Album Review: My Face Hurts from Smiling by Lizzo

This three-day project finds Lizzo rapping as if she’s racing against a deadline, not chasing inspiration. What was billed as a carefree flex feels more like a public statement drafted under pressure.

Courtesy of Nice Life/Atlantic.

It feels wrong to be holding a new Lizzo tape. Even though she broke out virally in 2019, she now comes across as the last time-warped outpost of the Obama years. “Truth Hurts” and “Juice” are still solid songs, yet her upbeat, candy-coated empowerment never quite matched a pop landscape numbed by Xanax malaise. A few more years have passed; Lizzo was drawn into a workplace-harassment scandal, shed a great deal of weight with Ozempic, and returns wearing a forced, toothy grin. My Face Hurts From Smiling sounds as if she has inched closer to the world’s gloom, but rather than channel that into her work, we get forty minutes of the clearest denial in recent music history.

To be fair, this is the only mixtape that arrives before the album. A viral freestyle apparently pushed her back into rapping, and she knocked this project out in three days. Still, it is striking that she sees such an uninspired finger exercise as worth releasing. When the very concept already feels defensive—“look how silly we’re being, it’s just fun”—that can’t be a good omen. She is free to take that route, yet nothing here feels fun. My Face Hurts From Smiling presents a creatively drained Lizzo hiding behind stock affirmations. The past few years and the public debate around her clearly weigh on her, but she never addresses them head-on. Everything that might have added intrigue sinks into half-intended subtext, leaving a grating listen.

She is still “that bitch,” still the coolest—at least in her own lines. Girl-boss slogans and clumsy bars steamroll any hint of feeling. “Come get a hug, sexy little thug/Back it on up like a U-Haul truck,” she raps on “Droppin On It.” Similar couplets show up everywhere. The freestyles are mechanically tidy, yet she never drops anything vital onto Zaytoven’s pop-leaning beats. The result is a flat monotone that flirts with cringeworthy throughout. Beyond that come the gimmicks. “New Mistakes” lifts Beethoven’s “Für Elise” for its hook. “Left Right” rides a bargain-bin West Coast beat while half-ironically singing over it. Lizzo musters a hint of effort only for guest turns from SZA and Doja Cat; the rest plays on autopilot.

It is ironic because her previous records hardly lacked personality. The viral “Yitty On Yo Tittys” freestyle gave her the first positive buzz in months, and she now seems ready to recycle that formula endlessly. By the end, she sounds like the family-party aunt who thinks she is funnier than everyone else does. Why, then, this tape? On paper, it resembles Megan Thee Stallion’s Something for Thee Hotties, which was mediocre to start with, yet for Lizzo, it is not even a back-to-basics move. It is supposed to be a venture into a new sound. If a fresh lane sparks so little creativity and feels this emotionally dishonest, it does not bode well for her next studio album. Even the title feels forced enough to suggest that not even Lizzo knows how Lizzo is meant to fit after 2025.

Subpar (★★☆☆☆)

Favorite Track(s): “New Mistakes,” “IRL”