This one might require some breathing exercises before we begin.
*inhale*
*exhale*
Alright, let’s talk about Ego Death At A Bachelorette Party then.
*deep breath*
Because this isn’t just an album – yes, we can now call it an album, put down that pitchfork. It’s not even just Hayley Williams’ “best solo work” (though let’s be for real, it is). It’s something heavier. Stickier. The kind of record that crawls under your skin and just… sits there, whispering things you don’t really want to hear, but maybe deep down, you know you’ve needed to. It’s a soundtrack of heartbreak, resilience, growth, and all the messy in-betweens. The soundtrack of being human, one could say, because it sure ticks all the boxes of existential angst and wonder.
Truth be told, I had to stop halfway through my first listen. Not because it was bad but simply because it was too much. And that doesn’t happen often. Or at all. Yeah, that much.
Have you ever heard an album that felt like echoing your own voice? The words of a stranger so relatable that the ache you feel has never felt more real? Like staring at your own shadow? That’s this kind of record.
And maybe that’s not everyone’s experience, but I’m a woman, roughly the same age as Hayley, and lordy, she sure left me emotionally drained, reminding me of the path life can carve in us. And if that’s not you, you’ll probably feel the same anyway – she’s just that good at making stuff relatable, to an extent that is slightly disturbing even. What’s your voodoo, girl?
Anyway, back to the actual thing.
*exhale*
Hayley first released those 17 songs (now 18. Soon 20. Damn.) as distinct singles, and it was already a lot separately in more sense than one. After calling for all the smarty fans to make sense of it all, our two-apple-tall favorite girlie finally settled on an order. Kinda, I guess. Anyways – that’s the freaking genius of it. You’ll listen to this version of EDAABP and it will tell you that one story. Switch one or two songs around, and the whole narrative will take a 360 turn. And that’s probably what made this review borderline impossible to write, for the simple reason that it broke my brain to think of the endless possibilities of what it could actually be. The most complex puzzle where all the pieces could fit together, but the shades are slightly off – or are they? Oh, and you’re missing the last ones, too. Ha. Fun. Thanks, H.
So let’s not overthink it for now – Alexa play Liar please – and (try) to focus on the songs rather than what it could, could not, may, may not, but what if, nah, fuck that, all mean. Yeah. Good good.
*inhale deeply*
It kicks off with Ice in my OJ, and damn, those beats sound good. I scared you over nothing with my stupid breathing exercises you tell me. HA. Well, very quickly, you’ll realize how deceptively sweet it is, like those freaking Sour Patch Kids. Fizzy on the surface, sour underneath. The duality is immediate. The bops gently swooning around the screams, a kind of conviction wrapped around fragility. SHE’S IN A BAND SHE’S IN A BAND your mind starts screaming in half agony. See? Forget sweet. There’s already something raw grabbing you by the throat and by the time the outro fades, you know you’re in for a trip that’s both glitter-covered and razor-edged.
Glum hits, and suddenly you’re having one of these days (do you ever feel so alone), lying on your bed in the dark (that you could implode), door shut, everything sucks (and no one would know?), and once again asking yourself what the hell any of this means. Existential dread disguised in velvety vocals. You’re chasing life, or whatever that is, even when you don’t know what life is. And you don’t even need to know – because she’s right there whispering it to you. All the truths you’ve ever been too afraid to utter in case they turn out to be real.(does anyone know if this is normal?)
Kill me comes next – I mean, may as well, because I’m already spiraling after two songs – no pretending, no bullshit, just a large dose of honesty that hits too true. Another bop on the surface, and a bass line to damn yourself for, urging you to break the cycle – but where does that stupid cycle end and start is another story. A deep dive into those hollow words people tell you when you’re suffering and the lies you tell yourself just to survive. It’s uncomfortable. Fuck, it’s devastating. I’m never getting up from that bed. And that’s okay too some days. There’s a sense of freedom in acknowledging it.
By the time Whim rolls in, the record starts whispering about love. Not the netflix kind, but the terrifying “I want to trust again but I don’t trust myself” kind. That touch of incredulity and vulnerability in Hayley’s vocals on this one truly shattered my heart. Some might hear that sweet love song, but you can’t ignore what’s going on underneath – it’s too recognisable, too relatable. That wild hope that feels silly and you just know will come back to bite you in the arse at some point, and yet you can’t help it. That push-pull of wanting to believe in love, knowing how much it can hurt, and still stepping forward. I want to believe in love, I want to believe in us – like a spell cast on oneself. Universal, brutal, hopeful. She doesn’t psychoanalyse, doesn’t over-explain. She just says it how it is – and you get it. Instantly.
If there’s a perfect placement in that playlist, it’s certainly Mirtazapine – bringing the meds to the table right on time. Funny how a song about antidepressants turns out to be the happiest on the record. That speaks volumes. And it doesn’t matter if it’s literally or metaphorically, it works. The guitars fight with the vocals like a body fighting with itself. A battle dressed up as a song. And for those used to fighting it, it never felt so real.
Disappearing Man tackles the whole concept of surrender. The devastating realisation that you can’t save someone who don’t want to save themselves. Another brainbreaker right here – won’t you just surrender? Who’s that for? Someone? You? Both? Dammit, Hayley. It’s that line you wish you could have said in the middle of your own unravelling.
If you’ve come that far listening to the album without paying attention to the lyrics, then you’re probably having a great time, for Hayley’s signature move of upbeat sounds are the absolute negative of the lyrical web she’s weaving. Shit luck for me, as I am always paying attention, and that’s when she twists the knife with Love Me Different. Upbeat, shimmering, almost cruel in how it tricks you. You’re bopping your head, you’re smiling — and then the lyrics land. You’re a fool swaying around on someone else’s heartbreak. That duality again. Hope and hurt sharing the same breath.
That’s your cue – exhale. Deep breath, again, the biggest you can manage to be fair.
Somewhere around Brotherly Hate and Negative Self Talk, I had to pause. Because this is the part where the album stops being music and becomes therapy you didn’t consent to. The latter especially – god, Negative Self Talk is brutal. So was the massive meltdown it spurred. It was time to get some fresh air.
The most ordinary moments of existence, translated into words that bleed. The most complex emotions made accessible by simple imagery. How do you call that feeling of sitting in your car in the driveway too afraid to walk into that empty home? I guess we could call it dread, but it’s so much more than that, and yet we all know exactly how that feels. The magic of words in Hayley’s expert hands shows you just how good a lyricist she is. And it goes on, almost too relatable, to the breaking point of feeling like opening your diary and finding someone else already wrote your worst thoughts. I wasn’t ready. You won’t be either.
Hurts. Hurts a lot. And still, you press play again. Because you can’t possibly stop there.
The back half of the record feels like a blur, Hayley putting on her big girl pants, phase after phase, letting go, moving forward, like a multi-session pep talk getting ready for what comes next. Or maybe we’re all intuitively bracing for impact.
I’m the biggest star. Fuck yeah you are. It’s high time to acknowledge your worth, girlie. Hard, with its ribs-as-metal-cages imagery – protecting, confining, both? Probably both. (I couldn’t help but smile when I imagined how baby Billie would react to this one). A sense of defeat seeps in with Discovery Channel resorting to those last primal instincts standing. Hope can take many forms, and it’s not always as uplifting as we could imagine. That’s the one song that feels more like giving up than letting go. Maybe that’s why True Believer turns naturally into that last thing to hold onto. Faith as a last resort – but then again, one must have it. Life mirroring life or something. Maybe we’re not done just yet. Zissou floats away into surrender. Dream Girl aches for a reset button. Blood Bros and I won’t quit on you refuse to give up on love, any strands of love left, actually – some people matter too much to let life get in the way.
And we could have stopped right there, couldn’t we? Damn, it would have been intense, but at least we could go back to breathing evenly again and go listen to Last Hope as a palate cleanser.
Well. Not happening.
Here comes that latest addition that changes everything – no happy ending stories for any of us. Parachute sounds like all our hearts shattering in real time. At first I felt like it was the first song of the album without any ounce of hope left, but I was wrong. It’s just been displaced. What first felt like a flipping off track – and let’s be honest, it kinda is – takes a much bigger turn.
We change the main character of the story. Finally. The epiphany of that line ‘Watch me Fly ‘and all of a sudden Hayley is the hero of her own work. As it was always meant to be. Hope is there alright, faith is there, and hell, love is probably there too – all in her unapologetic self.
And I know what it implies. I know the truths we don’t want to hear – which has been the case all along, seriously. But I quite like that story better. It all led to it. The one where the girl rescues herself.
The kaleidoscope of Hayley’s past versions leading her to the freaking badass woman that she is. Heartbreak after heartbreak, stitched with hope so fragile it glows. It’s Hayley finally standing in her own spotlight, brave, successful, resilient, and unapologetically herself – and inviting us to sit with her in the wreckage. And there is no other place I’d want to meet her.
*EXHALE LOUDLY*
We made it through, guys. But here’s the kicker: it’s not linear. You can follow this album as one continuous narrative or hear each track as a version of Hayley – past, present, possible future. A kaleidoscope. A puzzle. Clues scattered like this/is/ WHY confetti. And just when you think you’ve solved it, she reminds you – no, it’s not that simple. Oh, she’s nasty alright, but to be fair, life often is.
Ego Death At A Bachelorette Party is one of those rare albums that will make you pause your day. Like, actually stop. Put down your phone. Forget about your inbox. You’ll cry with her, you’ll feel numb with her, you’ll hope with her, and eventually, you can choose to celebrate with her the person she has become, an incredible artist and an even better human being and that mindblowing body of work that is most certainly a masterpiece.
It’s up to you to decide which ending you wanna hear or if you wanna hear an ending at all. This album is a puzzle after all. It deals with difficult themes we’ve all dealt with or will at some point; it serves as a perfect reflection of our human condition. And that will always be Miss Williams to me. Throwing at us the harsh truths with the only sugarcoating of enticing bops to swallow them more willingly.
Heartbreak, depression, anxiety, yearning, but also hope – so much hope. Always hope.
She has mastered the storytelling of stories too hard to hear and lessons too hard to learn – the ones we eventually have to anyway. Her words rippling softly through our whole existence and fulfilling once more her serendipitous role as one hell of a guiding light. She’s forever my favourite therapist and will never fall short of inspiration to give.
So for now, I like my version of Ego, even though it broke me. God knows it broke me.
That silly little masterpiece of an album.
But in the best way.
I keep saying all music fans are part masochist for a reason, I swear. It was so bad and yet felt so good. And that’s when you realise you’re grateful. Because if music can still do this – still wring you out, make you cry in your kitchen, make you feel alive – then maybe we’re going to be okay. Maybe music is the medicine we can all overuse because even though it often pours salt in the wounds, it’s the only one I’ve ever found that can heal the ones in your soul.
So yeah, Ego Death At The Bachelorette Party. Best solo work yet. Too much and just enough. A story that almost makes sense, but the fuck do I know (if I’ll ever know)? We still have two more songs to add to this after all.
And if you haven’t listened to it yet…
*inhale*
*exhale*
Well, just remember to breathe.
