With Empty Hands, Poppy sounds completely comfortable inside the chaos she’s spent years shaping. Instead of relying on shock value or abrupt stylistic pivots, this album feels measured, intentional, and quietly confident in how it fuses metalcore brutality, industrial tension, pop melody, and electronic atmosphere. Every extreme feels chosen rather than reactive. It’s heavy without being desperate, soft without losing tension, and most importantly, it trusts its own balance.

One of the album’s most striking qualities is its sense of scale. Tracks like “Public Domain” and “Unravel” unfold patiently, leaning into cinematic buildup rather than immediate payoff. Deep, rumbling drums, layered synths, and slow-burning arrangements create a sense of looming weight, letting atmosphere do much of the emotional work. Distorted vocals creep in and out, bass lines throb beneath the surface, and piano or synth textures stretch the space rather than fill it. Even when these songs don’t explode outright, they feel purposeful, reinforcing the album’s immersive, almost claustrophobic mood.

That restraint makes the album’s heavier moments hit harder when they arrive. When Poppy fully commits to aggression—especially on “Dying to Forget” and the title track “Empty Hands”—the shift feels earned. These are some of her most punishing performances to date, pairing extreme vocal deliveries with massive riffs, thick grooves, and breakdowns that carry real physical weight. The double-kick urgency and near-slam heaviness aren’t just loud for effect; they’re memorable, emotionally charged, and central to the album’s identity. On Empty Hands, the heaviest tracks aren’t detours—they’re the emotional core.

Between those extremes, Poppy leans into familiarity without sounding complacent. Songs like “Guardian” and “Time Will Tell” sit in a more accessible lane, drawing from metalcore, nu metal, and modern alt-metal structures. These tracks feel intentionally safe, but not dull. Her vocal control is sharp, the songwriting flows cleanly, and the interplay between synth-driven softness and chugging guitars keeps things engaging. Rather than dragging the album down, these moments stabilize it, preventing the intensity from becoming overwhelming.

Punk energy also threads its way into the album’s DNA. “Eat the Hate” strips things down to sharp riffs, tight drumming, and a confrontational vocal delivery that feels both playful and pointed. It’s a reminder that Poppy doesn’t need maximal production or genre-stacking to sound convincing—attitude alone carries the track. The song’s simplicity gives it bite, reinforcing the idea that heaviness isn’t always about density.

Atmosphere plays just as important a role as aggression, especially on the album’s quieter stretches. Tracks like “The Wait,” along with interlude-style pieces such as “Constantly Nowhere” and “Blink,” prioritize flow, texture, and mood over immediate impact. Subtle synth work, deep bass, and restrained percussion allow the album to breathe, smoothing transitions and reinforcing the sense that Empty Hands is designed to be experienced as a full sequence rather than a collection of singles.

By the time the album reaches “Ribs,” everything clicks into place. Electronic textures and metallic weight blur together seamlessly, with glitchy details and synth-heavy passages merging naturally with modern metal elements. The transition into the title track is especially effective, highlighting how carefully the album is sequenced and how much thought went into its pacing.

Ultimately, Empty Hands works because it doesn’t feel like Poppy trying to prove her versatility anymore. That groundwork has already been laid. Here, the focus is on cohesion, restraint, and emotional clarity. While a few moments play it safe and some builds favor atmosphere over explosive payoff, the album’s strongest material—particularly its heaviest cuts—lands with conviction and purpose. Empty Hands stands as one of Poppy’s most confident releases to date: immersive, dynamic, and heavy in ways that feel deliberate rather than performative. It’s not just a fusion of styles—it’s a controlled release of them.