Album review: Audrey Hobert’s “Who’s the Clown?”

By Marissa Rotolo

Album cover for Audrey Hobert’s “Who’s The Clown?,” released in 2025 by RCA Records.

When your socks don’t match, you trip in front of a crush, or laugh at a joke before the punchline — or worse, all three at once — you’re personifying the awkwardness that shapes Who’s the Clown?, Audrey Hobert’s debut album. From a self-proclaimed “Phoebe Buffay,” this record ushers in a renaissance of weird girl music in today’s pop scene.

From lines like “’Cause I’m the naked neighbor” to full tracks titled “I Like To Touch People,” Hobert plants her flag in the pop landscape as the embodiment of your intrusive thoughts — wrapped in a catchy melody and sealed with a perfectly timed bridge. What’s so defining about Hobert’s stream-of-consciousness writing is that it’s unfortunately the naked truths of life. The track “Thirst Trap” embodies her offbeat style. Hobert sings:

“I’m takin’ thirst traps in the mirror in my room I think I look bad, so I change the lightin’ I used to kick back, watchin’ movies and the news But now I’m lame, it’s such a shame, I used to be so super cool.”

This chorus is at its core weird, but also deeply true. It highlights everything that you’d never admit. Hobert draws attention to what you’re doing when nobody is watching, and the spiral of self-judgment that comes with feeling out of place, even when it’s just you, your phone, and the four walls of your room.

On tracks like “Chateau,” she even calls out the absurdity of A-list spaces, asking, “Are we legally bound to stand in a circle looking around?” That’s what makes Who’s the Clown? stand out: Hobert’s message isn’t limited to one thing. Some songs revel in the joy of being unapologetically weird; others ache with the desire to be seen. It’s an experience that feels painfully, almost universally, familiar to life in your 20s.

Hobert plays with the tension between painful realities and playful delivery, juxtaposing raw confessions with bright synths and irresistibly catchy beats. “Cause he’s perfect / he treats me like shit but I promise you baby it’s worth it.” The lighthearted delivery is exactly what it sounds like to crash out with a grin — the sonic equivalent of smiling at a car crash.

You can also tell that she and pal Gracie Abrams bounce off each other through their shared use of release bridges. This bridge works as a full tension release, the crux of everything the listener has been circling up to that point. It’s word-vomit honesty: snarky, sharp and boundary-pushing. In a track that already toes the line lyrically, “Don’t Go Back to His Ass” lands a ruthless pivot, with Hobert spitting, “I’m not buying what you’re selling, I’m sure you’d love it if I did.” It’s the sound of being absolutely done. Going on to bravely call out the all-too-real excuse-making we’ve all heard before, Hobert sneers, “And all his exes were bitches, his boss was just out to get him / Oh man, we just should’ve let him, don’t you think?” But she pivots so quickly it leaves the listener questioning what they heard — and if they heard it right (you did).

Then on tracks like “Bowling Alley,” Hobert leans into what it feels like to stick out like a sore thumb in social settings. When you finally hit the strike, but you were just a lucky beginner — as she points out. More bluntly, in “Phoebe,” Hobert strips it down even further, admitting she feels like she has a “fucked-up face” — a strange, blunt confession that somehow feels wholly relatable.

Hobert’s album is bizarre but fervent: a raw confession of what it’s like to be both the coolest and the weirdest person in the room. Her self-awareness is so sharp it borders on uncomfortable, yet it perfectly captures the sound of early adulthood. If intrusive thoughts had a beat and cover art, they’d sound like Audrey Hobert’s debut. Fierce and unapologetic, it’s an album that demands the spotlight — proof that Hobert is a rising star destined to stick around.

Cover Photo: Jay / @hobertarchive via Pinterest