Angel kept its gaze inward, shyly circling pop’s gentler corners, this follow-up runs headlong into pop-rock bravado, 80s shimmer, soul-dripped drama, and pure fun.
“Leave Me Alone” buzzes as Rapp sounds half-annoyed, half-amused, the kind of person who’d rather dance than talk business but will still deliver the best one-liner of the night before slipping off to the bar. Then comes “Mad,” swelling with acoustic guitar and strings intro into an anthem that wears its heart on both sleeves. Her voice stretches here, almost breaking into a grin one moment, a cry the next. You can hear the eye-roll in “We could’ve been having sex!” — an emotional whiplash that’s as relatable as it is theatrical.
“Kiss It Kiss It” and “Good Girl” feel like found footage from a neon-lit roller rink in 1985 — sharp guitar jangles, synths that gleam like glass, choruses you can’t help but belt even if you’re a little off-key. “Good Girl” in particular plays with cliché like a cat with string, tossing it up, batting it down, and somehow making it feel brand new. The sheer confidence in her phrasing here is addictive; she’s not just singing the hook, she’s smirking through it.
But Rapp doesn’t live entirely in the flirty, neon-soaked world. “Why Is She Still Here?” drips in dark soul textures, her voice shaded and aching, jealousy curling around every note. It’s raw in a way that feels unscripted, like she’s stepped out from behind the glitter curtain for a moment to let us see the bruises. And then there’s “Shy” — a seductive push-pull of whispered confessions and bold, defiant belts, all anchored in the kind of playful storytelling pop too often forgets.
Not every moment lands. “That’s So Funny” circles a great lyrical idea but doesn’t quite stick the landing musically, and a couple of the late-album ballads drift without the spark that lights up the first half. Still, even when the energy dips, Rapp’s personality keeps you listening. She can be snarky, sultry, wounded, and gleeful, sometimes all in the same song, without ever losing that core spark that makes her believable.
BITE ME plays like a mixtape you’d make for your best friend after a breakup: part revenge fantasy, part cathartic scream-along, part late-night confession over greasy fries. It’s got mascara smudges and glitter stuck to its cheekbones, and it’s not apologizing for either. And while Reneé Rapp’s pop identity is still taking shape, one thing is already clear, she’s not here to blend in. She’s here to bite.
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