Rebecca Black has a gun, and she’s pointing it squarely at the pop zeitgeist.
The cult pop folk heroine is back with her second full-length project, Salvation, on the heels of 2023’s Let Her Burn. The aforementioned gun can be seen in the album art for Salvation, and again in the lyric video for “Sugar Water Cyanide,” and again in the energetic presence of the album itself. Lusciously produced and piercingly evocative with its lyrical flourishes, the latest single offers just a glimpse at what Salvation, and Rebecca Black, has on offer. “With this project, I really allowed myself to pick a lane and go down that and explore that, and let that be a world that can just exist, and then know that next time we can go wherever the fuck else I want to go,” Black tells PAPER. To Black, finding that freedom “was really creatively inspiring, and I think has allowed me to create the most cohesive thing I’ve ever made before.”
Being thought of as a viral teen sensation comes through no fault of her own, but luckily, she laughs, and admits she’s had enough therapy to unpack and recontextualize it. “It’s also something that, as I’ve grown up and worked with different people, have had completely different perspectives on,” Black says. “I feel like the perspective I have now versus what I had when I started therapy when I was 18 is completely different, because the world has changed.”
And change it has, both for pop stars and the culture they release music into. The aftershocks of the seismic shift in 2024 for pop musicians still rages, and Black feels it too. “I remember really noticing the death of pop and how uncool it was to be pop, even without the context of my own kind of story with it, or experience with it.” She continues: “I remember thinking: Pop never dies. It’s always going to come back around. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, I don’t know what it’ll sound like, but I know this isn’t done.”
For more on Salvation, out now, read our full conversation below.
We’re a few years out now from Rebecca Black Was Here. Is there anything that you know now that looking back at that time would surprise you, either about yourself or about where your career was going?
I was really still at what felt like the beginning of figuring out how to do this for real. There were so many new experiences of putting a tour together, or putting visuals together, in a way where I was really leading the boat, where I had so many learning experiences. So many things I would walk away from and be like, “Okay, wait, that didn’t totally go how I expected. And I’m going to try not to freak out about it.” Whereas I feel like with this project, although I’m always faced with some unforeseen experience, I feel a little bit more oiled. I went into it with the most amount of sureness that I’ve ever had, and also, the least amount of pressure. Whereas, throughout the first couple of goes at really doing this for real, I felt I had to say everything that I wanted to say and cover every piece of ground. And if I didn’t do it now, I’d never have a chance to do it again — whereas with this project, I really allowed myself to pick a lane and go down that and explore that, and let that be a world that can just exist, and then know that next time we can go wherever the fuck else I want to go. And that was really creatively inspiring and has allowed me to create the most cohesive thing I’ve ever made before, which feels really good.
Going back to that idea of pressure, do you feel like that pressure was something that was internal? Was that a pressure you were feeling for the project to succeed?
There’s always pressure as an artist to have a version of success, because at the end of the day, it’s not just about you. You have a group of people who have really invested in you and invested their time and their energy, and are also here to be in this industry and make a living. And so as a young person, I really felt that pressure so much, and I had that pressure put on me for a long time. What’s ironic is, once I stopped working with people who put that pressure on me, it felt like the bounds of where I could go were so much greater. For a long time, what really stunted my creative growth was that I was making things for other people to understand, rather than exploring something that I got and was allowed to get to the finish line, and at the end of the day, was allowed to have the final say on. That has alleviated so much pressure in my life.
There definitely seems to be, creatively speaking, a through line from Let Her Burn to Salvation. Was that intentional on your part, or is that just how things played out naturally?
I’ve honestly thought about that a lot. I was trying to decide, you know, do I want there to be a through line? Do I not? At the end of the day, I’ve overthought the entire thing to the ground, and I had to, at some point, trust that if this is where this is going, I have to follow where it takes me. When I came to the idea of what this project was going to be, I really wanted to find something that felt like I was moving forward. I don’t know exactly what this means, but it is forward. That’s what mattered.
There’s an irreverence that you’ve cultivated about yourself and your work, and it shines through in the “TRUST!” music video. Is that something that formed in reaction to forces around you as a young artist, or is that something that you’ve always felt about yourself?
Where I’m at now is the opposite of where I thought I needed to be for so long. I’ve always stumbled around feeling unsure about how to take myself seriously or allow myself to be taken seriously. And I do think it happened — whether it be by accident or naturally — or just through meeting so many other creatives who have helped me with my confidence throughout the years. When you force other people to take yourself seriously, it does so much less than just leaning into what you want to do and what is inspiring to you and what’s exciting to you. And I’ve realized over the years that moments of camp and moments of funniness and moments of absurdity are the most inspiring and important to me and feel the most like me. The version of myself that I am now, whether it be in a music video or in an interview or in anything, is like the most congruent with the version of myself that is just Rebecca, and I’m happy to see that make sense.
You posted a TikTok last year where you said, and I’m paraphrasing: if only I knew back then that I would get depressed, go on Tumblr, find Lana Del Rey and SOPHIE, and then go to therapy and make music like you’re doing now. Let’s dig into that and start with Tumblr. How did you first find the site?
It definitely didn’t come from people I knew, because I was homeschooled and had the least amount of friends I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve always looked to the internet as an outlet. I grew up in the age of being 11 years old with a Facebook page. Whether it was the dark era of Formspring — and I was a 13-year-old with a Justin Bieber Twitter account — I found the internet really fun and really cathartic. It allowed me to see pieces of the world, and on Tumblr specifically, pieces of art. Whether that art was, you know, Joanna in her Swedish apartment with her little outfit, I found something that I connected to, or was aspirational. Something that I just wasn’t seeing in my physical life, or down at the mall with what people were wearing. I felt connected to that. It tapped into a world of fantasy that I’ve always been drawn to. And it’s always why I’ve been drawn to pop stars. It’s always why I’ve been drawn to world-builders, specifically the Lanas and the Gagas of the world. It just allowed me to shut my brain away from the realities of where I was. That’s why I connected to Tumblr, and I would spend literally half of my day or more just diving into all of the rabbit holes that I could find.
Tell me about the Justin Bieber page. Is that something that you just ran covertly? Was it just like retweets, were you making art?
I mean, I was 13. I think it was called, like, BeccaBieber, and I was just there because I wanted to be a part of the community. I wanted to find other people who could relate to me with this thing. I just didn’t have that in my reality or world so much. That’s always been, and that was, a huge part of my childhood, honestly. My teenage years were about going to the internet to look for people that I connected with, and people that I could talk to about things that people in school maybe didn’t understand. Especially once I was homeschooled. I went online and met so many people who are still such important people in my life to this day, just through things like that. But the Bieber account only lasted for maybe a few months, and then it was done.
RIP BeccaBieber, gone, but not forgotten.
RIP!
I used to look at Tumblr and be like, “Wow, the world is so much bigger than my shitty little small town with no friends and no queer people.” The internet has become more monolithic, in many ways. Do you miss that fragmented sense of discovery that Tumblr had with art and music and culture, just being able to find, really, anything?
I do miss it, in a way. But then at the same time, there is the most amount of niche that has ever existed. Maybe there’s just more cultural consciousness of it. And one of the reasons I really connected to the internet and Tumblr specifically, in that way, was because not only did it open me up to the potential of what was out there and ideas of the person I wanted to be when I was out there on my own, but it also allowed me to cosplay a version of myself that I wasn’t. A version of myself I wanted to be like. I would love to read someone else talk about this, but reblogging a photo of a world or a landscape or a thing of fashion allowed me to say, This is mine, even though I had zero resources at the time to replicate it like that. It allowed me to cultivate a sense of identity. Now I’m 27 and have a lot more agency and a lot more resources to replicate that in my own life.
I was just thinking, as you were talking, about the kids on TikTok. How consumerist it feels, the identity-making. But then I think back to me reblogging photos of old architecture and vintage YSL runways, and being like, this is my identity. When I’m 30, this is what my life will look like, right? Maybe kids are able to buy more things now, but I think the need to connect and feel like you’ve curated an ideal self does exist, just in a different way now.
Definitely, definitely, definitely. Now, there’s such a need to actually have the things right now actually, whether you can have the actual thing, or get a dupe of it. But back then, there was something about creating a visual image of it, like you didn’t actually have to have it, because I don’t think we were all really posting ourselves.
I was a faceless blog for a while!
Oh, I basically was too. I also thrived in that, I thrived. I see people still do it today, and I’m honestly jealous.
Ok, so walk me through what your Tumblr wall looked like. Just an average scroll, you’re passively reblogging. What are you scrolling past?
Actually, I have to pull it up, if it even still exists, because I don’t even think I could tell you, Oh, my God, it does exist. Oh, it looks horrible. They’ve definitely gotten rid of the theme that I had. I definitely love to go through my archive, because there were so many eras. I was definitely of the generation of taking magazines and cutting them into letters and doing whatever. To Write Love on Her Arms, that type of vibe, thing.
Woah, that’s a name I haven’t heard said out loud in 15 years.
That was definitely the genesis of it. And then, as I got more into people like Lana Del Rey and Grimes, I just started trying to resonate with what they had, and replicate what they had. I resonated with all hyper-femme, hyper-romantic, hyper-sexual things, as I was exploring and a teen, having crushes and knowing that I would never be able to really be that person in my real life. I started exploring that, and I got really into fashion.
You were talking about resonating and replicating them. Did you find yourself making more music, or being drawn back to making more music, or did that only come up later?
I didn’t have the means, or know people, to communicate from a music aspect for a very long time. I don’t think it was until maybe 2018 or 2019 that I recognized that I could try that, and that I could do that. And it wasn’t until I was really just going into rooms on my own, and starting to build the confidence. I remember there was a song called “Closer” that I made with this producer, Mika Jasper, in 2019. It wasn’t intentional, but we started building out this section, and I was like, “Oh, we’re clearly both coming from the same references here, and we’re coming from this world.” As I started to get to know umru, and try out things with him, or try out things with other people in the world, that definitely opened me up a lot faster. I have to give credit to people I was collaborating with, to give me the chutzpah to go there.
I just wonder what it was like at that age to have been an infamous, viral teen pop sensation, and then finding a therapist that you can talk about that with. Was that difficult for you, to find someone that you could explore that with?
I didn’t seriously get into therapy until I was 18, so quite a few years had passed. I tried, but I never found one to connect with. It was almost like I was still too in it, but I didn’t even know what to say. I had no idea how to give it perspective in terms of: how do I deal with it? I think that was the last thing I wanted to talk about, in terms of therapy, for many, many years, because I was just so in the thick of it. I kind of stumbled upon the first person who really helped me hash through it. And I feel very lucky for the amount of time that I was able to really spend hashing through these different things that had happened to me. But it’s also something that, as I’ve grown up and worked with different people, have had completely different perspectives on. The perspective I have now versus what I had when I started therapy when I was 18 is completely different, because the world has changed. I have continued to grow, and so it’ll probably be something I come back to time and time again.
There was also this recent reevaluation of culture’s opinion on pop music, or at least, the way that we talk about people who make pop music. Did that conversation feel vindicating for you, or maybe… I don’t want to say healing, because I don’t want to assume. But what were your feelings on that conversation, if any?
Yeah, I mean, I remember in 2017 or 2018, where everything was men and hip -hop, and that was having a whole moment. And I never felt very connected to that. There are rappers I love, and hip-hop music I love. But I remember really noticing the death of pop and how uncool it was to be pop, even without the context of my own kind of story with it, or experience with it. I remember back then thinking: Pop never dies. It’s always going to come back around. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, I don’t know what it’ll sound like, but I know this isn’t done. But for me, vindicating? I don’t know if I really feel that. I’m more so just excited that the pop that’s out there right now is really good, and the artists are doing something to push it forward.
That’s something that I’ve had conversations about over the years with so many different people. There’s no excuse for the girls out there, especially the ones who have been around for a long time, to not be making stuff that is amazing, not making stuff that’s pushing it forward. Obviously, Charli has been doing this for decades, and I’ve been a giant Charli fan since True Romance. It’s exciting to see her thrive. It’s exciting to see the Chappells thrive. It’s exciting to see the Sabrinas and the world-building she does, thrive too. I’m like, Okay, great. Well, I have something for you too. Hopefully you like it. I think it has also allowed for people who I work with to feel like there’s something to grab on to. Because I don’t think that the album will ever die. I don’t think that music videos will ever die, no matter what anyone says. I just think that that is what makes pop so eternal: the identity of each individual person within it.
Pop never dies.
Photography: Kristin Jan Wong
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