Pom Pom Squad - Death Of A Cheerleader (LP)

Pom Pom Squad’s debut album arrives with a title that dares you to underestimate it. Death of a Cheerleader landed on June 25, 2021 through City Slang, the kind of debut that announces Mia Berrin as a songwriter who can turn teenage iconography into a scalpel. The Brooklyn band had been building heat for a while, but here the vision snaps into focus. It’s the sound of crushed velvet and locker room tiles, of bubblegum stuck to a Doc Marten. You can hear the history lesson baked in, yet the writing and the delivery feel fully lived, not cosplay.

Start with “Lux,” a single that tips its bow to Lux Lisbon from The Virgin Suicides. That nod matters. Berrin isn’t just borrowing an aesthetic. She’s pulling at the thread of how girls get watched, judged, and mythologized, then tying it to fuzzed guitars and the kind of chorus that lights up a small club. “Head Cheerleader” doubles down on the idea. It strides in with a grin, flips the uniform inside out, and turns the pep-rally image into a manifesto about identity and power. The visuals around this record echo that push and pull too, folding in bright color and movie references like But I’m a Cheerleader while the songs poke at the darker corners those films danced around.

What makes the album stick is how sharp the dynamics feel. Berrin can go from teeth-bared catharsis to a vulnerable whisper in a blink, and the band follows with tight, unfussy playing. The guitars are crunchy but not sludge, the drums punch hard without overstaying the moment, and the vocals sit right on top, clear and direct. It’s rooted in 90s alt-rock and riot grrrl, sure, but there’s doo-wop sweetness in some harmonies and a classic pop sensibility in the hooks. That blend lets the record hit like a late-night confession that also works as a singalong, which is trickier than it sounds.

A lot of critics picked up on that balance. When Pitchfork and Stereogum highlight the same release for its craft and bite, you know something’s cutting through. Fans were already primed from earlier singles and a reputation for sweaty, cathartic shows, but the album gives you a fuller palette. It’s not all sneer and static. There are moments where the arrangement pulls back so a line can land with that extra sting, and the sequencing keeps the temperature changing just enough to keep you leaning forward. Even on the first listen, it feels mapped for the stage.

I keep coming back to the way Berrin uses character and costume without losing the thread of what hurts and heals. The cheerleader motif isn’t a gimmick. It’s a mirror, a way to talk about desire, fear, rage, and joy while playing with how pop culture packages girls for public consumption. There’s a reason the record resonates with listeners who grew up on both Sleater-Kinney and Sofia Coppola. It sits in that intersection where mood meets message, where a killer pre-chorus can carry the same weight as a thesis statement.

If you’re after the tactile thrill, the Death of a Cheerleader vinyl pressing is worth hunting down. The guitars feel a hair wider, the low end hits a bit rounder, and the vocal grit shows up in a pleasing way when the needle drops. I’ve seen it move fast at my local shop, the kind of Melbourne record store where kids ask if there are any Pom Pom Squad albums on vinyl behind the counter. You can buy Pom Pom Squad records online, but grabbing a copy in person feels right, the sleeve art buzzing in your hands while you talk shop about favorite tracks. For readers in the southern hemisphere, plenty of spots that specialize in vinyl records Australia have carried it too, which says something about how wide the appeal has stretched beyond the Brooklyn bubble.

It’s easy to romanticize debut albums that swing big, but this one earns the halo. Death of a Cheerleader shows a band that understands pop structure, guitar heft, and the messy tangle of coming-of-age stories. It isn’t nostalgia bait. It’s a reclamation. If you’re building a shelf with recent indie essentials, line it up next to your Snail Mail and illuminati hotties titles, then file a note to snag more Pom Pom Squad vinyl as it comes. Because this record doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like the first real cheer, shouted from center court, pom-poms dropped, no apology in sight.