JADE’s ‘That’s Showbiz Baby!’ Songs Ranked Worst to Best

By pulling from a revolving palette of tones, the thump of the production guides “Headache” forward, offering a backdrop for JADE’s musings on her needs and wants in a relationship. Taken over a whole track, however, the track lacks continued dynamism; its twists and turns are overegged as to be almost cloying.

Over a tightly coiled bass riff, JADE’s snappy talk-sing on “IT Girl” feels like an intriguing left-turn for an artist famed for their belting and typically uninhibited vocal rasp. As such, her delivery here veers on becoming monotone – but the beats, squeals, sequencers, and crunches in the production save it from becoming a total dud, while the lyrics righteously eschew broad strokes empowerment in favour of slabs of bravado.

“Unconditional” initially gains its power from how little is happening: Its zigzagging kick drum gathers momentum the more familiar it becomes, interspersed with a storming guitar riff. When the latter kicks in, the track punches a hole through the haze to let all the feelings come gushing out. Try not to feel your heart skip a beat when JADE enters her upper register during the final chorus.

The lyrics to “Natural At Disaster” are ready to be prodded and unpacked. Who is she singing about when she calls out a person who is “all snakes no ladders”? Social media will rush to connect the dots between this track’s pointed, concise lyrics and JADE’s fractured relationship with former bandmate Jesy Nelson, who she is no longer in touch with. Zoom out, though, and digest the ghostly production – all contemplative percussion and vocal yearning.

On the cutting and vulnerable “FUFN (F–k You for Now”), JADE continually reaches for moments of emotional intensity. At times, the track veers on a hammed-up pastiche of early Lady Gaga, but its stomping, high-octane production provides fertile ground for its author to sift through the hard work of industry burnout and the mental toll it leaves in its wake.

Every pained admission of desire, security, or dwindling self assurance throughout “Self Saboteur” is compounded by a ripple of keys or a swirling falsetto, allowing the song to swell into something luxurious but still light on its feet. JADE takes us through the bustling streets of her mind, slipping past rainfall and wildfire; it’s a trip that’s as intoxicating as it is confounding. Her voice is so careful here that it suggests a dam straining to hold back a flood.

“Glitch” is a song of relief, where articulating what you need can help reclaim a confidence you once believed to be lost forever. “Get out of my head/ Get out of my f–king skin,” JADE coos, as much directed to an ex as to her own demons. Over euphoric icy, arpeggiated synths, her pleas twirl and glide in a state of determination. Her voice, too, sounds different: It’s almost inhuman, humming in a rhythmic and robotic pattern.

JADE doesn’t play coy about what she wants from a partner on “Lip Service,” a no-frills standout. The focus is on celebrating sexual versatility with metaphor: primarily juice, and lips that are underworked. She takes her task extremely seriously, playing around with layered harmonies and a pitch-shifted vocal flourish. Pop is a long-explored touchstone for excess and emancipation, an idea that JADE appears to have firmly signed up to.

The core signifiers of a Robyn classic – tingle-inducing electronic shimmers, gently pulsating synths, a whispery vocal – are all embedded within “Plastic Box,” which, thematically, also follows the Swedish icon’s trademark mix of despair and steely determination. Written with Lauren Aquilina, also a keen student of pop’s past and present, the track shows a brilliant new shade of melancholy for JADE.

On “Silent Disco” JADE sings her way through personal challenges with a delicate, bruised strength. She taps into the isolating pursuit of inner peace as the song begins to sound a yearning for release, falling deeper into the connection she shares with the person she holds closest. Towards the end, she flaunts the full extent of her range with whistle notes, highlighting an underappreciated ability to convey different colors with her voice.

Arguably, “Midnight Cowboy” is a spiritual successor to Jessie Ware’s What’s Your Pleasure? era, oozing a vintage glow that rubs up against sexy, contemporary-sounding soundscapes. Featuring a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shoutout to former British Vogue editor Edward Enniful, plus an intro from actor Ncuti Gatwa, JADE clambers up and down scales with ease. The intensity of her late-night plea to a lover, sung over a lone, rumbling beat, burns incandescent.

At times, JADE’s skill as a singer is really beside the point – more affecting is that she can hold back and showcase intimacy, while still being capable of blasting down a door with her powerhouse voice. Led by a gleaming Supremes interpolation, “Before You Break My Heart” sees JADE making the most of her Main Pop Girl dreams, as her commitment to both sides of the vocal equation makes this a soulful masterclass.

The track that made JADE a true Popheads darling (move over for a minute, Carly Rae), “Fantasy” offers ripples of disco-house nostalgia, fuelled by a winsome sincerity and some infectious “ah-ahs”. She reaches heady new heights on this inspired merge of Studio 54 aesthetics and slinky bass that practically demands that you park up by a speaker and give in to its delirious highs.

With a structure akin to the non-traditional style switch-ups found in Girls Aloud’s “Biology” or Lorde’s “Green Light” – the type of pop song Max Martin might describe as “incorrect” – this hit is a delicious sensory overload, multiple ideas skilfully woven into one stunning tapestry. Throughout, JADE revisits and exalts past versions of herself; there’s a central tension between the limitations she feels have been imposed on her by the major label machine, celebrity and misogyny, and the expansiveness of the love she feels towards her art form. Here, JADE establishes herself as an intelligent, concise songwriter, and a singer of power and clarity.