Item: Robbie Williams - BRITPOP
Rating: 4

Reviewer: Emma Swann

Released: 16th January 2026

Label: Columbia

The protracted release timeline for ‘BRITPOP’, international pop star (and sometime professional monkey) Robbie Williams’ thirteenth album proper might have done a number on the narrative offered upon its announcement, but, given that it was introduced as “the album that I wanted to write and release after I left Take That in 1995”, and with artwork depicting a now-iconic callback to Williams’ trip to Glastonbury that same year, ‘BRITPOP’ was, it would seem, always intended to sit simultaneously within two contexts - or, forgive us, thru two lenses.

It’s as much the singer’s first conventional album release in a decade (the choice of lead single from the sonically confused ‘The Heavy Entertainment Show’ seeming even more questionable in hindsight) as it is a sort of split-screen to run parallel with 1997 debut solo effort ‘Life Thru A Lens’. The good news is, he’s not mis-sold the record. It’s not necessarily one to be filed alongside ‘Parklife’ or ‘Definitely Maybe, but there’s a distinct whiff of the era’s wistfulness across ‘Human’ and ‘Spies’ - plus a cheeky repeated “hello” in ‘Pretty Face’ that’s surely a nod to the Oasis track of the same name. Interestingly, ‘Cocky’, the track that’s most ‘Britpop’ in its genesis - written with Supergrass frontman Gaz Coombes - instead offers the most of Robbie-the-showman in its glam-infused chorus.

His own late-’90s is mirrored most strongly in the warmly familiar ‘All My Life’, the bridge of ‘Spies’, the driving guitars of ‘Pretty Face’, and the more literal re-interpretation (“I have to smile when she offers me protection”) of ‘It’s OK Until The Drugs Stop Working’’s ‘90s-does-’60s vibe (think Spice Girls’ ‘Stop’ via vintage Hollywood). If an intention was to make the world forget ‘Rudebox’, then these are the kind of songs to do just that (justice for ‘Rudebox’!).

But if ‘BRITPOP’ is a record he’s “wanted”, but never been allowed - or allowed himself - to make (despite being one of the UK’s most successful musicians ever), then it’s surely in its slight curveballs where his original focus must lie. It’s also where the split-screen viewing - as ‘90s, as ‘20s - brings a contrast in context. ‘You’ mixes a classic Robbie big chorus with a verse that is, to post-’90s ears, equal parts the impassioned yelp of IDLES’ Joe Talbot and the cadence of Peaches’ turn-of-the-millennium breakthrough ‘Fuck the Pain Away’. The proto-rap delivery of ‘Bite Your Tongue’, meanwhile, sits within the post-Mike Skinner world and the recent wave of post-punk influenced sprechgesang. Should these work? On paper, probably not. But there’s a candour to how these present that suggests they derive less from a set of intentional decisions in order to ‘stay relevant’, and more from the hip hop and club music playing on Robbie’s ‘90s Walkman.

Whether this in turn translates to those who know mostly of ‘Angels’, Sinatra covers and tabloid headlines, who knows: his turn alongside Maxi Jazz on 1 Giant Leap’s ‘My Culture’ - which falls in a similar place to these - fell fast from national consciousness, after all. But they exude a distinct lightness - which in turn reflects across the rest of the record - that here he’s running less on the expectations of others, and more on instinct.

And then there’s the song about which most will probably be said: ‘Morrissey’, written with former Take That bandmate - and ex-nemesis - Gary Barlow. On announcement, the existence of this (ie: ‘Robbie taking a swipe at the infamously bristly figure via song’) sounded unsurprising, not least given that the former Smiths frontman’s name trends almost every time Robbie appears on British TV. For the reputationally strait-laced Gary, it was infinitely more left-field. Crooning “Morrissey… Is talking to me in code” over a disco beat and twinkly ‘80s synths reads, much like the song’s entire premise, as a recipe for disaster - but perhaps thanks to that chintzy production, the balance of sincerity and knowing wink with which it’s delivered (“I’m isolated, deserted and friendless / But the beat goes on, and it feels tremendous”) lands with a deliciously wry smirk.

So it’s not exactly the work of the cheeky chap that’s depicted on its cover - for one, he’s nowhere near ready for the reflection of ‘It’s OK Until The Drugs Stop Working’. But, via taking a look back, ‘BRITPOP’ might just have shown Robbie a few glances forward.

Tags: Album Reviews, Reviews, Columbia, Robbie Williams