The twerking Miley Cyrus the world met two years ago is dead and gone on her newest album that pays trippy tribute to her deceased petz, weed, sex and also, weed.
Cyrus’s latest self-released album, Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz — inspired by falling in love, her dead pets and a little ganja — came about in a true Miley fashion: dropped while she performed her new single “Dooo it!” at the VMA’s, alongside various drag queens.
Unlike Bangerz, which went platinum, Cyrus has traded pop for a more psychedelic sound, collaborating and producing with Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips. His influence, while evident throughout the entire album, specifically hits home in the trippy ballad “Karen Don’t Be Sad.”
“I am 100 percent in love with Wayne, and Wayne is in love with me, but it’s nothing sexual in any way,” Cyrus said to The New York Times. “That would be the grossest.”
The album consists of 23 tracks, lasting for more than 90 minutes. Although she collaborated with Big Sean, Mike Will Made It, Ariel Pink and Phantogram’s Sarah Barthel, most of the songs blend together. Listeners will feel like they smoked a bowl with Cyrus while hearing her mumble about sex, the universe and once again, weed.
The record’s first song,“Dooo it!,” begins with layered vocals found throughout the album, ending with a vital question: “Why they put the dick in the pussy?”
“Karen Don’t Be Sad” is characteristic of the Flaming Lips, while “The Floyd Song (Sunrise)” is a somber ode to Cyrus’ dog, Floyd, that coyotes ate during her tour last spring.
The lyrics in this case are fitting: “Death take me with you / I don’t want to live without my flower.”
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From there the album doesn’t get any less weird. The track “Fuckin’ Fucked Up” consists of pretty much only those words as its lyrics. The song serves as an interlude to the next song, “BB Talk,” where Cyrus babbles about being with a guy whose armpit smells good and gave her a 15-minute orgasm.
The mix of hyper-sexualization — with occasional sentiments of love — continues with “Fweaky.” The track highlights Cyrus’ husky vocals while she sings about a boy who she is scared of being with, but who also makes her feel better than her precious weed ever could.
But the album is not only dedicated to Cyrus’ sexscepades. “Pablow the Blowfish” is a piano ballad about another one of Cyrus’ dead petz. She sweetly explains how she regrets keeping him in her tank, and fantasizes about him falling in love with a seahorse.
The final track of the record, “The Twinkle Song,” where Cyrus continuously asks, “What does it mean?,” was apparently inspired by dreams she had the night her friend’s cat had died.
Whether or not listeners are a fan of Miley Cyrus, this album is definitely worth a gander. The message Cyrus is trying to convey through the redundant lyrics about her sexuality and marijuana is hard to distinguish, but maybe that is just what she wants.
If anything she knows how to make people pay attention to her, even if they don’t want to.
