Halsey establishes her matriarchy with no forgiveness on "If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power."

Halsey claims the throne with no forgiveness on her mature and striking fourth studio effort, If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power.

Halsey, born Ashley Nicolette Frangipane, came to stardom in 2015 with the release of her debut Badlands, and the chart success of several singles such as “New Americana,” “Colors,” and just a year later, “Closer” with then-pop superstars The Chainsmokers. Halsey’s vocal abilities made her an immediate stand-out in the mainstream side of pop genre for better or worse; she was energetic and passionate, yet carried an odd breathy, affliction in her voice that modified vowels listlessly, thus leading the way to her becoming the figurehead of the “indie singer voice” stereotype of that time. Yet, apart from her commercial appeal and vocal identity, much of Halsey’s musical output was forgettable, with most of its deep-rooted issues being due to Halsey’s songwriting abilities, or complete lack there of.

Halsey’s efforts for the first half of her career (concerning her debut and sophomore effort Hopeless Fountain Kingdom) were written as concept records; each album told its own story and took place in fantasy worlds that were but a figment of Frangipane’s imagination. Sure, both albums boasted visual aspects that illustrated cohesive themes, but Halsey left much to be desired when attempting to tell an auditory story throughout the duration of those records.

The songs on both Badlands and Hopeless Fountain Kingdom discuss topics typical to pop music, whether that be love, loss, or longing, with no clear sense of thematic or sonic cohesion to pull them together as one singular story and body of music. There was not nearly enough innovation present in Halsey’s lyrical themes and wordplay to give her music its own sense of identity, and the lackluster production choices only aided in ensuring that neither of these efforts felt worthy of revisting; the instrumentals were indicative of the dark-tinged, percussion-based pop production of the mid to late 2000s, while Halsey’s melodies ranged from sorrowful and melodic mopes, to rap-influenced deliveries that showcased her “bars,” so to speak. However, when 2019’s Manic boasted a newly revitalized Halsey that wasn’t so focused on creating an elaborate, storybook album, listeners were finally given an introduction to the person hiding behind the anagram, while showing her influences of alternative rock, K-pop, and country all on her sleeve. Now, Halsey has returned with a new record written amidst her pregnancy with her first child, and her statement demands no introduction: if she cannot have love, she wants power.

From the very grim piano line that welcomes listeners on introductory track “The Tradition,” it is very clear that Halsey’s artistic focus has sharpened since the release of her last project. “Take what you want, take what you can, take what you please, don’t give a damn. Ask for forgiveness, never permission,” Halsey laments in a smoky timbre, immediately setting the scene for the themes that can be found within the DNA of every track on the record. The production handled by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross of Nine Inch Nails fame is dynamic and biting, evolving from soft pianos to orchestral swells that highlight the phenomenal detail present in Halsey’s layered vocal melodies. “Bells in Santa Fe” is a logical progression from “The Tradition” whose descending synth patterns and distorted, percussive outro hints at the unrelenting anger of later tracks on the record such as “Easier than Lying” and “Whispers.” This album sounds dramatic, vehement, and extremely opulent.

Instrumentally, the record shows Halsey going far beyond her comfort zone of electropop. Reznor and Ross’ production choices are characteristically cinematic, off-kilter, and biting which ensures a dynamic and cohesive sound from beginning to end. The low-key tracks such as “Darling” and “Ya’aburnee” are grounded in delicate, organic instrumentation that allows for the focus to be on Halsey’s vocals and the message of unconditional love and affection that she is dedicating to her just-budding family.

“Honey” and “You asked for this” are Frangipane’s love letters to 2000s alternative rock, reminscent of earlier acts such as Bloc Party and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, with an edge of modernity that is ever present in the vast majority of Halsey’s material. This dichotomy between an aggressive approach and a more melancholic, introspective sound perfectly encapsulates the thematic arc presented over the duration of the album as Frangipane second-guesses herself, pondering: do I truly want power?

While the songs based in rock are certainly among the album’s most memorable moments (“Honey” boasts one of the stickiest and most commercially-viable hooks on the entire record), they also happen to be the album’s most challenged moments sonically. In sections the instrumentals feel far too thin and compressed, namely on the verses of “You asked for this” and the entirety of “The Lighthouse.” While the compression isn’t necessarily impactful enough to make the tracks unlistenable, the over-processing harms the raw impact of the hooks and makes the compositions feel much less dynamic overall. There is no clear musical evolution to “The Lighthouse” despite it being one of the most haunting songs on the project; “I’m glad I met the Devil ‘cause he showed me I was weak, and a little piece of him is in a little piece of me,” Halsey croons during the bridge as a distorted, sludgy guitar riff continues to propel the narrative further.

However, Reznor and Ross’ greatest moments on the record come in the form of the feverish anthems “Girl is a Gun” and lead single “I am not a woman, I’m a god.” Evocative of Nine Inch Nails’ own influential work such as Pretty Hate Machine and “The Perfect Drug,” “Girl is a Gun” is agitated and composed of skittering industrial drum and synthesizer patterns that are sure to challenge many listeners. The track’s playfulness is only furthered by Halsey’s sarcastic lyrics about her failed relationships; “I’m not your daydream, I won’t have your baby… I come loaded with the safety switched off,” Halsey notes, before insisting the listener to “let me show you how to touch my trigger.” It’s clever, animated, and sinister, much like Reznor’s greatest works. “I am not a woman, I’m a god” is just as percussive as “Girl is a Gun,” crescendoing from an odd, wooping bass line into huge walls of staccatoed synth arrangements of harkens back to Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer.” Every facet of Reznor and Ross’ producing capabilities is explored and celebrated on If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power, making for an exciting and varied experience from beginning to end.

However dynamic the record is instrumentally, much of If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power’s success is due to Halsey herself. From the start of the somber introductory track “The Tradition,” Halsey sings with a newfound sense of vigor, as she strings together themes of matriarchy, insecurity, and the anger that comes along with acceptance. If Manic was Ashley introducing herself to her audience, If I Can’t Have Love… is a statement on the woman that she is leaving behind as she enters motherhood. “I’m only whatever you make me, and you make me more and more a villain every day. But you don’t know, you reap, you sow, whatever you give to me,” Halsey asserts on the unrelenting “Easier than Lying,” a statement against a scorned lover that also hints at Frangipane’s frustrations with her public perception.

“Whispers” and “Lillith” address the topics of mental health with a self-deprecating angle that has been a common trope in Halsey’s older material. Both songs carry a more rap-influenced, flow-based delivery, which serves as a stark contrast towards many of the stylistic decisions Frangipane made with the vocal arrangements on the remainder of the project. While quite forgettable vocally, Reznor and Ross keep listeners engaged through these lulls in the track list by toying with her vocals, highlighting specific words and phrases with filters and effects to further develop the relentless darkness present in Halsey’s prose.

Whereas her past projects had the habit of meandering thematically before they came to their conclusions, Halsey’s voice is uncharacteristically focused on this record as she explores the very juxtaposition that is knowing love and having power. “Ya’aburnee,” an Arabic term that translates to “you bury me,” concludes the album with one of the most vulnerable moments of Halsey’s discography. “…Love is just a currency, so take my pockets, take me whole,” Ashley coos to her lover and son, illustrating that she has managed to heal from the feelings of rage and discontent that she expressed earlier in the track list. It is this narrative arc, the embrace of both light and darkness, that makes Frangipane’s story so distinctive and cathartic.

Overall, If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power is a bold artistic statement from an artist that many critics once wrote off as a fad product of the millennial pop scene. Halsey has managed to expel her demons into a compelling and cohesive record that depicts her exponential growth as not only a singer, songwriter and performer, but as a human being, a woman, and most importantly, a mother.

8/10