Album Review: Halsey’s "Manic" Is Musical Theatre, Made for Broadway

Ashley Frangipane’s latest is her biggest and boldest project yet.

Who’da thunk the most influential album of 2019 and 2020 would be My Chemical Romance’s 2006 epic The Black Parade?

Last year, burgeoning teen supernova Billie Eilish burned even brighter with When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?, where she proved she shares the same predilection for Halloween sound effects and polka music as MCR’s frontman Gerard Way.

Now comes Halsey’s Manic, a record seemingly inspired by The Black Parade’s morose theatricality. This third LP from Ashley Frangipane seems ready-made for the stage, with its symphonic strings, orchestral builds and baroque sense of humour. (Fittingly, Billie’s brother/co-writer Finneas plays keyboards on the most MCR-esque tune with the most MCR-esque title: "I HATE EVERYBODY".)

There are even interludes with special guests, including Alanis Morissette, whose own Jagged Little Pill just hit Broadway. Face it: Manic will soon be coming to a high school auditorium near you.

Lyrically and thematically, Manic also feels like a successor to the cast record for Dear Evan Hanson, that crowd-pleasing musical about teen alienation, depression and suicide. (The album gets its title from the manic state in which Halsey reportedly wrote it; a result of her bipolar disorder.) On slow-burbling opener "Ashley", she sings, "I only wanna die some days". She follows it with "Clementine", a carnival carousel of a track in which she says, "I’m constantly having a breakthrough, or a breakdown, or a blackout". On that same song—and others—she turns a passionately held opinion on a dime: "I don’t need anyone, I just need everyone and then some". It’s a similar sentiment in "I HATE EVERYBODY", where she concludes, "Maybe I don’t".

Given the rocky rawness and unpredictable vulnerability of her lyrics, it’s surprising how cohesive the album—largely produced by the 25-year-old Frangipane and a rotating crew—actually sounds. Though the first-released and now positively-ancient R&B single "Without Me"—from 2018—was a familiar bit of digestible R&B, she here finds a way to introduce some country-trap on "You Should Be Sad" and regular ol’ country-country on "Finally // beautiful stranger", all alongside her plinky-piano interruptions.

Some may be disappointed that the bruising scream-along "Nightmare", released last year, has been excluded, but it’s been replaced by a better, catchier, explicitly bisexual anthem: "Alanis’ Interlude", featuring Ms. Morissette. Together, they sing "your p***y is a wonderland". Did they ask John Mayer—whose own congratulatory voicemail to Halsey plays at the end of the poppy "3AM"—if he was cool with the interpolation? Who am I kidding? He would love it.

Manic is a self-exploring exercise that wears its heart on its sleeve. It’s that earnestness that has made Halsey such an appealing personality these last few years—following her banal introduction with "New Americana"—and it’s what makes Manic suited for theatre. Her recent live performances—which have included visual components like painting and modern dance—seem to stress that she feels the same way too.

I only wish some of the melodies were more memorable or audacious; a similar complaint I had with her last effort, Hopeless Fountain Kingdom, which only managed two brilliant, pulsating cuts: "Strangers" and "Bad at Love". On Manic, a few too many tracks blur into the background, and the climactic "killing boys" is just flat-out missing a chorus. At least she saves her best vocal performance—the croakily endearing "More"—and lyric readings—on the nearly spoken "929"—till last. In fact, she closes the album entirely by telling us that a previous confession was a complete lie. Damn, this inevitable musical even has a twist ending built in.

3.5/5

Manic is now available to stream.