“21” by Adele

I take a look at the legacy of one of pop's most surprising, unprecedented blockbusters.

This album review takes a closer look at one of the most surprising, unprecedented hit records of all time for its 15th anniversary.

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Genre: Pop, R&B, Singer/Songwriter

Label: XL

Release Date: January 24, 2011

Vibe: 🥹

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👉 Click the GIF to stream the album on your favorite platform

It’s funny how hindsight works.

It reframes perspective, hopefully through clearer, more sober logic and reasoning, but almost always at the expense of the emotional viscera that makes memories so intense in the first place. In some cases, that’s a positive development, but, in the case of experiencing records like Adele’s 21 as it skyrocketed in global popularity in real time, hindsight can’t tell the whole story. Like, I could rattle off commercial achievements to demonstrate how successful this record was in its heyday, including the fact that it was the best-selling album in the world in both 2011 and 2012, with sales now north of 31 million units. You could add Platinum certifications (28 combined in the U.S. and the U.K.) or chart performance (it’s the best-performing LP in the history of the Billboard 200) to that mix, but none of those encapsulate just how many moments, private and public, these songs soundtracked. Tear-streaked car rides home after bad dates, late-night kitchen commiserations, or, improbably, sweaty nightclub dancefloors, where “Rolling in the Deep” became an anthem for women sick of the men who made them feel trapped.

That 21 became a runaway blockbuster in 2011 is a crucial detail. At that time, pop music was in the process of being swallowed whole by increasingly derivative (and grating) EDM singles like LMFAO’s “Party Rock Anthem” and Pitbull’s “Give Me Everything.” Even Maroon 5, who were still considered an alt-rock band beforehand, scored a hit with the diluted “Moves Like Jagger,” a signal of a brief but noticeable descent into surface sheen that lasted for several years. But Adele’s album was another beast entirely. The restrained, sometimes stark production wisely lets her one-in-a-generation voice stand front and center the entire time, sometimes defiantly and other times fragily. In either case, there’s no attempt to hide or mask what she’s going through. Instead, song after song, she works through lyrics that some critics dismissed as “bitter” (a take that was, predictably, perpetuated by men), and, um, yeah. That’s the point. It’s a breakup album about a woman grasping and clawing to take her agency back from a man who made her feel infinitesimally small, the agency she needs to move on with her life.

But there’s incredible depth and pathos, qualities that separate it from most other concept albums of its ilk. It’s not just anger. There are equal amounts of grief, pride, regret, and, finally, in the powerful closing showcase, “Someone Like You,” a beautiful, almost haunting acceptance. It’s as much an emotional guidebook as it is a roller coaster, inviting the listener to find solace and, eventually, self-love amid the wreckage. After listening to 21 again for the first time since its initial release, I’m reminded of how many lives Adele touched with her soul-bearing confessional. Entire Vegas divorce parties have been organized around hearing her sing these songs live, a level of dedication that’s brought the singer to tears during many a concert. “You bringing all of your friends is just so moving,” she told one woman who turned up with 14 of her friends to celebrate her emancipation. “Keep your friends close to you, because they’re better than any man,” she added to rapturous applause. That resonance feels like a much bigger accomplishment than [single-handedly reversing the downward trend in record sales](https://www.billboard.com/music/pop/2011-adele-revived-industry-year-8543158/#:~:text=Thanks in large part to,then-record 1.27 billion downloads.) back in 2011.

When Adele started writing 21, she was young, newly famous, and quickly coming undone. Her previous full-length effort, 19, had already established her as a talent to watch, buoyed by songs like “Make You Feel My Love.” Back then, she already did forlorn and lovesick well, primarily because of how controlled her vocal abilities were at such a young age. That said, the split that anchors the material on this record takes that seed of longing and fertilizes it with the kind of brash self-reckoning that can only come in your early 20s. In 2016, Adele revealed that she had been “completely off my face” while writing most of these songs, adding that “a drunk tongue is an honest one.” More than the exhibition of pain, what’s striking is how deftly she captures the slow realization that something wasn’t right in the relationship, even when the romance was at its most intoxicating. To pull that off, you need a certain amount of indulgence but also the presence of mind to cut through your own BS at the right moments.

Adele’s collaborators, including Grammy Winners Paul Epworth, Dan Wilson, Ryan Tedder, and Fraser T. Smith, deserve credit for helping package that sense of urgency and manic, despondent energy into songs that, years later, sound timeless. Part of the reason is that there are enough bops to offset the unflinching balladry that she’s become best known for. “Rolling in the Deep” endures as one of the century’s most captivating album openers because of how fun it is sonically. As her performance balloons from resignation to curdled rage in the span of a verse and a bridge, the arrangement morphs from a folky acoustic number to a full-blown stomp-clapper. There’s not much instrumental flash going on behind her voice, but there doesn’t need to be. When you have lines like, “Go ahead and sell me out, and I’ll lay your s*** bare,” you don’t need help getting over the finish line, as it were. Ditto for the Motown-inspired “Rumor Has It,” the funky, jazz-inflected deep cuts “He Won’t Let Go” and “I’ll Be Waiting.” The latter might even be the best-sounding record on this tracklist. As an album, 21 doesn’t work without these moments of stylistic levity, however acerbic the storytelling may be.

However, even as I write that, I say to myself, “Who am I kidding?” Like the highest peaks of Celine Dion, Barbra Streisand, or Ann Wilson’s respective discographies, the open-veined skyscrapers are the main attraction, and for good reason. Tracks like the underrated “One and Only” and the global smash “Set Fire to the Rain” showcase a pre-"Skyfall" Adele at her most theatrical. The drums hit harder behind her layered vocals, and the strings, which aren’t present on every song, add a widescreen scope. “Fire” in particular walks right up to the line where melodrama can shift to self-parody but, thankfully, never crosses it. Instead, the outsized metaphors are precisely the right vehicles to convey the loss of trust that comes with loving someone you know will hurt you. She explores similar territory on “Turning Tables,” a stunning moment of clarity where she articulates the evidence of emotional manipulation. Her composed performance of such stark, sad material gives me chills every time I hear it.

On a tracklist full of showstoppers, “Someone Like You” still has the power to knock you off your axis if you’re not careful. It’s a simple setup—piano and voice, that’s it—and yet few songs cut through your emotional defenses as effectively. It’s almost as if she’s reading a letter she’s about to send to her former love, not begging for his forgiveness or reconciliation, but telling him (and, by extension, herself) that she’s going to be okay. Somehow, somewhere, she’ll find another and live her own happily ever after. The rise and fall of the melody, punctuated by how her voice cracks toward the end, is relatable and human in a way that’s irreplicable. By giving her listeners permission to sit with unresolved feelings rather than tunnel around or through them, as Tim Robbins did in Shawshank, she forged a genuine connection. One that’s lasted for over a decade at this point and proved that sincerity can scale and touch millions in the deepest of ways. Adele didn’t reinvent or reinvigorate the heartbreak anthem. She simply told familiar stories honestly, without overembellishment or apology. We didn’t experience her breakup, but we all intuitively understand what she’s talking about. That universal throughline begets art that stays with you.

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What’s your favorite Adele track? Shout it out in the comments.