Demi Lovato - It’s Not That Deep
Demi Lovato’s ninth studio album is yet another attempt at self-reinvention — a restless bid to latch onto the ever-shifting whims of pop culture.
Demi Lovato’s career has always moved in curious zigzags: once a Disney Channel prodigy, she quickly morphed into a radio-dominant pop powerhouse with a belting voice and a steady deck of chart-ready anthems. Over nearly two decades, Lovato has dipped her toes into a dizzying number of genres, from pop-rock to contemporary R&B, forever searching for a distinct sonic identity she could finally call her own.
Her last two releases — 2022’s HOLY FVCK and 2023’s REVAMPED — suggested she had found a direction that fit like a glove. The former embraced snarling alt-rock; the latter reimagined her past pop smashes through the same rugged lens. For a moment, it felt like Lovato had planted her flag. But something in pop — and in Lovato herself — shifted. In 2025, she dropped the crucifix-shaped stage props, shelved the guitars, and unveiled It’s Not That Deep: a full-tilt pivot to dance-pop and house. The result, unfortunately, is far less memorable than the metamorphosis promised.
The new era kicks off with “Fast”, an electro-pop vignette that could just as easily be a Bebe Rexha/DJ-of-the-week collaboration. It’s pleasant enough, but evaporates exactly at the moment it begins to take hold. “Here All Night” follows — a glossy synth-pop ode to sex, sweat, and nocturnal abandon, sounding like an outtake Dua Lipa might’ve shrugged off during the “Radical Optimism” sessions, only to have Lovato sweep it into her own tracklist.
It’s impossible to ignore the influence of a certain neon-green-covered album that bulldozed pop in the past year. On “Frequency”, Lovato wades into electro-house waters, pleading, “don’t fuck up the vibe”. Sadly, it’s hard to ruin something that barely exists in the first place: instead of capturing the sleek aesthetic of one of the decade’s definitive electronic records, she lands closer to the energy of a cheap, forgettable club you stumble into on a half-drunk bar hop. Still, the album eventually finds a pulse — “Let You Go”, buoyed by shimmering synths, manages to stabilize the shaky first act.
Curiously, the album shines brightest when Lovato stops posturing and actually feels something. “Sorry To Myself” is a dance-floor confessional where she confronts her own self-inflicted wounds — starvation, burnout, and the brutal cycles she never quite escaped. It’s the rare moment where her vulnerability cuts through the fluorescent haze. On the iridescent “In My Head”, she bends her vocals in a way that nods to Sabrina Carpenter’s recent chart triumphs, admitting she’s still tethered to toxic attachments she can’t shake. That emotional thread continues on “Before I Knew You”, one of the album’s undeniable standouts — not groundbreaking, but deeply effective.
Elsewhere, the experiments fall flat. “Little Bit” buries her voice in auto-tune so aggressively it borders on parody. “Say It” slices her vocals into jittery snippets that recall not the sweaty heyday of early-’00s clubs, but mid-2010s YouTube EDM intros — flashy, hollow, and instantly dated.
Lovato’s return to pop is calculated enough to slide neatly into the ongoing dance-pop revival, yet toothless enough to vanish from memory the moment it ends. It’s Not That Deep is like a blurry night out: occasionally fun, but followed by a headache you didn’t ask for. On the pre-release single “Kiss”, she sings, “It’s not that deep unless you want it to be”. She’s right — and frankly, there’s little here that makes you want to dive any deeper.
5.8/10
