For years, each new album signaled the pronouncement of a new, more mature Miley Cyrus, and a host of new visual metaphors for said maturity: an asymmetrical haircut, an acoustic guitar, a branded condom, another asymmetrical haircut. But she has remained one of pop’s most endearingly guileless songwriters. On songs like “Malibu” and “High” she sings about true love with total innocence; on 2020’s “Bad Karma” and “Night Crawling,” collaborations with Joan Jett and Billy Idol, respectively, she took on the guise of rock stardom, affecting a swagger with the enthusiasm of a superfan. Taylor Swift shed her wide-eyed sense of wonderment somewhere around Reputation; Cyrus never did, giving her music a curious, appealing openness that stands out in the contemporary pop landscape.
On Endless Summer Vacation, Cyrus’ eighth album, that changes. Its airy, mostly unfussy pop-rock production is streaked with the pink and red of a summer sunset; emotionally, it carries the mottled purple tint of a bruise. Early on she howls a backhanded apology to an ex: “I’m sorry that you’re jaded.” By the time the record’s played through—after she sings about her own callousness and her inability to settle down, and wonders “Am I stranded on an island/Or have I landed in paradise?”—it seems like she might be singing to herself. Cyrus is only 30, but Endless Summer Vacation is marked by a blunt cynicism that seems like a product of both a recent divorce and a lifetime seeing her own image warped and criticized by the media.
Led by the hammy self-love anthem “Flowers”—a chugging daytime disco song that aims for “I Will Survive” but lands more like “I Will Survive?”—Endless Summer Vacation has been sold as Cyrus’ stylish moving-on record, an unbothered counterpart to its snarky predecessor Plastic Hearts. But it is more interesting than a simple statement of self-confidence. On most of these songs, Cyrus is regretful, even mournful: “Rose Colored Lenses,” seemingly about a moment of post-coital bliss, wallows in the realization that such peace can never really last. “You,” a gorgeous soul ballad that captures all the grit and tension from Cyrus’ ragged voice, counters devotional lyrics with a chorus that laments a breakup as a foregone conclusion: “I am not made for no horsey and carriage/You know I’m savage.” On streaming, Endless Summer Vacation is packaged with a demo version of “Flowers,” and although it is a demo in name only—it is as taut and shellacked as the final version, just quieter—it’s actually a neat bookend, making Cyrus’ lyrics sound yearning and contrite.
