It's sort of fitting that 2024 would open with Jane Schoenbrun's second millennial-existentialist horror film I Saw the TV Glow and close with Pom Pom Squad's sophomore album, the late '90s period-piece Mirror Starts Moving Without Me. Both projects, thematically tethered, revel in the catharsis — and identity crisis — of their respective tragic teenage allegories. Spearheaded by frontwoman Mia Berrin, Pom Pom Squad's new record echoes Schoenbrun's unique blend of 1999 Fruitopia impressionism by deconstructing postmodern grunge pop and embracing nostalgia with a sharp, contemporary edge.
"Saw my own reflection on the TV / Staring down on me from outside my body," Berrin admits on the album's thesis track and FOMO dissertation, "Everybody's Moving On." She continues the haunting thought by confessing, "Everything I wanted for / I don't want it anymore / As I'm watching myself watching myself watch me." If it's the child, and not the house, that's haunted in James Wan's Insidious franchise, then it's the pop star who's haunting herself on Mirror Starts Moving Without Me.
Berrin's satisfying new sound resembles the production design of a lost Are You Afraid of the Dark? episode, with layers of detail evoking late-night TV horror for tweens alongside liminal mall goth aesthetics. But don't let it fool you, there's a mature artistry wide awake beneath the concept. A thorough attention to detail and an obvious reverence for its anachronistic references pay off, conjuring an atmosphere that's as eerie as it is familiar.
While it's not a concept record, every choice is meticulously crafted, as though any song could easily have been lifted straight from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer second season soundtrack. Dirty, gritty guitar riffs and haunting vocals create a beautifully unsettling environment, resembling a forgotten Pasadena suburb where cheerleaders hunt down the demons of their complex adolescents. The album doesn't shy away from raw emotion either, occasionally veering into embarrassingly earnest territory. This is a refreshing '90s rock nostalgia reimagined for a new generation who woke up in a world refusing to make any space for them.
"Doll Song" stands out as a haunting anthem for every music box ballerina who ever bravely uprooted herself in favour of an uncertain future. The song's soft tinkering calls back to the classic horror movie trope of the haunted music box — a fragile, unsettling sound that adds an edge of unease to a seemingly innocent trinket. But here, the haunted object isn't possessed by some otherworldly ghost, but rather by living a life free of risk. Berrin's vocals, both delicate and deliberate, harness the conflict between feminine fragility and a woman's immeasurable strength, drawing listeners around a campfire for a cautionary tale of potential unfulfilled.
Lead single and opening track "Downhill" is a raucous Y2K throwback with all the thunder and texture of t.A.T.u.'s "All the Things She Said" with an authentic, girl-on-a-rampage perspective. Like their previous record, Death of a Cheerleader, Pom Pom Squad are the real deal on this LP, delivering an honest and passionate reinvention of turn-of-the-century pop-punk. While Olivia Rodrigo and producer Dan Nigro hijacked Berrin's scorned cheerleader trope and commercially farmed it out to the masses, her latest collection has a finer, impossible-to-copy quality. It's a shame that neither "Downhill" nor the secondary early cut "Spinning" has made a louder impact on popular culture, especially considering the feverish success Nigro and Rodrigo continue to enjoy.
On album closer "The Tower," Berrin bares her teeth and sounds uncannily like indie contemporary Mitski, but it's somehow both permissible and exciting. Mitski, like Lana Del Rey, has evolved into one of the most influential songwriters of a generation and her archetypical style is now semi-open to sampling by those talented enough to make it work. Berrin, along with her cheer squad, can definitely pull it off.
"Saw my own reflection on the TV / Staring down on me from outside my body," Berrin warns again, on "Everybody's Moving On." The song, which houses the album's title lyrics, ends on a fittingly haunting note, with "Feels like everybody's moving on without me / I'm still the same / Isn't it strange?"