Parody of Pleasure Begs the Question: Pop or Flop? You Might Not Like the Answer.
Ex-Regrettes frontwoman Lydia Night wants to be a pop star, but her debut solo album shows a lack of cohesion in terms of sound and persona.

It’s not easy being a wunderkind all grown up. 24-year-old singer, songwriter, and ex-Regrettes frontwoman Lydia Night is undoubtedly talented and hardworking and has been from an exceptionally young age. From 2015 to 2023, Night’s former band The Regrettes drew influence from ’60s girl groups, ’70s power pop, ’80s glam-country, and ’90s grunge and riot grrrl, channeling it all into youthful, unabashedly feminist pop-rock. Their third and final album, Further Joy, took a sharp turn towards synth pop. Night was just fourteen when The Regrettes formed. She played their final show at age 23.
Post-Regrettes, Night has decided to strike out on her own. The rollout of her solo debut Parody of Pleasure comes with a YouTube vlog series titled Pop or Flop which chronicles her transformation into a pop star. “My marketing tactic is oversharing and embarrassing myself on the internet,” Night deadpans in the second episode. The pop stars Night has cited as the album’s influences—Madonna, Britney Spears, Gwen Stefani—all have larger-than-life personas that listeners can’t help but get swept up in. Parody of Pleasure straddles the line between being the “I’m a pop star” album (usually a debut) and the “being famous sucks, actually” album (usually happens a couple albums in) but gets too bogged down by the tropes of both to give Lydia Night a proper re-introduction.
Instead, Night’s artistic identity gets lost in empty caricatures and pop pastiche. We get attempts at bitchy, hedonistic bangers that come off more like Kidz Bop covers of Kesha, or the kind of songs a mean girl would sing in a Disney Channel original movie. We get an Imagine Dragons-style “oh-oh-oh” chant in “Loaded Gun” accompanying generic lyrics like “I’m like sugar until I’m spice.” We get AutoTune thrown haphazardly over Night’s vocals, particularly egregious on “Meltdown,” twisting her voice into borderline unlistenable balloon animal shapes. We get boxes checked off on the “Making a Pop Album in the 2020s” to-do list—the obligatory piano-led tear-jerker “Trust Fall” makes it clear that Night lacks the vocal chops to belt out the kinds of heartbreak ballads that populate Olivia Rodrigo and Chappell Roan records, meanwhile the faux-lofi country-clapping ditty “You Sir” comes off like a less clever ripoff of Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickins.” We get Night exclaiming “Let’s get freaky! / Let’s burn it to the ground!” and doing nothing of the sort. We get a repeated insistence of Night’s emotional messiness paired with squeaky-clean production and nothing that sounds truly divisive or challenging—brattiness in name only, GUTS but make it gutless.