Poppy | Empty Hands
I have spent decades straddling nostalgia and noise, a grumpy metalhead with MTV pop memories tucked under one arm and the dust of tape trading and early CDs under the other. Poppyâs "Empty Hands" lands in that strange intersection, where the synthetic sheen of her earlier glitch pop has hardened into industrial grit and post-metal weight. It feels like someone handed her a well-worn metal playbook and asked her to scribble in the margins, and she has, with a precision that is impressive and a little too neat.
From the first surge of "Public Domain", a bright, almost playful chorus rides atop distorted guitars, teasing your pop instincts while reminding you this is still very much metal territory. Later, "Eat The Hate" leans into raw grunge energy, a pulse that makes you remember why you ever loved noisy, unapologetic guitars, even as you grumble at how comfortably it nods to Nirvana. "Dying to Forget" punches through with unrestrained force, a reminder that Poppy can summon pure, fist-pumping metal intensity when she wants.
Yet there are subtler turns, tracks like "Time Will Tell" that coax you into enjoying melodies you never thought you would, and "Bruised Sky", where industrial clangs meet surprisingly clean hooks, a collision of harshness and accessibility. "Guardian" whispers pop sensibilities beneath layers of distortion, and "Unravel" flirts with a pure pop heart, showing that Poppyâs duality of metal and melody is alive and intentional. By the time the title track arrives, "Empty Hands" lands on a genuinely heavy, full-bodied note, wrapping the record in a sense of finality and weight.
The craftsmanship is undeniable. Vocals are pushed further than ever, guitars rumble with controlled power, and production glows with modern polish. The influences are audible: alt-metal atmospherics, nu-metal echoes, industrial grit, all balanced meticulously. And yet, that precision comes at a cost. Some of the raw edges, the wild, unpredictable spark that could have made this record unforgettable, have been smoothed away. The second half sprawls just enough that you feel the restraint behind the sheen.
Empty Hands is modern, accomplished, and undeniably well-made. It flashes with ambition, energy, and moments of thrill, and the hooks sneak under your defences. But in its clarity and polish, it sometimes feels too clean, too measured, leaving you wishing Poppy had let the machine run wild just once.
6/10












