Everybody Scream

Florence + The Machine

Ziggy Keairns

Florence + The Machine’s sixth studio album, “Everybody Scream,” is a visceral, poetic reckoning with grief, fame, and feminine rage. It’s haunting and intimate, yet grandiose in its emotional scope. From the opening track, Florence Welch, the lead singer, invites listeners into a space where vulnerability is sacred and screaming is survival. “I can come here and scream as loud as I want,” she declares, in the song “Everybody Scream,” which is the opening track, setting the tone for an album that feels like a reckoning.

The production is raw and theatrical, with dramatic guitar work that elevates tracks like “Buckle” and “The Old Religion.” Welch’s voice, always a force, is especially potent here, carrying the weight of lyrics that confront miscarriage, misogyny, and the emotional toll of having to constantly perform for thousands. On “Music by Men,” she sings, “Let me put out a record and have it not ruin my life,” a line that encapsulates the album’s push and pull between creation and self-preservation.

While “Everybody Scream” lacks the polished sheen of “Ceremonials,” Florence + The Machine’s previous album, it gains emotional clarity. It’s less concerned with being consumed and more with being felt. Each song stands alone, yet together they form a tapestry of catharsis. “You can Have It All” rings with resignation, while “And Love,” the closing track, offers a moment of quiet grace.

This is Florence + The Machine at their most unfiltered, crafting music that sounds like poetry. “Everybody Scream” is a triumph of emotional truth over perfection.