Bruno Mars finally put out The Romantic, his first solo album in ten years, and he opens it with mariachi horns like he is about to announce a reinvention.
Risk It All leans into bolero melodrama straight away. Nylon string guitar, swelling strings, horns that sound like they were polished before they were played. Mars drops the funk flirtation and goes full crooner, singing like he means every syllable. For a minute, you think he might actually turn the ship somewhere new.
He doesn’t. Not really.
Within a few tracks, the album settles into the familiar Bruno template. Tight funk grooves. Horn stabs placed with engineer precision. Background vocals stacked just so. It all sounds expensive, like it was rehearsed for weeks before anyone hit record.
He has always been brilliant at channelling other eras. Elvis as a kid. Then Morris Day, Prince, late-era Motown, Philly soul. He studies the details, the inflections, the way a chorus lifts, and he gets them right every time. That is also the problem.
I Just Might is the centrepiece. Bright, buoyant, built around a groove that feels like it has lived in the culture for decades. The melody rises exactly when you expect it to. The gang vocals feel engineered for a dance floor with an open bar. It is catchy, but so familiar that your brain starts scanning for the original.
That feeling repeats. On On My Soul, the rhythm struts with clear nods to classic soul, horns punching through with a glossy sheen. Cha Cha Cha dips into a Latin dance pulse, congas snapping crisply, a playful lilt in the chorus. When the percussion locks in and the groove relaxes, something loosens up and the record briefly feels like it is not trying so hard.
The production is immaculate, as always. Mars co-wrote and co-produced everything with longtime collaborators including D Mile and James Fauntleroy. The drums are crisp without being harsh. The bass sits warm in the centre. Guitars shimmer but never scrape.
And his voice is still ridiculous. He can pivot from clean and crystalline to a rougher rasp in half a bar. On Why You Wanna Fight? he leans into that grit and suddenly there is friction. It feels less like homage and more like him, even if that version of him is still wearing someone else’s suit.
The lyrics are where things thin out. Love, forever, destiny, devotion. Big feelings in broad strokes. Nothing Left reaches for the kind of emotional punch he once delivered without blinking, but the details never quite land. The strings swell. He belts. You admire the technique without feeling a thing.
The Latin flourishes keep returning, a Spanish count-off here, a bolero guitar figure there, rhythms that flirt with salsa and bossa. They are pleasant. They do not add up to anything.
Ten years between solo records is an eternity in pop, but Mars has hardly been absent. Silk Sonic with Anderson Paak. Duets with Lady Gaga and Rosé. Vegas residencies. The Romantic does not feel like a comeback because he never vacated the stage. It feels more like a maintenance check.
That would be easier to swallow if the record ever felt slightly out of control. If a chorus went too far. If a bridge collapsed under its own ambition. Instead, everything is contained. Even the flirtier songs play it safe. Even the ballads feel calibrated.
You can hear how good he still is. A vocal run that lifts the room. A rhythmic pocket that snaps perfectly into place. There are moments where it almost gets away from him, and those are the best ones.
Put this on at a wedding and it will do its job. The horns will sparkle, the groove will land, and you might catch yourself humming a chorus on the drive home, wondering why it feels so close to something you already knew.
The Romantic is out now via Atlantic Records.
