At 24, Addison Rae finally delivers her long-awaited full-length debut, Addison. And the anticipation surrounding it isn’t just fan hype—it’s a cultural event. After all, she didn’t rise through the ranks of music conservatories or viral talent shows. Addison built her empire the modern way: through front-facing cameras, dance trends, and sheer digital charisma. But Addison, the album, is something else. It’s her first real attempt to tell the world: “I’m more than just a screen.”
Before this album even dropped, Addison had already lived what many would call a full celebrity life: one of the top-followed TikTokers, a Netflix rom-com lead, a podcast host, a fashion muse for Saint Laurent and Praying, and even a remix artist with a Billboard-endorsed hit. Yet there was always the question lingering: could she actually sing? Could she make music that wasn’t just algorithm bait?
Turns out, she can. And she does it with surprising vulnerability, strong pop instincts, and a voice that isn’t afraid to tremble a little when the lyrics hit too close to home.
Take Life’s No Fun Through Clear Waters, for instance. It’s not your typical summer-pop throwaway. It feels like the kind of song you’d hear while crying in your friend’s kitchen at 2am, mascara smudged, reheating leftover takeout from a night you didn’t even want to go out in the first place. Rae sings of emotional confusion, of wondering whether she should dye her hair, of staring too long in the mirror asking if fame has made her less human. For all its glitter, the album is laced with honest doubt. And that honesty? It’s what makes her feel real.
Of course, the influences are clear. Rae isn’t trying to hide the fact that she grew up worshipping the alt-pop gods—Madonna, Lana Del Rey, Gaga. On Money Is Everything, she even spells it out: “DJ plays Madonna / wanna sway with Lana / get high with Gaga.” It’s not just name-dropping. It’s a tongue-in-cheek manifesto, a declaration that she knows she’s not the first pop girl to strut this path—but she might just be the most self-aware.
Behind the glossy beats, producers Luka Kloser and Elvira Anderfjärd add sonic depth that’s anything but TikTok-level superficial. Inspired by the Korg M1 synth—yes, that synth used in Madonna’s 90s house-pop experiments—they coat Rae’s voice in lush, dreamy layers. Songs like Lost & Found and In the Rain shimmer with melancholic euphoria, like listening to Ibiza at 3AM with a heartbreak you’re not ready to talk about yet.
More than anything, though, this album lets Addison breathe. She’s no longer chasing the 15-second hook—she’s building entire moments. There’s a line in Fame Is a Gun that nods to Sheila E’s The Glamorous Life, and it lands perfectly. These aren’t just trendy references. They’re carefully curated tributes that show Addison’s got taste, and more importantly, she’s got direction.
The opener New York might be the most surprising song on the album. It’s not trying to sound cool. It is cool—like the kind of cool that comes from being unapologetically earnest. “Loving New York feels like religion,” she sings, and honestly, who among us hasn’t romanticized their first walk down Bowery, clutching a matcha and dreaming of reinvention? No, most people can’t afford the Bowery Hotel—but they get what she means. It’s not about luxury, it’s about the feeling.
Then there’s Diet Pepsi, the viral smash that refused to die. It’s the kind of song you’d scream in the car post-breakup, windows down, mascara streaked, convinced that maybe—just maybe—you’re already on your comeback arc. A girl named Jenna from Boston even shared in a podcast that she played it on loop for three days after leaving her toxic situationship. “It made me feel hot again,” she laughed. That’s pop power.
And if Diet Pepsi was her arrival, Aquamarine is the coronation. Euphoric, slightly melancholy, irresistibly danceable—it feels like Madonna’s Ray of Light filtered through 2025’s digital glitter. Rae is restrained yet flirtatious, sleek yet soulful. Even critics who once rolled their eyes at her now admit it: she’s got it.
Make no mistake—Addison doesn’t reinvent the pop wheel. But it doesn’t have to. It gives us something arguably rarer these days: sincerity wrapped in sparkle, sadness that still dances, an influencer who turns introspection into an aesthetic.
This isn’t Addison Rae trying to be Madonna. This is Addison Rae being Addison Rae—raw, vulnerable, a little lost, but ultimately, real.
And in this world of filters and followers, that kind of realness hits harder than a beat drop.
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