It’s only March, but already I can’t imagine another record delivering an
opening as as fabulously dramatic as ‘The Future’s Void’ this year;
‘Satellites’ is a perfect storm of erratic electronics and punishing
beats, with Erika M Anderson on thrillingly aggressive vocal form. It
sets the tone for an album that you know is bound to be experimental,
EMA The Future’s Void but probably didn’t expect to tie its stylistic exploration together so neatly.
‘So Blonde’ is a modern update of the pop-rock posturing of EMA The Future’s Void City Slang By Joe Goggins.
In stores April 7 Hole’s ‘Celebrity Skin’, and the disconcertingly delicate ‘When She Comes’ provides a moment for breath-catching on an album that veers from one idea to the next at breakneck speed.
Neither of those tracks really have any business sitting alongside, say, the theatrical stomp of ‘Cthulu’ or ‘Neuromancer’’s gloriously weird blend of pseudotribal percussion,
layered vocal chants and thick walls of synth, but the energy that Anderson’s sheer force of character brings to proceedings makes this a
surprisingly cohesive effort.
- The Challenge of 1992
- Eels The Cautionary Tales of Mark Oliver Everett
- Ratking So It Goes
The plodding ‘3Jane’ is the one misstep, flirting lazily with political ideas, but the irrepressibly urgent ‘Solace’ and atmospheric simmer of ‘100 Years’
more than make up for it.
It’d be strange indeed if ‘The Future’s Void’’s brilliantly daring experimentation wasn’t subject to the same plaudits as, say, the new St. Vincent record.
If Annie Clark’s the queen of off-kilter pop, EMA is wearing the corresponding crown for rock.
‘Chamber of Reflection’, one of the LP’s standout tracks, is a disco tune that’s been stripped bare and slowed down to an almost standstill.
The lyrics are outright pessimistic and its four minutes is otherwise populated by flashes of synth reminiscent of Metronomy on a sad
It’s the sort of track that should flummox an artist like DeMarco, but it doesn’t because he’s learnt to put more thought into every facet of his
Joe Strummer once said, “Don’t write slogans, write truths.” If you need any proof that these two things don’t have to be exclusive then buy ‘Salad Days’.
DeMarco was always an artist whose world struggled with simple binaries, but this is an LP combining the pop artist’s
unashamed desire to occupy your head all day long and the storyteller’s authenticity, with astounding, electrifying skill.
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