Viv

It’s deeply disappointing—and frankly alarming—that Penguin Random House would greenlight the publication of Bake with Brooki, a cookbook now under fire for allegedly lifting content from multiple online creators without permission or attribution. Among the clearest cases is a recipe taken almost verbatim from Nagi Maehashi of RecipeTin Eats, a renowned figure in the food world whose work not only reaches millions but directly funds her charitable foodbank. This isn't just a question of plagiarism; it's an issue of ethics, trust, and the misuse of platform power. What’s even more concerning is Penguin’s response. Rather than publicly acknowledging the issue, they’ve denied the allegations and, without transparency, quietly republished a revised edition of the book—silently removing one of the disputed recipes. This sort of behavior undermines public confidence in publishing standards and further harms creators whose intellectual property has been taken without consent. The legal implications are significant: while ingredients lists alone may not be copyrightable, the creative expression of a recipe—its method, headnote, presentation, photography, and narrative—is absolutely protected under copyright law. The moral implications, however, cut even deeper. If Penguin permits a high-profile cookbook author like Brooke Bellamy to reproduce the work of someone as established as Nagi without clear consequences, what protections remain for small or emerging creators who lack the same platform to speak out? I strongly urge Penguin Random House to provide a full public explanation, conduct an internal review of their editorial standards, and implement safeguards to prevent this from happening again. Silence is not neutrality—it's complicity. To those seeking to understand the full scope of the issue, I highly encourage you to read Nagi’s full and detailed statement here: 🔗 https://www.recipetineats.com/bake-with-brooki-penguin-plagiarism-allegations-statement Support original creators. Hold publishers accountable.

As the last BLACKPINK member to make her solo comeback—before the group inevitably reunites—the pressure on JENNIE was undeniable. Following back-to-back releases from her bandmates, each carving their own distinct paths, expectations for JENNIE’s return were nothing short of immense. After all, she was the first member to go solo back in 2018, setting a high bar with SOLO that has lingered in the minds of fans and critics alike. But unsurprisingly, JENNIE not only held her own—she delivered a project that firmly reasserts her position as one of the most compelling solo artists in K-pop today. Much like her debut, JENNIE once again blows everyone out of the water with Ruby. But this time, there’s an undeniable sense of evolution. Ruby is bold, self-assured, and polished, yet it never loses the authenticity that has always set JENNIE apart. The album exudes confidence—not the kind that demands attention, but the kind that quietly commands it. From the first note to the last, it’s clear JENNIE understands exactly who she is as an artist and what she brings to the table. What makes Ruby stand out is its remarkable balance. It’s cohesive without being monotonous, varied without losing direction. JENNIE takes creative risks, blending R&B, pop, and hip-hop influences with her signature coolness, but there’s a consistent through-line that ties it all together: her voice, her vision, and her story. Knowing that JENNIE was deeply hands-on in the project—holding writing, composing, and producing credits—adds an extra layer of respect to the experience. This isn’t just a product of industry machinery; it’s a labor of love from an artist in control of her craft. With Ruby, JENNIE proves that the wait was more than worth it. She’s not just keeping up with her peers—she’s setting the standard for what a solo project can and should be. This comeback isn’t about meeting expectations; it’s about exceeding them in ways that feel authentic and lasting. And as the final piece in BLACKPINK’s solo era, Ruby makes a lasting statement: JENNIE is in a league of her own.

Jisoo’s Amortage was positioned as her chance to solidify her voice and vision as a solo artist. Unfortunately, it falls into familiar patterns that make it difficult to distinguish from her previous work—or from the broader BLACKPINK sound she’s already known for. Rather than carving out a unique musical identity, Amortage feels like a retread of ideas that we’ve heard before, and better executed elsewhere. Vocally, Jisoo has always had a distinct tone, but on this album, her delivery often borders on grating. Whether it’s due to the vocal processing or the melodies she’s working with, the vocals lack the warmth or nuance that could have brought more depth to these tracks. There’s an over-reliance on power notes and dramatic delivery, which can feel forced rather than expressive. The result is an album that’s difficult to listen to in its entirety without feeling fatigued. Musically, Amortage sticks closely to the polished, formulaic structure of mainstream K-pop. There’s nothing wrong with embracing genre conventions, but Jisoo doesn’t take any risks here. Many of the tracks sound nearly identical to her earlier singles—songs that were already criticized for sounding like derivative versions of her bandmate Jennie’s SOLO. The same formula is recycled: mid-tempo beats, predictable drops, and glossy but uninspired production choices. After a while, the songs blend together, offering little in the way of variety or innovation. What’s particularly disappointing is how safe Amortage plays it. For a project that could have been Jisoo’s opportunity to explore a more personal or experimental side, it instead stays firmly in the comfort zone of what’s expected from an idol release. The concepts, visuals, and choreography are all impeccably produced, but they feel like a continuation of the BLACKPINK brand rather than a reflection of who Jisoo is as an artist. Ultimately, Amortage is a forgettable entry in the growing list of solo debuts from BLACKPINK’s members. It offers nothing new, nothing distinct, and little reason to return for a second listen. For an artist of Jisoo’s stature, this is a disappointing effort that raises questions about where she goes from here—and whether she’ll ever be given (or take) the creative freedom to truly define her own sound.

Rosé’s Rosie arrives with the promise of depth and musicality, an opportunity to showcase her oft-touted status as BLACKPINK’s “musician.” Unfortunately, the album falls short of that expectation. What could have been a defining moment in her solo career instead feels like an uninspired attempt at singer-songwriter authenticity—one that lacks the lyrical substance, musical variety, and emotional resonance it sets out to achieve. At its core, Rosie suffers from a fundamental lack of lyricism. While there’s a clear effort to be personal and introspective, the songwriting rarely moves beyond the surface. Much of it "tells" rather than "shows," with lines that feel clunky and underdeveloped. Lyrics like “Tell me I’m relevant” don’t evoke vulnerability; they come off as awkward and self-conscious. It’s difficult to connect with the material when the words themselves feel so unpolished. For someone positioned as the artistic heartbeat of BLACKPINK, it’s disappointing to hear such uninspired, occasionally cringeworthy writing. Musically, the album leans heavily into acoustic pop and soft rock—a soundscape that draws clear influence from artists like Taylor Swift. But while Swift is known for her nuanced storytelling, Rosie offers little in the way of narrative depth or melodic complexity. The songs are pleasant but bland, with arrangements that are stripped-back to the point of monotony. After a few tracks, it becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish one song from the next. Instead of building a diverse, emotionally rich collection, Rosé plays it safe, resulting in a body of work that feels flat and one-dimensional. There is, however, one notable exception: the track APT, featuring Bruno Mars. It’s easily the most dynamic and memorable song on the album—an actual earworm that showcases what *Rosie* could have been with bolder production and stronger melodic hooks. Bruno Mars’s signature style brings much-needed energy to the track, but therein lies the problem: Rosé is overshadowed on her own song. While the collaboration adds variety, it also highlights how out of place APT feels within the context of the album. Rather than complementing the rest of the project, it exposes how uniform and repetitive the other tracks are. What could have served as a refreshing moment of contrast ends up feeling jarring because everything else on the album sounds so similar. In the end, Rosie feels like an opportunity wasted. There’s a clear desire to be seen as an authentic artist, but the execution lacks the maturity and craftsmanship to make that vision convincing. Given Rosé’s vocal talent and platform, there was so much more potential here—potential that, for now, remains untapped.

Lisa’s Alter Ego arrives with the weight of massive anticipation, but unfortunately, it struggles to carve out an identity separate from the sound she’s already known for. While fans were hoping for a bold reinvention, what Alter Ego delivers feels more like a rehash of the classic BLACKPINK formula—without the spark that made it exciting in the first place. The biggest issue lies in the album’s redundancy. Song after song leans heavily on the same braggadocious themes: wealth, status, and self-glorification. While confidence is Lisa’s signature, Alter Ego offers little nuance or depth beyond the surface-level flexing. There’s a missed opportunity here to explore different sides of her artistry or even her personal story. Instead, the lyrics are disappointingly shallow, often relying on clichés and generic lines that don’t leave much of an impression. Sonically, the album feels repetitive. The production sticks closely to the overused trap beats and bass-heavy drops we’ve heard countless times before, both in Lisa’s earlier solo work and BLACKPINK’s discography. Rather than pushing boundaries or experimenting with new genres, Alter Ego plays it safe. Most of the tracks blend into one another without any real standout moments, making the listening experience feel monotonous. Another glaring issue is the excessive use of autotune. While vocal effects can be an artistic choice, here they feel unnecessary and, at times, distracting. Alter Ego leans so heavily on processing that it strips away any organic quality from Lisa's delivery. This overuse of vocal effects, combined with repetitive production choices, makes the album feel overly polished yet strangely impersonal. Overall, Alter Ego is a missed opportunity for Lisa to break new ground as a solo artist. Rather than delivering an album that reflects growth or experimentation, it stays firmly within the confines of a formula that has already been done—and done better.