by Zach Zollo (@zach_zollo)
Idolizing what you’re not is inherent to the queer experience. Speaking for myself (and others), living your true identity is a consistent, upward battle, especially when you’re young and coming of age. In order to escape that feeling, you try to model yourself after others - the kind of people you want to be, but can’t. Mia Berrin - the lead singer, songwriter and driving force of Pom Pom Squad - wanted to be a cheerleader. As a person of color discovering herself in a position of disadvantage at a John Hughes-esque high school, Berrin was infatuated with the social power these girls carried, their expressions of femininity coveted by the male gaze. They were a constant reminder of everything she wasn’t... or at least, what she was led to believe she couldn’t be.
With Death of a Cheerleader, all these horrid, asinine assumptions are laid to rest in an enthralling fusion of 90s emo, riot grrl and grunge. Berrin, with a blistering attitude and personal freedom indebted to self-discovery, establishes herself as a songwriter of raw pathos. The kind where every plucked string is a “fuck you.” The kind where snark and melodrama are cherished tenets of a sound and style. The kind that’s so fundamentally queer, it’s inspiring. This album isn’t merely a subversion of classic Americana by “queering it up,” it’s a letter crafted to your younger, confused self, offering the best advice to live life from that moment onward as who you are.
The lyrical impact of this album cannot be overstated. Take “Head Cheerleader,” for instance. Opening the song with “You said open up your mouth and tell me what you mean” not only shocks the listener in an ice-bath, it’s an exceptional lead into the raw expression of romance with the scariest girl on the cheerleading team. With backing vocals from Tegan Quin creating a serpentine melody, the chorus confesses how Berrin is trying to become more dependable - in order to be a person to have faith in. It produces a mix of emotions that beautifully conveys the rocky road traveled down in expressing your love to someone of the same-sex.
Nearly every song here is a holistic expression of theme and perspective. They portray a voice musically inspired by the likes of Hole and Sleater-Kinney, but are more adventurous and contemporary in how nonchalantly the weighted blows are levied. These are lines like “I thought you didn’t want me, I wasn’t worth your time?” from “Cake,” or “I let myself get drunk on the idea that you loved me” from “Lux.” When not pointed, the lyrics are poised, as on “Red With Love,” where Berrin confides in her partner “believe me when I say tomorrow I will love you more than I did yesterday.” If the direct simplicity of these words doesn’t inspire when reading from the page, then it must be Berrin’s soul-bearing performances that conjure these emotions. It’s hard not to get swept up into it.
It should also be noted how much these songs r-a-w-k. The lead riffs and distorted energy of Alex Mercuri is riveting throughout, noticeably at its peak on singles “Head Cheerleader,” “Lux” and the “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” spiced “Drunk Voicemail.” The rhythmic rumblings of bassist Mari Alé Figeman and drummer Shelby Keller keep the songs grounded and throttling, rumbling with thunder at their quietest and summoning tremors at their loudest. The engineering, mixing and production from illuminati hotties’ Sarah Tudzin is this album’s secret weapon; it feels as though their influence plays a crucial role in the genre-hopping diversity throughout, as if the music is a spiritual successor to the hotties’ FREE I.H. project. This is most noticeable during the moments of orchestral bliss on the record - whether that be to offer contrast to the slow grunge of “Crying,” or to bookend the record from the soundcheck on the lush and evocative “Be Good.”
The “sad girl” archetype is so woven into the modern fabric of art, it's entirely likely this album could get chalked up as another rock record from a riot grrl. What an awful disservice that would be. Don’t reduce this album to a coleslaw vs. mashed potato discussion comparing it to Olivia Rodrigo, or any indie songstress with a Twitter clique. Pom Pom Squad’s Death of a Cheerleader is Mia Berrin’s statement of personage, her solidification of her queer freedom through an assortment of punk bangers and orchestral odes. She’s no longer idolizing the idea of a person she wanted to be. She herself is the idol she aspires to be - offering a voice to those who are queer that you’ll get there, no matter what.