Stranded on a desert island, looking out into the endless aquamarine sea, I would be reminded of the different shades of blue on Halsey’s album cover for Badlands. If I could have one album to keep me company during a lonely, fearful time stranded on an island, it would be Badlands. Halsey’s debut studio album, released in August 2015, helped me through an emotionally difficult time in my life, a time when I felt stranded on a desert island. I had not yet begun seeking treatment for my depression and anxiety, so I was suffocating under it with none of the tools to help me. I felt different, inexplicably emotional, like a burden and a failure. By sheer luck, I heard a song off this album and began playing it nonstop. Researching the artist, I found an incredibly talented, resilient, loving, and outspoken woman who I related to greatly since we’re both bisexual and struggle with our mental health. Since then, Halsey has been the most impactful artist to me. Badlands can always help me feel better, which is why I got her lyrics tattooed on my ribs: “Ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece.”
Halsey, real name Ashley Frangipane, moved around often as a child until settling for high school in a small town in New Jersey. She was bullied at school, and at age 17, attempted suicide—leading to a hospitalization and diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Years later, upon dropping out of community college, Ashley’s parents kicked her out of the house. She became homeless in New York City, bouncing between shelters and a basement inhabited by her boyfriend and his friends. This period shaped both her lyrics and the horror-movie-esque music of Badlands.
Showcasing Halsey’s interesting and variable indie voice, the album is an alternative/electro-pop concept album of a fictional dystopian society called The Badlands. Similar to my scenario in this article, the inhabitants of The Badlands are kept captive, surrounded by a desert wasteland. During the writing process, Halsey had a revelation: the album she was building was a metaphor for her mental state. She created Badlands as a way to cope with her real-life struggles. Writing it allowed Halsey to wade through her mental and emotional Badlands. In the same way, she helped me and so many others through ours. It turned my pain and inner turmoil into anger, then inspiration, and acceptance.
The album encapsulates a variety of feelings. It includes sad, emotional songs that I can cry out to. For example, “Coming Down” talks about poor past relationship decisions in which Halsey puts too much trust into a lover and winds up disappointed.
Most of her emotional songs in this album, though, are masked by upbeat tempos like in “Ghost.” After a fast-paced rap over quick drum rhythm, Halsey sings, “My ghost, where’d you go? I can’t find you in the body sleeping next to me […] What happened to the soul that you used to be?” This song is about having a lover who’s emotionally unavailable. Most people speculate it’s written about Halsey’s ex-boyfriend who was a drug-addict. However, Halsey has admitted that it’s also about herself, which is where I feel the connection to this song. Sometimes, life becomes so redundant and empty that we feel disconnected from ourselves—a ghost in our own skin. This is the song that caught wind and gained Halsey her first streams as a singer. Amazingly, she wrote it during her first session in a studio. A couple weeks later, she uploaded the track to SoundCloud and by the next morning, it was charting.
A few of the songs are angry, with deranged lyrics over pounding electronic beats. Halsey is known for being in-your-face and unapologetic. As she said herself, “I am honest and candid and probably a little less filtered than I should be. I’m hotheaded and opinionated.” During that trying year that I found Badlands, I was beating myself up over feeling difficult and hard to love. These songs encouraged me to accept who I was, even if that’s inconvenient and unstable. In “Gasoline,” Halsey questions the listener, “Are you strange like me? Been in pain like me? Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?” To which I answered, YES! These songs made me realize that I’m not alone. This girl’s feelings are just like mine, so I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.
In “Hurricane,” I feel Halsey is discussing her bipolar disorder. This song helped me forgive myself for my whirlwind of emotions, so I sing with her, “Don’t belong to no city, don’t belong to no man […] I’m a hurricane.” Another powerful song is “Control” in which she coons, “I’m bigger than my body. I’m colder than this home. I’m meaner than my demons. I’m bigger than these bones.” The song begins with a haunting rhythm and variety of ticking sounds that remind me of bugs crawling on the floor; it’s easy to imagine the horrid time Ashley went through while homeless.
A few years later, this self-titled “fucked-up stoner kid” is on her first arena tour for her second studio album, Hopeless Fountain Kingdom. I got to see this concert in Denver, and I was blown away by the energy Halsey performed with while remaining sincere and humble. I cried several times during the show, once when she told the crowd, “If you have someone in your life who’s trying to make you be someone you’re not, please tell them to fuck off.” Often, I wish I was able to see Halsey perform at the beginning of her career because I’ve only witnessed the confident, polished superstar she is now.
Other songs on Badlands are about a much more poised Halsey—one who has accepted everything about herself and owns it. “Castle” puts away any of the remorse felt in the previously-mentioned songs. Halsey ignores an old man who tries to tell her not to be so mean and to “keep [her] pretty mouth shut.” Instead of being intimidated, she’s confident on her exciting journey: “I’m headed straight for the castle. They wanna make me their queen.” In hearing this song, I began changing my thoughts from self-deprecating to encouraging and assured. Despite my personal battles, I’m on my way to achieving great things. This is the most memorable song I have ever seen performed live. During the slowed-down opera part where a chorus chants “agnus dei,” Halsey tells the crowd, “When this chorus drops, I wanna see everyone in the room bounce,” and we all obey, jumping perfectly with the beat and screaming from the energy vibrating through the crowd.
This riveting and heartfelt show was so good that I saw it again the following summer—this time, at Red Rocks Amphitheater, my first time at this breathtaking venue. I was in awe of the formidable rocks cascading up on either side of the crowd, the twinkling lights of Denver over the top of the stage, and a blood moon in the clear night sky.
Without a doubt, Badlands would be my desert island choice because not only did it get me through a low period but it also takes me back to this concert—one of the best nights of my life. Now, when I hear certain Halsey songs, I’m transported right back into the crowd during that remarkable experience. For example, listening to the slow, gripping tempo of “Drive” doesn’t make me feel like I’m in a car, although it includes snippets of an engine running, the beeping of an open door, and windshield wipers. Instead, I visualize Halsey singing gloriously on the Red Rocks stage while the crowd moves in a sea of colors reflected from the production lights. She changes the lyrics from “California” to “Colorado never felt like home to me until I had you on the open road.” As I’m swaying in the arms of my girlfriend with my two best friends at my side, I’m astonished at how much I relate to the woman on stage and how much she has helped me, though she has no idea.
I reflect on the past year in which I moved eight hours away from home for my freshman year of college without knowing a single person. During that year, I lost friends and went through another depressive period. I questioned if I made the right decision in coming to DU. Later though, I found the real friends I should’ve been with the entire time. In that moment at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, I realized that I was exactly where I was meant to be. Colorado is my home, and these people are my family.
“New Americana” is an ode for the unpopulars. It’s been described as a “generational anthem for millennials” for its pop vibes and lyrics about legal marijuana, same-sex marriage, and music by Biggie and Nirvana. It builds into a chorus of layered voices singing, “We don’t feel like outsiders at all, we are the new Americana!” As the entire crowd comes together to yell the final line, a huge rainbow United States flag unravels above the stage.
Once again, Halsey’s music reminds me that I’m not alone. This celebrity, along with thousands of other fans across the world, feel like a crazy mis-fit kid just like me. We don’t fit into a box, we are the new Americana, and we can get through anything. For these reasons, if I was isolated on a desert island, Badlands would remind me of the hard times I’ve persevered through in the past as well as the best moments of life that make it worth the battle. With this album, I can get through the Badlands.
Penny for my thoughts? 