Halsey
– If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power
If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power, released in 2021, is a bold and genre-defying statement that explores themes of womanhood, identity, and power through a gothic-rock lens. Produced by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, the album melds Halsey’s introspective lyricism with the industrial, cinematic soundscapes of her collaborators, creating a visceral and haunting experience.
Best of…
The album’s production is rich and immersive, balancing raw vulnerability with unrelenting intensity. Halsey’s voice is both commanding and fragile, delivering deeply personal narratives with emotional precision. The sonic palette spans from thunderous, industrial anthems to delicate, piano-driven ballads, showcasing her range and ability to push creative boundaries.
This record marks a significant evolution in Halsey’s artistry, seamlessly blending the personal with the theatrical. If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power not only challenges conventions of pop and rock but also stands as a powerful exploration of self and empowerment, earning its place as one of her most ambitious works.
Choice Tracks
I am not a woman, I’m a god
A cold burn of a track. Minimalist, relentless, and daring you to flinch. The title says it all—this isn’t empowerment pop, this is self-possession with teeth.
Easier than Lying
All guitars and sharp edges. The chorus explodes like a long-held breath finally breaking loose. Halsey howls through betrayal and buried truth with no safety net.
Girl is a Gun
This one dances over landmines. Frenetic and cocky, but never smug. The rhythm jerks and twists like it’s trying to outrun its own heartbeat. Hooks with bite.
1121
Stripped back and aching. A song that sounds like 3AM and a hospital room. She sings like the wound hasn’t closed yet—and might never.
Whispers
Soft, eerie, and terrifyingly honest. Halsey channels inner voices and quiet madness with a whisper that cuts deeper than a scream.
If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power is a raw, electric reckoning—equal parts divine and broken. Halsey doesn’t hold back. She builds a world where pain and power walk hand in hand, and sings like she’s burning the map on purpose.
Halsey didn’t ask for subtlety this time. If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power tears down the soft filter and lights a bonfire with what’s left. The album sounds like someone dragging their ribs across synths and guitars, letting every nerve sing. It’s full of fury, birth, grief, desire, and whatever you call that half-feral feeling when you’re stuck between too much pain and too much beauty. She isn’t whispering anymore.
Produced by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, the whole thing hums with a nervous voltage. Not industrial, not pop, not goth, not any single box you can tick—it just pulses. There are no filler tracks. Even the quietest moments feel wired, dangerous. Halsey doesn’t play the tortured soul here. She plays a god throwing thunderbolts and then sitting in the wreckage, bleeding and staring straight at you.
Lyrically, it’s confession and confrontation. She sings like someone who’s finally had enough of apologizing—for feeling too much, for wanting too loud, for being something people keep trying to define for her. Each track is a slash across the surface, a red mark that says, “I’m still here, and I’m done playing nice.” It’s not perfect. It’s better than that. It’s alive.