FKA Twigs:
LP1:
Young Turks:
LP/CD:
Out Now:
★★★★★★★☆☆☆
Tahliah Debrett Barnett has the power. The power to put the shits up radio-land, the power to upset record-labels and the power to empower. It's the rhythmic grind, the musical minimalism and the fucky-fucky lyrics on LP1 that'll have most admen, programmers and critics in varying degrees of lather - FKA Twigs has a way with words, some of it tenable, a little of it identifiable, much of it blunt and to the point without her poetry having to be lazily called 'urban'.
This is a debut album that is likely to have awards thrown at it - I can see the Mercury judges studying this under their collective microscope and then promptly handing the prize to some drip wielding a ukulele. Hey-ho. LP1 is an odd bird, for sure though. Stuttering steamhammer beats and sparse yet edgy electronics (not unlike Zomby's recent work) provide leverage for Twigs' euphoric harmonies in much the same way they have for the likes of Grimes and upcoming balladeer Tom The Lion. Here however, very few of the songs shift into second gear and you won't find the next 'bangin' club-anthem - the ten tracks exude a less-is-more aura for a reason. Your mind.
So while your feet play footsie in equal measures with beats that are bare-faced or barely-there, your head is absorbing a crystalline collision of heavy-breathing, sound-bites and deep moaning, lung-puncturing snare-drums and ball-busting bass-lines that will either leave you utterly elated or completely deflated. One listen to the superb Closer might help you make up your mind. Like a choir of angels trilling at the pearly gates, armed with a boom-box for company, track number eight rat-a-tats its insistence into your brain like an emotional dawn-raid.
Lights On and Give Up are also highlights worth investigating, while the album-closer Kicks sounds a little like something Clannad and London Grammar might come up with if they lived and worked together in Stockwell, an eerie case of folkish melody meeting gritty night-bus despair at the helm of South London's uneasy streets.
For me though, the rest of the album is a blur of all-too-similar soundscapes that sound amazing but either lack soul or intent or, in the case of Video Girl, both. There's real promise, mind you - so-called quirky females of pop (Bjork, Gaga, Jessie J) can sell out tours and stadium shows in a heartbeat so why shouldn't FKA Twigs? LP1 is, by all accounts, the merest tip of the iceberg - her live shows are the real deal.
LP1:
Young Turks:
LP/CD:
Out Now:
★★★★★★★☆☆☆
This is a debut album that is likely to have awards thrown at it - I can see the Mercury judges studying this under their collective microscope and then promptly handing the prize to some drip wielding a ukulele. Hey-ho. LP1 is an odd bird, for sure though. Stuttering steamhammer beats and sparse yet edgy electronics (not unlike Zomby's recent work) provide leverage for Twigs' euphoric harmonies in much the same way they have for the likes of Grimes and upcoming balladeer Tom The Lion. Here however, very few of the songs shift into second gear and you won't find the next 'bangin' club-anthem - the ten tracks exude a less-is-more aura for a reason. Your mind.
So while your feet play footsie in equal measures with beats that are bare-faced or barely-there, your head is absorbing a crystalline collision of heavy-breathing, sound-bites and deep moaning, lung-puncturing snare-drums and ball-busting bass-lines that will either leave you utterly elated or completely deflated. One listen to the superb Closer might help you make up your mind. Like a choir of angels trilling at the pearly gates, armed with a boom-box for company, track number eight rat-a-tats its insistence into your brain like an emotional dawn-raid.
Lights On and Give Up are also highlights worth investigating, while the album-closer Kicks sounds a little like something Clannad and London Grammar might come up with if they lived and worked together in Stockwell, an eerie case of folkish melody meeting gritty night-bus despair at the helm of South London's uneasy streets.
For me though, the rest of the album is a blur of all-too-similar soundscapes that sound amazing but either lack soul or intent or, in the case of Video Girl, both. There's real promise, mind you - so-called quirky females of pop (Bjork, Gaga, Jessie J) can sell out tours and stadium shows in a heartbeat so why shouldn't FKA Twigs? LP1 is, by all accounts, the merest tip of the iceberg - her live shows are the real deal.