Sam Fang
Alaska Thunderfuck has carved out a surprisingly distinctive niche in pop music. The bar for a drag queen’s vocal talents has historically never been particularly high as long as the music is club-friendly, but Alaska has always managed to clear it anyway. Her greatest strength isn’t necessarily hitting some impossible note — it’s the combination of humor, personality, rapid-fire lyrics, and beats that make even her dumbest ideas ridiculously entertaining.
Her latest release – The Brunette Album – seems determined to leave all of that behind. The album feels like Alaska’s attempt at a Lady Gaga-esque reinvention: strip away the obvious drag-comedy trappings, put the vocals front and center, and prove that there’s a “serious” pop artist underneath all that camp. Given Alaska’s well-documented love of Gaga, the inspiration isn’t exactly difficult to spot.
The problem? Alaska was already interesting. And Brunette spends much of its runtime trying to convince us that she needs to become somebody else.
Hello Is a Painful Introduction
“Hello” is an unfortunate way to begin an album that is supposedly introducing us to a new Alaska, albeit with her signature greeting. Sonically, the Gaga influence is unmistakable — and presumably intentional — but the problem is that Alaska doesn’t quite have the vocal chops to sell this particular version of herself. Her more talk-heavy material has always played directly to her strengths, allowing her drawl, timing, and personality to do the heavy lifting.
Here, she’s trying to belt, and it just feels awkward. The lyrics don’t help matters. There’s nothing particularly sharp or memorable here to compensate for the vocal limitations, leaving an introduction that feels less like a reinvention and more like someone trying on clothes that don’t quite fit.
Brunette Has One Great Trick
The title track is lyrically stronger, but runs into the same fundamental problem. Again, Alaska seems determined to prove that she can sing. And, again, it’s easy to be left wondering why she thinks that’s the hill she needs to die on.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with building a career around your strengths rather than spending an entire album proving you can do something outside them. Plenty of beloved pop artists have made incredibly successful careers without constantly trying to demonstrate their vocal range.
Thankfully, “Brunette” eventually remembers who Alaska is. After the chorus — “I’m brunette now… Have you seen my hair?” — she slips back into that signature drawl, and suddenly the song becomes much more natural. That is the Alaska worth heading to the show for.
Unfortunately, the song also feels like another attempt to recreate Gaga’s Born This Way era, particularly “Hair.” Given Alaska’s admiration for Gaga, the inspiration is obvious. But that’s what makes it frustrating: Alaska has already carved out an identity of her own. She didn’t need to borrow somebody else’s. Although Gaga is amazing, so it’s understandable.
Revolution Finally Gets It
“Revolution” is where Brunette starts to understand what it should have been doing all along.
Interestingly, the production pulls back here, putting Alaska’s vocals much more prominently in the foreground. And while that could have been another recipe for disaster, the song’s lyrics finally give her something to work with.
“Serving pussy for the revolution” is, frankly, exactly the kind of Alaska Thunderfuck nonsense one should want to hear when pushing play. The battlefield imagery is ridiculous, theatrical, and completely on brand. Most importantly, the humor and personality compensate for the moments where the vocals aren’t quite up to the demands being placed on them.
This is her formula. Give Alaska an interesting concept, let her be funny, and let her sound like Alaska. Suddenly the questionable vocal range isn’t nearly as important.
Trixie Is One of the Album’s Bright Spots
“Trixie” is a sugary-sweet ode to none other than Trixie Mattel, and it’s one of the strongest songs on the album.
“You’re Malibu Barbie in the sunshine / When you go it always seems to go right.”
It’s cute. It’s catchy. It’s sincere without becoming completely saccharine, and — perhaps most importantly — the production, lyrics, and vocal delivery all actually work together.
There’s also the inevitable question: is there some sort of Trixie-Alaska drama happening here? The more interesting possibility is that this is simply Alaska doing what pop artists have done forever: attaching herself to another recognizable cultural figure and using that relationship as part of the song’s mythology. Considering how much Brunette seems to borrow from various corners of the pop lexicon, a little Charli XCX/Lorde-style name-checking wouldn’t exactly be out of character.
Whatever the motivation, the song works.
Dance With the Devil Is… Fine
And that’s really the problem with “Dance with the Devil.” It’s fine. Not terrible. Not particularly exciting. Not offensive enough to be interesting. Just… fine.
This is absolutely something you could hear playing at a gay club at 3 a.m. while you’re drunk as hell and having the time of your life. But can’t the bar be a little higher than that?
Alaska has proven that she can make club music that’s funny, weird, catchy, and genuinely memorable. “Fine” shouldn’t be the goal.
Hot Gurl Finds Strength in Vulnerability
“Hot Gurl” is more interesting lyrically, particularly because it allows Alaska to be introspective in a way that doesn’t feel completely manufactured.
There is some vocal wailing here that starts out fine before becoming increasingly grating, but it’s not enough to completely sink the track. Which, unfortunately, seems to be the recurring theme of Brunette: there are genuinely interesting ideas here. The execution just keeps getting in their way…
Reflection Is Alaska’s Britney Moment — For Better or Worse
“Reflection” feels almost textbook in its construction. The production is polished pop down to its approximately 3:40 runtime, and there’s an early Britney Spears quality to it that makes the song immediately recognizable.
And Britney provides an interesting comparison. Britney was never considered a technically elite vocalist on paper, but she understood her instrument. Her voice became part of her identity rather than something she constantly needed to prove.
Alaska, meanwhile, sounds like she’s fighting against herself throughout most of Brunette. She’s trying so hard to become a serious vocalist that she loses some of the qualities that made her music interesting in the first place.
At its best, Alaska’s music doesn’t ask you to take her seriously. It asks you to have fun. Go back to “This Is My Hair” from Anus. Go back to “Come to Brazil” from Poundcake. Even the titles of those albums tell you something about what makes Alaska special. There’s wit baked directly into the concept.
Brunette doesn’t have that same spark. Instead, “Reflection” feels like a poor man’s “Vanish Into You” — and that is becoming another running theme with this album.
I F**king Love You — I F**king Don’t
And then we arrive at “I F**king Love You.” At least it means the album is over.
That’s a particularly depressing conclusion for an artist whose catalog has actually been enjoyable in the past. Brunette isn’t a disaster because Alaska suddenly forgot how to make music. It’s disappointing because of how easy it is to hear the good album buried underneath the reinvention.
“Revolution” has the wit. “Trixie” has the charm. “Hot Gurl” has the introspection. Even “Brunette” occasionally remembers that Alaska’s drawl is one of her greatest assets.
But too much of the album seems preoccupied with proving that Alaska can be a serious vocalist, a serious pop artist, a serious version of herself. Was anyone even asking for that?
Alaska’s greatest weapon has never been her ability to belt. It’s Alaska.
The humor. The ridiculousness. The filthy one-liners. The bizarre concepts. The knowing wink. The ability to make something genuinely catchy while also making you wonder what the hell you just listened to.
Brunette strips away too much of that personality in pursuit of an artistic reinvention that doesn’t feel nearly as compelling as the original. Let’s go get the bleach now, please. It’s time for the blonde comeback.
