I remember orientation week of my freshman year of college, walking through the barbecue the underclassmen were gimmicked into attending so the tables and tents full of upperclassmen could try to convince us to join their clubs, or- at the very least- sign up for their email lists. Overwhelmed, wide-eyed, and extremely receptive, I was approached by a girl, just a year or two older than I was, who was handing out cups and beer cozies to promote her friend, who was an artist just entering the music scene. I took the black plastic cup, the name BANKS wrapped around it, and brought it home to grace my sink as my new toothbrush holder.

After acquiring her merchandise, I started listening to Banks, whose legal name is Jillian Banks. I cranked up her song “Goddess,” every time I let a boy hurt my feelings. It reminded overwhelmed, wide-eyed, college freshman me of the power in my vulnerability, and even inspired me to get into making electronic music.

Today, the Los Angeles native is signed as an artist under Universal Music Group. With almost 4 million monthly listeners on Spotify, and about twice as many plays on some of her tracks on that one streaming service alone, Banks has kept that same sense of strength and self-confrontation in her alternative electronic pop style albums. She released her album “Goddess” and 2014, and then most recently dropped “The Altar,” in September of 2016.

The Altar is generally vulnerable, both in terms of lyrical content as well as the production of the actual music. That being said, the description “vulnerable” is not interchangeable with “weak” in any sense. Though the singer-songwriter style foundation of her writing is indicative of the personal nature of the songs, like time stamps on her life displayed to the world, she makes it clear throughout the album that she is not ashamed of her displays of emotion and attacks this expression without fear.

In one track off of The Altar, Banks vocalizes her frustrations with suffocating expectations women face in society, with the song “Mother Earth.” She paints the image of a woman who stays strong and supportive, despite feeling consumed by the ingrained pressures to alter who she is. She beautifully equates the feeling of social pressure to being underwater, while creating a sense of community among the women who experience this same feeling, all within the first line, “Underwater, consuming all my kind.” The first pre chorus of the song expresses the rejection of a socially acceptable standard of beauty, when she says she will not “cover up the freckles on her faces.” This message is appropriately relayed to listeners over a an intimate arrangement that is largely focused on the organic sounds of her raspy voice and acoustic guitar, contrasting with her usual electronic style. The sparse arrangement of the music correlates well with the genius, minimal lyrics throughout, intimately connecting to the listeners.

“Fuck with Myself,” is an anthem of self reliance, in which Banks confronts her realization of individual strength. She expressed that in the process of making “The Altar,” she discovered that she was her own shoulder to lean on and source of support. Her voice, though sounding delicate, slices through the ominous track itself, reflecting the straight forward nature of her words as she sings, “I used to care what you think about me.” The ambient pads and voices that grace the background of the music are juxtaposed with a driving electronic beat, while Banks sings of being hurt and betrayed while taking it and stride and falling back on her own individual strength to rebuild.

Her talk of betrayal continues with her biblically alluding track, “Judas.” She sings about being “too numb to feel the knife in [her] back,” during the aftershock of being let down by someone she had put on a pedestal, while continuing the religious metaphor with references to heaven, hell, and exorcisms. She eerily speaks of the betrayal with a tone of newfound contempt, in confidence that the downfall of the relationship she’d held with this person was through no fault of her own. This stance, expressed over the hauntingly produced track, reinforced the message of self reliance and strength that pervades throughout the album.

“Weaker Girl,” to put it plainly, is my jam. I believe that any self reliant, single woman can relate to its content. The song begins with her signature, ambient sound on the minimally produced track, as it portrays the image of a crumbling relationship. When the beat drops the song into the chorus, she shamelessly opens up to a (seemingly ill-fitting) significant other about the fact that she has outgrown them. Unapologetically, she explains that- if they can’t appreciate her strength and personal growth- they should search for a weaker girl that they can keep up with… and it’s okay, because she needs “a bad mother fucker, like [her],” anyway. I’m sure that any listener who can personally relate to this is internally celebrating upon the validation that this song brings to her audience.

The Altar’s message of strength in vulnerability is clear, and has been well received by Bank’s group of listeners- whose population continues to grow. I believe this album successfully conveyed the importance of self reliance, as well as the power of femininity, without attempting to capitalize on the growing trend of the Feminist movement, as some other artists have done. It’s difficult to contain Bank’s style in the box of a single genre, and while The Altar adheres to Bank’s artistic nature and signature sound, it pushes stylistic boundaries. I hope she continues this trend with her future works as she continues to grace the music industry with her talent of integrating popular styles while maintaining her individuality.