Jessie Ware – “Superbloom”

The album opens with The Garden Prelude, a cinematic breath before the body starts moving; it’s not a song as much as a soft curtain lift, setting up the whole goddess-in-a-modern-club mythology Jessie is playing with here. Then I Could Get Used To This arrives like instant serotonin: glossy disco-pop with that effortless Jessie Ware vocal glide that makes even the simplest sentiment feel like a main character moment. It’s pure romance in motion, the kind of track that makes you nod like “Yeah, I’d absolutely fall in love on a dancefloor.” Some listeners have said it loses a bit of replay impact over time, but in context it still works as a sparkling entry point.

The title track Superbloom leans deeper into the concept; it’s lush, floral, and slightly theatrical, like stepping into a myth where love is both garden and storm. Ware has talked about inspiration drawn from goddess imagery and connection, and you can feel that self-mythologising energy here without it ever becoming too self-serious. Then Automatic hits, and suddenly we’re in full-body groove mode; this is one of the standout moments, co-produced with regular collaborator James Ford alongside names like Barney Lister and Stuart Price, who brings that polished, club-ready edge he’s known for after working across massive pop and electronic projects. The track feels sleek and instinctive, built around desire that doesn’t need explanation, just movement.

Chariots of Love Interlude briefly breaks things open again, almost like a VHS transition between emotional chapters, before Sauna turns the heat all the way up. This one is sweaty, playful, and a little unhinged in the best way; it’s camp disco with a wink, the kind of song that knows exactly what it’s doing with tension and release. It’s also one of those tracks that divides people slightly, some calling it a highlight, others feeling it leans a bit too familiar sonically, but it undeniably sticks in your head. Then Mr Valentine keeps the flirtation going, mixing cheeky confidence with that classic Jessie vocal control that always sounds like she’s smirking through the microphone.

Love You For slows things down into something smoother and more intimate; R&B textures slip in under the disco sheen, and it feels like the album exhaling. It’s not trying to be the loudest moment, just one of the most tender. Ride shifts gears again into something more cinematic and playful, famously sampling Ennio Morricone’s iconic The Good, the Bad and the Ugly theme. It shouldn’t work on paper, but in practice it gives the track this weird western-disco crossover energy that feels surprisingly natural in Jessie’s world. It’s one of those songs that feels designed for big stages and flashing lights, even if it doesn’t fully reinvent her sound.

Don’t You Know Who I Am? is pure diva theatre; there’s a sense of confrontation in it, like she’s stepping into a spotlight and refusing to shrink. Some of the production choices lean a bit dramatic, and depending on taste, the chorus either lands as powerful or slightly overstuffed, but the vocal performance carries it regardless. Then 16 Summers drops the tempo completely: a stripped, emotional piano-led moment that reflects on time, motherhood, and watching life move faster than you can hold it. It’s one of the most grounded songs here, and emotionally it hits where it needs to.

In the final stretch, No Consequences brings back the groove with shimmering confidence, built on layered production that leans into big, almost euphoric choruses, though this is where the album starts to feel slightly less sharp compared to its opening run. Mon Amour closes everything out like a soft fade into a warm night; it’s romantic, glowing, and designed to leave you floating rather than crashing down.

Across the album, Jessie’s voice remains the undeniable centrepiece; smooth, powerful, and always slightly theatrical in a way that makes even the simplest line feel intentional. She’s working with a strong production team here: James Ford returning as a key creative anchor, Barney Lister and Karma Kid adding modern disco polish, Jon Shave bringing pop precision, and Stuart Price layering in that club-informed sophistication. Mixing by Ben Baptie, whose credits span artists like Sault, Little Simz, and Adele, helps keep everything sonically rich and cohesive even when the album moves between moods.

Still, Superbloom isn’t flawless, and it doesn’t really try to be. There’s a quiet debate running through it; some moments feel like Jessie playing slightly safer within a sound she’s already mastered, especially in the second half, where a few tracks don’t hit with the same immediate impact as her previous peak-era disco records. But when it works, it really works. Superbloom is still a lush, sensual, beautifully performed record that understands exactly what Jessie Ware does best: turning desire, intimacy, and confidence into music that feels both classic and contemporary. It might not always push the boundaries of her disco world, but it definitely deepens it. And even in its quieter or safer moments, it still sounds like someone completely in control of their own universe, glowing, dancing, and refusing to let the night end too early.