Politically informed pop.

Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party feels like a playlist with topics ranging from deconstructing religion to getting down and dirty, all collected under a self-aware umbrella of pop. As of November 7, this album has 20 tracks with a runtime that is just over an hour. These are great tracks to use as a launching point for a critical look at today’s culture, or just a brilliant set of headbangers to blast in the shower.

The vocals of “Brotherly Hate” start off the song with a minor progression down, creating a disconcerting feeling as a shaker emphatically ticks the tempo along. A bass guitar thrums beneath the equally staccato vocals, mostly replacing the shaker as the song progresses. About halfway though, the bass seems to realize it’s headed toward danger and futilely attempts to tiptoe around, but the bridge rears its head anyway. Williams’ vocals come in distorted and upset: “You say that that’s your brother!” which can’t be the case “if you never pick up where you let down!” Electric guitar and drums thunder with the vocals, stressing every syllable. The bridge vanishes, leaving Williams gasping for a breath before she dives right back in for the final chorus.

“True Believer” paints a chilling portrayal of the hypocritical behavior found in the so-called ‘Bible Belt.’ In the chorus, Williams sings “I’m a true believer / I’m the one who loves your ghost,” hinting that she, opposed to those with whom the “churches overflow,” is a real Christian. The pre-chorus is rife with hard hitters: “Gift shop in the [church’s] lobby / Act like God ain’t watching / Kill the soul, turn a profit / What lives on? Southern Gotham.” These lyrics criticize the way so many churches in the South prioritize making money over saving people from damnation. The line “turn a profit” could also be heard as “turn a prophet,” creating a dual meaning to the lyric by implying that the church’s actions are turning prophets away from faith and instead to money. The final words are a play on the style of Southern Gothic, which often includes themes of reckoning with the oppression of the past. By twisting it to the word Gotham, a fictional city recognizable for being the home of Batman, the phrase becomes further layered as the city of Gotham is known for it’s overflowing undercurrent of evil and insanity. This line draws a direct parallel from that delusional madness to the behavior of people claiming to be Christian.

Keys jangling, a door slam, the engine starting and a thoughtful tune pressed through piano keys, the title track opens grounded and stripped back. A drumset rolls in as vocals edge in over top declaring: “I’ll be the biggest star at this racist country singer’s bar.” When talking about this song on Popcast, Williams said, “It could be a couple but I’m always talking about Morgan Wallen, I don’t give a shit.” Williams, particularly with the band Paramore, is known for having an incredibly diverse audience and this song presents an unapologetic disdain for those artists that do perpetuate racism. The drums establish a laid-back, almost lo-fi atmosphere, supported by high soaring background vocals. The repetition of the line “Can only go up from here” suggests a sense of being at the lowest possible point as well as the hope for better things.

This album is brimming with songs that feel just so alive – like a splash of cold water to the face with every track, and the only way to dry off? Complete immersion in the sound. So hit play, lose yourself in dancing along and you’ll find yourself again before it finishes.