Paramore review, This Is Why: A heartfelt outburst of 21st century angst

“War’s on the side of the planet/ And I’ve got a war right behind my eyes,” yelps Hayley Williams on Paramore’s sixth album. Exorcising the angst of 2022 to an elasticated post-punk beat, the 33-year-old frontwoman speaks to the struggle of many “safe, privileged” Westerners to find “a balance between apathy and righteous rage”. She continues: “I worry and I give money and I feel useless behind this computer and that’s just barely scratched the surface of my mind…”

It’s a cathartically bouncy blast of articulate energy from the influential Tennessean band, originally formed as cocky preteens in 2004. They’ve been through their fair share of growing pains since then. Zac Farro (drums) and his brother Josh (guitar) left in 2010. Zac returned in 2017 and recently distanced himself from homophobic views Josh allegedly expressed on social media. Initially a Christian band, they’ve been sloughing their ties to conservative Southern faith at different paces.

In an interview with The Guardian last year, Williams said that while Farro and [guitarist] Taylor York have a more “gentle” relationship with the beliefs with which they were raised, she instead feels “like my teeth are knives and I’m spewing fire, trying to throw all of it over the side of a cliff”.

This is Why kicks off at a herky-jerky pace with a title track that finds Williams blurting options like a glitching Twitterbot: “If you have an opinion/ Maybe you should shove it/ Or maybe you could scream it/ Might be best to keep it/ To yourself?” Farro’s twitchy drumming is given textural depth with a soft marimba. York’s guitar splatters, splashes and skids around a funky verse that spins neatly into a chanted chorus on which Williams shouts lines like protest slogans: “This is why I don’t leave the house! You say the coast is clear but you won’t catch me out!”

“The News” reflects the impossible choice between engaging with current events and switching off. There’s a wonky twang of a hook to “Running Out of Time”,  on which Williams unpacks the pressure to do more/ do less. Should she take flowers to her neighbour in the morning or hit snooze? Is her first duty to herself or is the “harsh reality” that she’s “just a selfish pr***”? Williams’ shrieks of “Be there in five!” are prettily balanced by sweetly crooned backing vocals. “C’est Comme Ça” sees her dropping to a world-weary drawl as she drones: “I’m off caffeine on doctor’s orders/ Said it would level out my hormones/ Lucky for me I run on spite and sweet revenge…”

After releasing all the pent-up adrenaline in the album’s first half, Paramore’s melodies lumber likeably to a sludgier, shoegazier speed after that. But the band keep things interesting by accessorising that sound with a synth flute (on “Big Man, Little Dignity”); a rattle stick tap (on “You First”); a twinkling keyboard; and low horn effect (on “Figure 8”). There’s a lovely liquid slosh to the guitar pattern of “Liar” and Williams’ voice soars beautifully into a simple chorus: “Ohhh my love, I lied to you/ But I never needed to you.”

The album ends with the final punch of “Thick Skull”, on which Williams sings about failing to learn lessons. Meanwhile, York’s guitar and Farro’s drums lurch drunkenly around her whispered and yowled promises to “come out with my hands up”. A cool slump of an ending to a welcome outburst.