More than two decades after bursting onto the pop scene, Willa Ford returns with amanda, a record that feels less like a comeback and more like a personal exhale. Ford has been open about the fact that the album “was never supposed to happen,” describing how music unexpectedly resurfaced in her life during a period of personal trial. That sense of rediscovery runs through amanda, an album that oscillates between unapologetic pop excess and surprisingly vulnerable reflection.
From the outset, Ford makes it clear she hasn’t returned quietly. “Burn Burn” is a fiery declaration of self-ownership, its confident pop swagger echoing the Y2K sensibility that first made her a household name. But beneath the catchy gloss is a pointed message: a call to burn down the shame that society places on queer love, on working mothers, and on anyone pushed to apologise for simply living their truth. It’s a defiant tone-setter, positioning Ford not just as a returning pop voice, but as one with something to say.
That sense of unapologetic energy flows straight into “Flex,” which practically drips with playful sensuality. Built on animalistic metaphors and a sly sing-talk chorus – complete with the memorable line about getting “a new tattoo, cover up an ex or two” – the track is pure attitude. The repetition of its title gives it the feel of a club chant, and it’s easy to imagine the song evolving into a queer dancefloor favourite.
Yet Ford doesn’t stay in one emotional lane for long. “Disassociate” pairs shimmering ’80s-style synths with a power-pop chorus, but its buoyant sound sits in stark contrast with the song’s deeper themes of trauma and emotional escape. That tension between sound and subject matter becomes one of the album’s most compelling tricks, hinting at the complicated emotional landscape beneath its glossy surface.
Elsewhere, Ford leans fully into pop decadence. “Money Honey” is gleefully materialistic, with its repeated “I wanna be rich” hook delivering a knowingly bratty thrill. It almost feels like the sonic spoiled sibling to “Flex,” doubling down on the album’s flirtation with camp excess.
But just when amanda seems comfortable in its playful chaos, Ford swerves. “Hammer” is one of the album’s most delightfully unpredictable tracks, its dreamy verses recalling the sunlit harmonies of Pet Sounds-era The Beach Boys before exploding into a handclap-driven, bad-bitch chorus. The same adventurous spirit appears again in “Carousel,” which drifts between lush orchestration and shifting tempos, turning a reflection on life’s unpredictability into something sweeping and cinematic.
The album’s softer moments provide welcome breathing space. “Safe With Me” strips things back to minimal production and airy layered vocals that almost resemble a choir. It’s a gentle, comforting track that feels like an embrace, with Ford promising reassurance in the simple refrain that “everything will be alright.” In a different way, “Love4Life” captures a similar emotional warmth, bathing its euphoric sentiment in shimmering ’80s synth textures.
Ford also proves she hasn’t lost her knack for pop hooks. “Broke Broke Broke” thrives on its simplicity, its glitchy electropop production and relentlessly repeated chorus – “do you know know know… you broke broke broke my heart?” – making heartbreak oddly danceable. Meanwhile, “1×1” leans fully into club-ready territory with pounding beats and hands-in-the-air energy, the sort of straightforward pop anthem designed for pure movement.
Still, amanda finds its emotional centre in its ballads. “How Do You Like Me Now” opens with stirring orchestral strings before unfolding into a lush, reflective moment of self-reclamation. Ford sings about a past relationship that tried to diminish her, only to return with the biting confidence of someone who has moved beyond it.
By the time the album reaches “Tombstone,” the mood has shifted entirely. The closing track is quiet, reflective, and unexpectedly beautiful – a meditation on mistakes, growth, and the act of making peace with one’s past. It feels like the emotional thesis of the album: not an attempt to erase what came before, but to acknowledge it and move forward.
For an album Ford insists was never meant to exist, amanda feels remarkably intentional. It’s playful, messy, glamorous, vulnerable, and occasionally strange – but that’s precisely what makes it compelling. Rather than chasing the sound of her early 2000s success, Ford seems more interested in embracing the person she is now. And in doing so, she’s created a pop record that feels both nostalgic and surprisingly alive.
THREE AND A HALF STARS (OUT OF FIVE)
amanda is now available through Willa Ford Music, LLC.
