From the depressed self-medication documented in the emo-rap scene to the soul-baring by the likes of Ariana Grande and Selena Gomez, we’re living in an age of radical transparency in pop – and no one is more open than Ashley Frangipane, AKA 25-year-old singer Halsey.
Her third album features Without Me, which reached No 1 in the US and spent an entire year in the charts, partly thanks to its catchiness and voguish opiated trap production, partly thanks to the bracing specificity of its lyrics, which castigated her famous rapper ex G-Eazy. It’s that specificity that powers Manic, too. Where pop has historically painted with broad brushstrokes in songs that could pertain to anyone, Halsey uses a finely sharpened nib. “I’m so glad I never ever had a baby with you / cause you can’t love nothing unless there’s something in it for you”; “Nobody loves you, they just try to fuck you / and put you on a feature on the B-side” – no one is actually named, but these lines make you sympathetically wince nonetheless. The latter is from the gorgeous closer 929, which also finds Halsey longing “for my father to finally call me” – by this point it feels like you’re crying after stealing a look at her diary when she went out for more wine.
Her lyrical confidence is matched by the characterful production, which straddles R&B, country, trashy pop-rock, Kacey Musgraves-ish cosmic Americana and more; I Hate Everybody is like a gothic showtune. The interludes with star guests – Alanis Morrisette, BTS’s Suga – are frustrating, nearly done sketches, but otherwise this is that rare thing: a major label pop album with real drama and humanity.
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