Florence Welch, the voice and mastermind behind the modern pop sensation Florence + The Machine, has become an enigma in contemporary music. Her discography showcases both her ability to craft undeniable smash hits, as in “Dog Days Are Over,” and cinematic, daring alt-pop, as on her Dance Fever LP. All the while, Welch has proven to be one of the most trusted collaborators to some of today’s biggest stars, working with artists such as Taylor Swift, The Weeknd, and Everything Is Recorded, providing her delicate, singular touch to some of the most critically acclaimed and commercially viable records pop has seen in the past few years.
Sticking to her mystique, Welch only emerges with new solo material when the time is right, when her raw vulnerability and natural knack for danceable melodies overlap long enough for her lofty visions to come to fruition. Welch is slowly becoming a household name amongst the ranks of some of her most famed collaborators, and Everybody Scream is the moment the artist grabs the shining brass ring of longevity and attempts to cement a pop legacy years in the making. Everybody Scream comes at a dark time for Welch. Even as her star shines brighter and brighter every time her name is mentioned, health issues and the inevitable emotional turmoil that comes with them cast a dark, unavoidable shadow over Welch. Everybody Scream is a cathartic emotional release, spanning 12 anthemic tunes that straddle uplifting and heartbreaking.
Welch is doing much more than detailing trauma and setting pain to melody on Everybody Scream. The title of the artist’s sixth LP would prove to be more of an instruction for the listener than a catchy name, as Welch encourages the listener to unleash bottled-up rage and sadness, the same process that made Everybody Scream Welch’s most poignant album to date. This is far from an aimless unraveling of the pitfalls of realizing your dreams, and this is not an attempt to repeat past successes to capitalize on the many fresh eyes aimed at Welch. Everybody Scream is the moment Welch separates herself from her pop peers and fearlessly dives into spacious art-pop tinted with heavy percussion and unfiltered feelings, where the artist’s past catches up to her and forces her to face harsh realities.
The production on Everybody Screams leans toward the sparse side, allowing Welch’s vivid imagery and longing to drive these songs. The instrumentation of this album, even in its most explosive moments, like on the chugging title track and the hauntingly beautiful “You Can Have It All,” tends to play it safe, centering around cascading drums and crescendoes that don’t seem to touch the soul as much as Welch’s writing does on her sixth studio effort.
Even with an unceremonious sonic landscape, Everybody Screams is the furthest thing from a fall from grace Welch could’ve contrived. The slightly autobiographical effort takes blunt realities and spins them into fantastical narratives, as in “Perfume and Milk,” which paints a portrait of a quaint home to make the isolation. Welch experiences are more digestible. “Kraken” finds Welch allowing the dark corners of her mind to take control, and “Drink Deep” is a whimsical journey through a vicious cycle of pain brought upon oneself. Welch lays her soul bare, goes into terrifying detail on topics most would run away from, and can emerge from it all with another pop innovation to add to her resume.
Everybody Scream is Welch reaching a boiling point and stuffing this world of hurt and confusion into 12 gentle songs that never hold back a punch. The artist pens some of her most honest music to date, and even if the world seems to be crumbling around her, Welch comes out on the other side wiser, more daring —and all of that is represented on Everybody Scream.
