Put an empty cup in front of anyone who came of tweenage in the 2010s, and chances are they can still clap out “Cups,” that percussive children’s game made famous by Pitch Perfect and ubiquitous by the popular girls in the cafeteria. Those with wholesome adolescent associations will be gagged to hear the beat resurface in “Cups 2 (I Invented Popping P*ssy),” the lead single from Sophie Hunter’s new album, Stereoscope. It’s a tongue-in-cheek provocation that grinds gleefully on the guardrails of seriousness, much like Hunter’s declaration that she—a white woman from Connecticut—“invented throwing ass” and “invented the dancefloor.”
Got secondhand embarrassment? That’s a price Hunter’s willing to pay: “I’ll be so cringe before I’ll ever be boring,” she admits in her 2024 single “Mic Check.” Stereoscope, Hunter’s debut album, proves this half-true—as it happens, you can also get a little bored of cringing. An album-length mood swing that slides from the feral highs of “daddies in the DMs” to the crushing lows of self-hatred, anxiety, and loss, Stereoscope juxtaposes irreverent pregame pop with vulnerable confessionals, positioning them as the yin and yang of her life. It’s a concept that would land better if the songs didn’t often gravitate toward the most grating expression of each pole.
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A former slam poetry kid from New Haven who studied English at Yale, Hunter has spent the last half-decade releasing swaggering, sardonic pop-rap. She frequently alludes to being mentally ill and diabolically horny, sometimes at the same time: “suicidal ideation mixed with sodomy,” in the words of Stereoscope opener “Dance Recital.” If the Manic Pixie Dream Girl ruled the 2010s, Hunter’s music has arrived to soundtrack the ascendant reign of the “BPD baddie” (that’s “borderline personality disorder,” for the uninitiated)—the chronically online and vocally unwell girl who includes her mental health diagnosis in her fit-check.
Contrast is foundational to Stereoscope, which takes its name from an optical device that uses two distinct lenses to form one composite image—a metaphor, Hunter has said, for how the album’s darker themes work in tandem with more lighthearted tracks. “Their difference creates depth,” she says. Problem is, it’s tough to see the depth in lyrics like, “I like the dark, it’s the way that I feel.” Hunter hasn’t quite shed the spoken word sincerity in her transition to rap, and her clunkers—“I was a gifted kid, now I’m a stunted adult,” “My greatest opp is an overdeveloped sense of shame,” “I debase myself for male attention/Like I’m in Freemasonry”—sound like Button Poetry’s worst hits mixed with TikTok therapy slop. She’s more effective when she lets the emotion in her songs emerge organically without overexplaining—as in the hazy vignettes of insecure, druggy adolescence on “Foss Hill” and “Constitution State” and the unfettered aggression on the moshpit-ready “Break Shit.”
Given the Hague-worthy crimes of some of her predecessors, Hunter seems keen to get out ahead of the jokes. She knows her background could preclude people from taking her seriously as a rapper—so she might as well be funny. She loads Stereoscope’s front half with hooks like, “Hi, it’s me, I’m bitches,” “I want to ruin my life,” and “Goooooon squad,” so goofy they approach the almost-parodic register of Meg Stalter songs. In some places, she nails it—try making it through the torrent of one-liners on “Bitches” without cracking a smile—and her references reach truly inspired levels of ridiculousness. (“Boutta black out like I’m Vanta”? Sheesh, get Anish Kapoor on the remix.) But she leans pretty heavily on these name-drop puns—by the time we’ve heard “Truth could get inconvenient for these bitches, Al Gore”; “I’m kicking it like Messi did”; “How come everything is so mid, Malcolm”; “Bitches are strangers, Camus”; and “I get physical, you’d think I was Olivia,” the format feels a little formulaic.
While Hunter hustles overtime to prove herself as an emcee, the album’s best tracks are more even-keeled pop songs that showcase her talent without putting sexuality in a clown suit or goth eyeliner on big feelings. Her excellent voice and knack for hooks shine on cheeky, sexy songs like “Promise Ring” and the moody, intimate “If We’re Lying”; “Darkroom,” a “Love the Way You Lie”-style emo track, nearly redeems its corny lyrics with an insanely catchy hook. Hunter’s adventurousness, to the point of risking embarrassment, is laudable, but it’s beyond Stereoscope’s binary of the unserious and self-serious where her music really comes into focus.
