Paramore
– After Laughter
This isn’t your older sibling’s Paramore. After Laughter doesn’t punch you in the face—it smiles while handing you a drink laced with heartbreak. The eyeliner is still there, but it’s smeared from crying during a neon dance party. Hayley Williams leads with a grin that’s equal parts glam and grief, fronting a band that’s ditched their alt-rock storm for something slicker, spikier, and weirder. This is Paramore’s midlife crisis in their late 20s, and somehow, it suits them perfectly.
Best of…
Musically, they dive into ’80s new wave and synth-pop like they were always meant to be there. It’s all bubbly drums, glassy guitars, and hooks so sugary they hurt your teeth. But underneath that glossy production is a real sense of exhaustion—the kind that comes from fighting battles no one else can see. “Fake Happy” isn’t just a song title, it’s a mission statement. This record doesn’t just flirt with emotional collapse—it throws it a bouquet and proposes.
What makes After Laughter sting more than the average reinvention album is how well it weaponizes its own catchiness. You’re humming along before you realize you’re humming about anxiety attacks, identity crises, and total burnout. It’s tight, smart, and doesn’t overstay its welcome. Paramore grew up. They got sad. Then they made the best pop album of their career.
Choice Tracks
Hard Times
This opener doesn’t ease you in—it shoves you onto the dancefloor while whispering that everything is falling apart. A pure sugar rush with an existential ache at its core. If Talking Heads wrote about breakdowns instead of buildings, it’d sound like this.
Fake Happy
Starts with a stripped-down whisper before exploding into one of the album’s biggest choruses. Hayley’s voice cracks just the right amount. She’s smiling through her teeth, and you believe every word. The glitter’s flaking off, but she keeps twirling.
Told You So
A groove-heavy slap, slick and a little snide. The rhythm section shines, but it’s Hayley’s biting delivery that makes this thing pop. There’s joy in the jab here—like telling off an ex with a wink and a pirouette.
Pool
One of the most delicate cuts on the record. Dreamy, sad, and strangely warm—like floating in water just cold enough to remind you you’re alive. It aches gently, in soft hues, and leaves a mark.
Rose-Colored Boy
A power-pop anthem for anyone tired of pretending everything’s fine. Hayley sounds like she’s trying to convince herself as much as anyone else. The beat bounces, but the message bruises: stop telling me to smile.
After Laughter isn’t a betrayal of Paramore’s past—it’s a reinvention born of necessity. This is what happens when the band ditches guitars for synthesizers and angst for actual despair. And it works because it’s honest, catchy, and deeply human.