Witness

K Pez still has a flair for tunes that quickly seep into the collective consciousness--and it’s kookier than ever.

While it's certainly missing any form of coherency, Witness does feel like you're growing with Perry - going on this journey that's helped her find new ground and a reinvigorated appreciation for all walks of the pop music spectrum.

Chilly melodies meshes well with Perry’s diary of reflection and self-enlightenment. In fact, many of these songs are written in sad-sounding minor keys as opposed to cheery major ones. It’s a smart trick. ... If there were a few more pure pop moments like those songs [[Bon Appétit and Swish Swish], Perry would’ve made something truly worth witnessing.

While she may have slipped down the pecking order, Witness proves she’s still a more interesting pop star than she’s often given credit for.

Witness’s filler can misfire, such as the forgettable Mike Will Made It-produced Tsunami. “Purposeful pop”, meanwhile, is a hard trick to pull off.

Throughout, Perry is less like the so-unusual, candy-coated Cyndi Lauper of "Teenage Dream," and is more an anonymous disco crooner, a breathy moderator leading us through passionate but muted songs of longing and empowerment.

The album lacks both the big hooks that propelled Perry's past hits up the charts and the conceptual and sonic focus to give her pop real purpose.

It’s a real shame Witness has come out as a bit of a disjointed mess, as there’s a decent record somewhere in there, but it gets lost in the fog of endless guest productions and co-writes that miss the point entirely.

A lack of feeling behind much of Witness’ material does a listener no favors, and much of it gets forgotten once you leave it in your rear-view. However, if you take Witness less seriously, it reveals itself a bit of camp that is in many ways more compelling than the music project it’s supposed to be.

Witness has great singles, forgettable singles, forgettable filler, and songs that go clunk.

With Witness’ confounding combination of songwriting sloppiness and sleepiness, broad strokes are the really the best Perry can hope for these days.

In fairness, Witness isn't a failure, and its good intentions, both politically and sexually, aren't insufferable as much as they are listless and unsatisfying.

Despite the presence of bulletproof hit-makers (Max Martin, Sia, Jeff Bhasker) and inventive electro artists (Purity Ring, Hot Chip, Duke Dumont), the record is curiously flat, a shapeless slog that feels remarkably sluggish.

The more time you spend with each song, the more it sounds like a variation on something you’ve heard done better before, a formula in search of a hook.

Witness is a conceptual muddle but that incoherence could've been excused if there were hooks in either its grooves or melodies. Instead, Witness is populated with busy, tuneless tracks that seemed designed to pulsate in the background of a regrettable night.

[Witness is] more jumbled still, with would-be self-empowerment anthems next to earnest ballads lamenting the end of a relationship. ... Witness contains strong moments beyond “Chained to the Rhythm,” which still feels like the beginning of an intriguing project.

Her dance-pop here is identical to everyone else’s, which leaves Perry clutching at the single-entendre raciness of “Bon Appetit” (“Got me spread like a buffet / Bon appetit, boy”) and curdled imagery like “my love’s the bullet with your name on it” to secure a soupcon of bogus outrage.

With Witness, the sleek production and rigid sonic textures end up doing more harm than good, vacuum-sealing her voice and most of her personality into dry, readily-forgettable numbers.