My first exposure to Ashnikko’s music was in 2019 – I heard “Nice Girl” on my Discover Weekly playlist while I was on the way to work, and it caught my attention immediately. On the surface, it was a fun, high-energy song that would be a suitable backdrop for my morning commute, but I eventually became curious about what made it stick out to me. ‘Mad at the patriarchy’ is by no means a theme that hasn’t been explored in music before, but I liked how raw the song felt and how she didn’t seem to take herself too seriously. Ashnikko makes it clear that she refuses to change herself to please a man, and the message is believable coming from the in-your-face bad girl persona she establishes – with lyrics about growing up without positive role models and a quip about getting her card declined at a country club, this non-glamorous take on the girl power theme was refreshing. Although “empowerment anthems” that highlight beauty or wealth can be fun, these songs continue to feed the narrative that these characteristics define a woman’s worth. Even when presented to us as empowerment, we still can’t escape the message that our image is everything – “Nice Girl,” embracing everything uncouth and messy, is a cheeky middle finger to these expectations.

I continued to explore her catalog, and it became clear that this bold, unapologetic attitude is the cornerstone of her brand. Her music is bratty, eclectic, and deliberately over-the-top, with numerous influences ranging from electropop to punk to alternative rap – she’s earned a considerable following of fans who admire her self-expression and outspoken voice, as well as detractors who dismiss her brand of rebellion as childish. Admittedly, I understood the desire for more refinement in her work. Her lyrics occasionally came off as juvenile or relied too much on shock value, but her passionate delivery kept me engaged. She spoke openly and often about her struggle to succeed in a patriarchal society, and it was evident in her music that she desired to uplift herself and others. Still, I hoped she would explore this struggle with more depth and nuance, and in September 2023, her debut studio album WEEDKILLER delivered on that wish. Leaving behind the exaggerated “demidevil” alter ego she assumed for her 2021 EP of the same name, she allows for more vulnerability without losing her edge. Her songwriting feels noticeably more mature as she presents a three-dimensional portrait of herself – she still fantasizes about power but also acknowledges the pain of feeling powerless. In pulling back the curtain, this album offers a perspective on womanhood that is well-needed, candid, and powerful in both its aggression and vulnerability.

The second track on the album, “You Make Me Sick,” leans so heavily toward overt aggression that I didn’t know what to make of it at first – for an artist already known for a more abrasive style, her lyrics still managed to take me aback on my first few listens. The song, directed toward a former boyfriend who treated her poorly, is full of visceral insults and violent ideation. It isn’t a pretty or socially acceptable way to express anger, but Ashnikko isn’t concerned with making her feelings palatable to others. Her unwillingness to sugarcoat her experience lends power to her words, especially given the scrutiny women often face when they speak out about unhealthy relationships – rather than making herself as unthreatening as possible, she leans into her wrath. It’s her most cathartic work yet; her naturally husky voice sounds like she’s yelled herself hoarse, and she delivers her words with such intensity it’s as if they could kill. Ashnikko chooses an impactful moment to pull back at the end of the second verse, briefly turning her attention to herself with a softly spoken yet insistent “I’m beautiful.” It’s a pivotal moment that keeps the song from becoming stagnant in its outrage, proudly declaring that her partner’s efforts to chip away at her self-esteem were unsuccessful. When she dives back into the high-energy chorus, her guttural “I’m mad” has a sharper bite than before, contrasted against the tenderness of her self-love. The two statements are poignant in their simplicity and affirm that her beauty and anger can coexist. 

On the deceptively peppy-sounding “Cheerleader,” Ashnikko examines how a familiar pop culture trope relates to the difficulties of navigating real-world beauty standards and internalized sexism. In the media, cheerleaders are often depicted as near-mythological in their sex appeal and social status, acting as a blueprint of perfectly executed femininity for their female peers and an object of desire for men. This status does come at a cost, though, as they are frequently depicted as “mean girls” or criticized for their perceived vanity or promiscuity – they are expected to meet increasingly high expectations only to be vilified for doing so, both by men and other women. Ashnikko demonstrates this phenomenon with a song that is equally catchy and thought-provoking, featuring a character so deeply motivated by her need for external validation that she resolves to eliminate her competition by violent means. Although she laments the self-destruction it takes to keep up this performance and maintain her appearance, she also eagerly weaponizes her good looks against other women – it’s a cycle that will continue regardless of her participation, so she strives to maintain some control by ensuring she is the one who comes out on top. The lyrics conspicuously focus on her “competition” for most of the song, with a chanted chorus taunting them and proclaiming her superiority. Ashnikko only addresses the source of this conflict in the second verse, highlighting this shift in the direction of her blame with distorted vocals and a cutting question: “Am I fuckable enough for you?” Asking if she’s done an adequate job catering to the male gaze and wondering if the carnage she left behind was worth it, she resents both her objectification and her desire to capitalize on it – Ashnikko admitted that this lyric hits close to home as she feels the need to appear as sexy as possible to sell her music, describing it as “draining on [her] spirit.” 

The closing track on the album, “Dying Star,” steps back from the harshness of tracks like “You Make Me Sick” and “Cheerleader” to produce Ashnikko’s most vulnerable song yet – she takes on a much gentler tone, pleading for the world to treat her with kindness as she recounts her escape from a toxic relationship. She uses nature to symbolize both this painful journey and the comfort of a new love, and it’s one of the many tracks on the album with a mystical, enchanting quality. It feels like it belongs in a fantasy world, with lyrics evoking imagery of being led through a lush, restorative forest as Ashnikko expresses the overwhelming catharsis of her freedom and grieves what the experience took from her. She and singer-songwriter Ethel Cain’s vocals sound heavenly together as she sings of the healing she discovers in a female figure, which is a departure from her usual focus on the sexual side of her relationships. WEEDKILLER also shows her opening up significantly in “Miss Nectarine,” an earnest tale of discovering her sexuality through a teenage crush and experiencing heartbreak and prejudice. Returning to a present-day perspective, “Dying Star” is notably more optimistic as she lets down her walls and becomes more willing to accept love. She finds comfort in embracing her sexuality, singing of the safety and acceptance of her partner’s love as a stark contrast to her prior relationship that made her feel ‘captive’ and ‘drained [of her] magic.’ It’s a satisfying end to an album filled with loud, emotional bursts of energy, wrapping up this chapter with a moment of rest, reflection, and hope.

WEEDKILLER’s greatest triumph lies in Ashnikko’s ability to explore the feminist themes in her prior works with much greater complexity, producing a hard-hitting and illuminating tale of her quest for autonomy. The result feels distinctly more earnest than her earlier projects but without pulling back on her bold and sexual persona, challenging the idea that a woman who openly embraces her sexuality is less deserving of respect or being taken seriously. Ashnikko describes one of the album’s tracks, “Don’t Look at It,” as a “silly erotic song” on an album with a lot of serious themes – “Amidst all the grieving and the raging,” she says, “I think there has to be space for being silly and light-hearted and sexy.” The album creates space for her to indulge in her emotions and desires in an “unladylike” way, feeling both defiant and celebratory. Reflecting on Ashnikko’s musical evolution from DEMIDEVIL and earlier EPs to WEEDKILLER, I see her relying much less on the exaggerated personas of her alter egos, striking a successful balance between her imagination and lived experience that pushes the boundaries of her songwriting further. In writing an album from the perspective of a fairy in a post-apocalyptic fantasy world, she ironically created her most personal work yet – an impressive testament to her creativity, ambition, and commitment to her craft that makes me eager to see which aspect of her world Ashnikko chooses to immerse her listeners in next.