Selena Gomez x benny blanco - I Said I Love You First
Don't Take It Personally.
After repeatedly stating that she had no immediate plans to return to music and had chosen instead to focus on her acting career, Selena Gomez surprised fans by releasing a new album. But she didn’t do it alone—I Said I Love You First is a collaborative project with her fiancé, Benny Blanco. Everything surrounding the album’s release suggested that it would be a celebration of love—an intimate portrait of two people eager to share their emotions with the world. Was it? Well, not quite.
The album opens with a voice memo from Gomez, where she thanks her friends—presumably in Los Angeles—for becoming her chosen family after she left Texas to pursue a career in Hollywood. While heartfelt, this immediately raises questions about the album’s supposed theme. Instead of setting the stage for a love story, the intro feels more like the beginning of a personal reflection on growth and identity. But fine—let’s see where it goes.
What follows is a series of tracks more fixated on Gomez’s past relationships than her present one. Then comes “Call Me When You Break Up”, featuring Gracie Abrams. And let’s be honest—if you record a song, revisit it later, and realize that Gracie Abrams, of all people, has outshined you, maybe—just maybe—it’s worth rewriting your verse.
However, early on, we reach the highlight of the album. “Ojos Tristes”, featuring The Marías, stands out as the clear peak of the record. It’s lush, hypnotic, and effortlessly beautiful. Even though the lyrics, when translated, aren’t particularly groundbreaking, the track works. It sounds great. It feels right. If there’s one song worth checking out from this album, it’s this one.
But it isn’t until the sixth track that the album finally acknowledges its supposed theme—Gomez’s love story with Benny Blanco. And how should I put this delicately? While I usually don’t concern myself with artists’ personal lives unless they’re actively promoting problematic figures, it’s hard to ignore the public image Gomez and Blanco have cultivated. Their relationship, at least in the media, leans so heavily into embracing the cringe that it becomes difficult to separate their music from their persona. And when the album finally shifts focus to their love story—on tracks like “Sunset Boulevard” and “Cowboy”—it doesn’t feel romantic or even endearing. Instead, it’s like overhearing a couple at a bar loudly discussing how hot and kinky they are after way too many drinks. I don’t mind the themes—do whatever makes you happy—but the way these songs are written simply doesn’t do them justice.
By the final stretch, the album dissolves into a mix of simplistic, forgettable pop songs, including the puzzling inclusion of “I Can’t Get Enough”—a track that dates back six years. At this point, any sense of cohesion is lost, making it feel less like an album and more like a loosely connected playlist.
And that leads to the real question—why does this album exist? I’m not sure even Selena and Benny would have a clear answer, to be honest. This is a record lacking a true identity, filled with borrowed sounds and influences. At times, it echoes Billie Eilish, at others, Lana Del Rey, Charli xcx, or Taylor Swift. Some tracks resemble Gomez’s own past work, while others dabble in Latin, dance-pop, disco, and electronic influences, but with no unifying thread. Even attempts at transitional interludes fail to mask how disconnected the songs feel—if you played them out of order, you’d never guess they belonged to the same album.
Production-wise, Blanco delivers some solid moments, proving once again that he’s a competent producer. However, the mixing, vocal processing, and heavy layering of effects on Gomez’s voice often feel distracting and unnecessary. The lyrics are by far the weakest point of the record, offering nothing but overly simplistic lines or, at times, what barely resemble verses—just words thrown together.
In the end, I Said I Love You First plays out like an album made by two teenagers desperate to prove their love to their disapproving parents—except they’re not teenagers, and we’re not their parents.
5.5/10
