There are points in time where a song, upon hitting your ears, cuts through earthly flesh and unravels the soul within. 

Sitting at the Weeknd concert with my boyfriend, admittedly not being a Weeknd fan, I found myself breathless and teary-eyed during the live rendition of Baptized in Fear. The emotion in his voice vibrated through me and I thought to myself, “This is true vulnerability.”

The raw honesty and emotion of the song dazed the audience into silence.

How?

Before delving into the answer, there are two important caveats.

Preface

Firstly, a vulnerable artist does not equal vulnerable art. Putting art into the world is an inherently vulnerable act because it puts an artist up for scrutiny. While creating, an artist may open themselves up to criticism, personal opinions, and self-perceptions of failure. Still, an artist being vulnerable does not inherently mean their art is also vulnerable. Take Gnarly by Katseye. Gnarly is not a vulnerable song; it is not meant to be. Katseye, as artists, were vulnerable in releasing the song because they expected audience pushback and rejection to some degree. They knew not everyone would get the song, and they still accepted this risk and followed through. They were raw and bold, vulnerable artists seeing a chance of failure and taking a leap anyways. Conversely, a vulnerable piece of art does not mean a vulnerable artist is behind it, leading to my second caveat. 

Vulnerability in art is entirely subjective. Vulnerability looks different for every artist and how the audience interprets art will vary as well. I might consider a song vulnerable but the artist might not feel the same. This is because everyone’s criteria for vulnerable art will vary. This analysis will reflect my personal beliefs of what makes a song vulnerable. 

Elements of Vulnerability

Messaging

A vulnerable song will develop a profound connection and resonance with the audience through its messaging. Vulnerability comes through within the storytelling or in the raw release of emotions. You feel the presence of the artist within the song or even the thing they are singing to. For example, in Baptized in Fear, the audience is able to see The Weeknd’s sleep paralysis demon. We’re able to visualize, with clarity, the palpable metaphor of drowning in fear in his bathtub and how he is trying to pick himself up. The song calls to memory times where we’ve faced our own demons or have been plagued by worries to the point of immobilization. Without needing to experience the same type of sleep paralysis that The Weeknd faces, we can relate to the song and deeply empathize with the artist. 

This effect occurs across a variety of messages. In love songs like It’s You by MAX (ft. Keshi) and LOVE. by Kendrick Lamar, the profound adoration for their partners is what draws us to the message within the music. There’s a beauty in the imagery, the affectionate language, and the raw sense of gratitude for having someone meaningful in your life. These elements resonate with listeners and remind them of times when they’ve experienced the depth of love.

On the other side of the emotional spectrum, albums like Caroline Polachek’s Pang and Charli XCX’s how i’m feeling now explore the artists on the verge of ending their relationships. Caroline Polachek processes her divorce throughout her album, while Charli XCX reflects on rebuilding a relationship where the connection was lost. Within these works, we hear the artists confronting themselves and grappling with deep internal conflict. Even without personally experiencing a breakup, listeners can relate to the emotional turmoil of trying to rediscover oneself after feeling disconnected. This kind of messaging is powerful, making the songs on these albums feel especially vulnerable and authentic.

It’s common for songs to be written by professional songwriters or producers and then performed by a different artist. Thus, when the inspiration behind a song isn’t personal to the performer, it must be approached with care and intentionality. A skilled artist will successfully replicate, embody, and translate the depth of the message crafted by the songwriter or producer to their audience. Utilizing their musical ability and intuition, they implant raw emotions in the audience. In successfully adapting a song tho their own voice, the artist ultimately embeds themselves within the piece.

Presence

Vulnerable art permanently carries a piece of the artist and the inspiration that gave rise to it. Like a fingerprint, it’s a lasting imprint that reveals something deeply personal and unique. Vulnerable songs transcend contemporary music trends and actively challenge them. Caroline Polachek’s ethereal singing style rips through the audience and leaves us in awe. Tyler, The Creator’s unpredictable creativity keeps us on edge, taking us from laughter to tears within the span of a single song. Charli XCX’s trendy EDM beats capture the modern ear, but her personal messaging leaves us questioning our own lives. The artist’s presence within the song feels palpable, creating a parasocial relationship with the listener—even if only for a three-minute musical experience. This effect is deeply resonant and fosters a sense of relatability between audience and artist, which is also what keeps listeners returning to the same artist for more.

Furthermore, the artist’s presence becomes even more powerful when the music is performed live. Vulnerable songs take on a different form when transitioning from surround sound streaming to a shared concert space. This is due to the combination of the artist’s physical presence and their emotional messaging, fusing into a visceral and immersive musical experience. In live performances, the artist also has the ability to adapt the song to match their current emotional state. The music doesn’t just shift—it transforms entirely. This is the same effect that brought me to tears while listening to Baptized in Fear at The Weeknd’s concert, and the same effect Caroline Polachek evokes in her NPR Tiny Desk concert, where she transforms her song I Believe into a beautifully constructed acoustic version layered with notes of grief and reunion with a loved one. These songs carry stories—a history—that is fully released in live performance, pouring out from the artist into the audience.

A compelling counter-study to this idea of presence in music is Where Is the Love? by the Black Eyed Peas. The song tackles heavy, socially charged topics—violence, racism, and global unrest—with sincerity and emotional weight. The messaging resonates. However, it doesn’t come across as deeply vulnerable in the same way other songs might. What it lacks is a personal narrative or individual emotional lens that would add rawness and intimacy. The Black Eyed Peas, as a culturally diverse group, could have infused the song with their own lived experiences to enrich its relatability and develop a deeper connection with their audience. They, of course, didn’t; they don’t owe us vulnerability in their music. As a result, the song remains a profound but impersonal anthem for social justice in the U.S.

A Reveal

Vulnerable music reveals what lies inside. As I was developing this analysis, a major challenge I faced was whether improvised music can be considered vulnerable. Improvised music is the art of creating and adapting in the moment, giving messaging and presence different meanings. Instead of forming a collective story, the artist creates to let go of what’s within, releasing an attachment to a narrative and often experiencing ego death. The artist becomes incredibly open and responsive during the creation process. They are no longer simply themselves, as the act of creation demands the artist to let go of control and move with pure instinct.

This form of expression is incredibly unique—and often difficult for an audience to fully grasp. In many ways, improvised art is more for the artist than for the listener. There’s a raw beauty in that: creating not for approval or understanding, but simply to release. It’s a form of vulnerability that exists entirely in the now.

Closing Thoughts

Vulnerability in music resists a single definition. Full of contradictions, it can be scripted or spontaneous, narrative-driven or abstract, deeply personal or carefully constructed. While presence, messaging, and emotional rawness can all contribute to a song’s vulnerability, none of these elements guarantee it—nor is vulnerability owed by an artist. In recognizing this, there are no clear conclusions. Rather, I am filled with questions. What does it mean to be vulnerable as an artist? How can I channel vulnerability into my own art?