On her sophomore album, BITE ME, Renée Rapp sheds the persona of a “good girl” with a brilliant and unapologetic ferocity. This is not a record for tidy emotional resolutions; it’s a raw, unfiltered chronicle of the emotional turbulence following a breakup. The album serves as a soundtrack to the emotional rollercoaster that lurches from furious, tear-soaked texts to a cathartic dancefloor euphoria, with a mascara-streaked face. It’s the sound of honest, unfiltered human chaos.
Building on the momentum from her debut, Snow Angel, Rapp fully steps into her pop-star identity while keeping the formidable vocal control she refined on Broadway. However, on BITE ME, that control is deliberately frayed, lending the music a visceral honesty. The album kicks off with “Leave Me Alone,” a defiant, electric anthem reminiscent of Joan Jett and early-00s pop. Here, she stakes her claim: “I’m a real bad girl but a real good kisser,” setting a tone of brazen self-confidence. The repeated lyric, “Leave me alone bitch, I wanna have fun,” is a boundary-setting declaration to anyone—an ex, a publicist, or her audience—who might try to tame her.
If Snow Angel was a poignant portrait of vulnerability, then BITE ME emerges as a powerful declaration of emotional resilience. It’s an album that skillfully explores the transition between heartbreak and the journey of self-reclamation. “Sometimes” stands as the album’s bruised core, encapsulating a painfully honest admission of an unshakeable bond with a past lover. Renée Rapp’s raw, breathless delivery —especially in heart-wrenching lines such as, “It’s killing me having you sometimes”—strikes a deeply emotional chord, resonating with anyone grappling with similar feelings.
Then, without warning, she pivots. “Kiss It Kiss It” arrives like a glitter bomb—vulgar, cheeky, and impossible not to dance to. With a reckless spontaneity, Rapp barrels into her hookup era, the track’s guitar work echoing the gritty snarl of Garbage’s “Stupid Girl.” This bold move feels less like an act of abandon and more like a powerfully self-possessed reclamation of control.
The album showcases a remarkable emotional spectrum, where “Mad” emerges as a primal scream hurled into the void, encapsulating the frustration of wasted time as Rapp’s vocals teeter on the brink of a break down, elevating the intensity of its cathartic lament, the contrasting “Good Girl” serves as a fast-paced anthem for those who knowingly embrace poor choices, narrating a familiar tale for those who have ever sped down the motorway, justifying decisions that their better judgement warns against.
Rapp adeptly weilds her vocal talent throughout BITE ME, the ‘90s-infused angst of “Shy” channels a nostalgic energy, while “I Can’t Have You Around Me Anymore” showcases devastating restraint. The latter sees her deliver a gut-punch lyric about establishing boundaries with someone who embodies both comfort and danger, effectively articulating the struggle of letting go in the face of emotional turmoil.
However, Rapp never lingers in despair for long. “At Least I’m Hot” serves as a bold, defiant shrug at sadness itself. “If I can’t be happy, then at least I’m hot,” she clares with swaggering confidence, transforming emotional wreckage into an empowered strut. Its talk-sung verses flirt with controlled mania, reflecting a reality that feels fragmented yet undeniably beautiful.
The album’s centrepiece, “I Think I Like You Better When You’re Gone,” is a sultry, dangerous, and fiercely self-aware masterpiece. Set against a backdrop of swirling synths, Rapp’s venomous yet empowered vocals culminate in the startling realisation, “I think I like you better when you’re gone.” This track resonates as one of her most potent offerings, encapsulating the thrill and danger of liberation.
BITE ME is a compelling work that boldly refuses to conform to genre constraints. It’s an album crafted for those who yearn to fall apart, rebuild, scream, and dance through the chaos of their emotions. Renée Rapp has firmly established her place in the pop landscape, not by presenting a polished facade, but by fearlessly embracing the raw, messy, and vibrantly loud truth of her own transformative journey.
