Gwen Stefani brings pop sheen to the country.

In a year where Beyoncé and Post Malone have turned out country hits, Gwen Stefani’s Bouquet feels surprising but not shocking. Sitting amongst a field of sliding guitars, inoffensive drums, and tucked away synths, Stefani is here to convey only one idea: she is in love with country superstar husband Blake Shelton. 

As Stefani laments, a heavenly love indeed, “I’ve been to church, but you were the first one to show me what it means to be faithful” on “Empty Vase.” For a song title that contradicts its album’s name, the intrigue is squashed upon arrival, as Stefani sings, “You went and filled this empty vase with flowers.” One of country music’s staples is its storytelling, yet Bouquet is filled with unspecific and cliched lyrics that outline the shape of love without breathing it into life. Stefani touches each song concerning flowers, then heavy-handedly throws in five more floral metaphors instead of allowing them time to bloom. This repetitive approach to lyrics may work in a pop context, where the beat and production take up more space than the words, but it feels lifeless and tired on Bouquet. 

Through the album’s 10 tracks, Stefani wanders through her relationship’s memory lane to face Shelton on “Purple Irises.” Billed as a duet, Shelton’s fiery vocal performance in the second verse adds a much-needed boost of energy to the song, which makes it a shame that he is relegated to background vocals for the majority of the tune. Stefani has always been a competent vocalist, convincing enough for the indie-punk youthfulness of “Don’t Speak,” the blaring shouts of “Hollaback Girl,” and everything in between. On Bouquet, however, she seems to settle on a straight, nasal tone that emphasizes the brittleness of her voice, contrasting the tracks that mainly consist of a warm bed of guitar plucks. She does not sound bad, but perhaps out of place.

Bouquet was created with the purest intention of celebrating a love that has changed Stefani’s life. After all, music is a reflection of the creator, and there is nothing wrong with being in love. Stefani acknowledges love in its calmest form, amongst marigolds and dahlias, pickup trucks, and churches. But where Bouquet falls flat is that it never tells us why this love is unique—it simply asserts that it is. It is a bold and scary claim to call somebody the love of your life, but the album strips away that tension, wallpapering over it with colorful flowers. Bouquet is a pleasant listen, and fans of Stefani will no doubt find solace in the singer’s joy. Still, its meandering pace and constant platitudes can give it a fatiguing quality that irritates rather than captivates.