Florence + the Machine claw their way out of the dirt with their sixth album, Everybody Scream. It feels like running barefoot through the woods as Welch pours out her heart. Since their last release, she’s experienced creation, loss, and a near-death experience, and now she’s here to exclaim her carnal, feminine rage.
The title track’s use of a choir of women recalls the scene in Midsommar when Dani howls after discovering her boyfriend’s betrayal. The women around her mirror her wailing – they feel her pain and become one with it – setting the tone for the album ahead.
“Look at me run myself ragged, blood on the stage” is likely more than a metaphor. During their Dance Fever tour in 2022, Welch broke her foot on stage but continued performing, periodically visiting medics and having blood mopped from the floor. She also suffered an ectopic pregnancy that caused internal bleeding. Not only did she lose the pregnancy, but she nearly lost her own life. Joined by Idles’ guitarist Mark Bowen, the band crafts a driving, powerful sound that propels her ethereal yet commanding vocals.
One of the Greats puts the music industry under a microscope. Like a brooding glass of whiskey, the guitar is gritty and fuzzy, with string flourishes building the track into a full-bodied rock song. Welch asks, “dug up for this // I could never be great being held up against such male tastes.” It’s funny and biting while exposing how much harder women must work to be recognized in a male-dominated industry – “this one’s for the ladies.”
Imagery has always been Florence and the Machine’s strength, reading like poetry. Witch Dance sets a primal, panting scene of earthy sensuality. Sex becomes a metaphor for Welch’s near-death experience: “Open my legs, lie down with Death.” The chattering drums sound like clinking bones. By the end, she’s broken free -survived – and re-emerges as a wild woman keening for purpose. Heavenly strings swell into a peaceful close, ending with a trickling harp.
Witchcraft weaves through the album. Sympathy Magic references a magical practice based on the belief that objects or actions influence each other through symbolic connection or “contagion.” The song feels like it’s sung into a great wind, freeing Welch from expectation – “it didn’t keep me safe like you said it would.” A final synth solo sent a literal shiver down my spine. It’s a testament to a woman relinquishing control and giving herself permission to simply exist, ready for whatever life brings next.
Despite this freedom, the album remains aware of the fragility of the human condition. Perfume and Milk capture this: “The one pink ribbon that holds me together.” She’s holding on – but only by a thread.
In Buckle, the only acoustic track, we meet a tender version of Welch. The polysemous use of “buckle” – “oh, baby I just buckle” and “hanging off the buckle on your belt” – is clever, the latter a classier nod to being a notch on someone’s bedpost. Like Milk and Perfume, it exposes the soft underbelly of being human. She’s imperfect, he is too, yet she still collapses at his feet with undying love.
Water and aquatic imagery have long run through Florence and the Machine’s music –Ship to Wreck (2015) being a prime example. Here, Welch embodies the mythical Kraken: “I grow many arms and legs,” she sings, grappling with “the vague humiliations of fame.” In past interviews, she’s spoken of being ridiculed for the largeness of her expression. Now she embraces it – “do I terrify?”
Sacrifice takes centre stage in the dark, spellbinding Drink Deep, which describes the ritual of giving herself to her art: “I realised I drank of myself // still I drink deep.” Synths and drums ebb beneath chimes, painting a shamanistic picture. The backing vocals ring like a hymn, echoing Arabic vocalizations – it’s stunning.
Some reviewers interpret Music by Men as Welch expressing hatred toward her partner, but I feel they’re missing the nuisance. The line “I thought fuck it; I might as well give music by men a try” feels more like a metaphor for compromise – a willingness to bend to make the relationship work. There’s been speculation amongst music nerds that her mention of The 1975 is a jab, but Welch has clarified it simply fit the rhythm and rhyme of the verse. If Black Sabbath can rhyme “masses” with “masses” (War Pigs), we can forgive this too. (Yes, Anthony Fantano, I’m talking to you.)
The album closes softly and sweetly. You Can Have It All reflects on grief and loss, showing how art demands complete surrender. And Love finishes this sentiment – after all the turmoil, “peace is coming.” The storm is ending, and frankly, she deserves it.
Another triumph from Florence + the Machine. While it may not reinvent their sound, it explores new emotional terrain, bringing much-needed whimsy to the struggles many of us face. Their music feels made for the female gaze (perhaps that’s why it resonates so deeply with me). Florence Welch will, without doubt, go down in history as one of the greats — at least in my book.