This week’s roundup of the internet’s finest up-and-comers sees Getintothis’ Patrick Clarke track down some sumptuous alt-pop and yet more of Sweden’s leading lights.
The leafy confines of suburban Surrey might not strike one as fertile when it comes to artistic innovation, but the village of Chipstead has given birth to one of British alt-pop’s leading lights in the form of Pixx, the pseudonym of 19-year old Hannah Rodgers.
New outing A Way To Say Goodbye eases straight into swarming atmospherics courtesy of murky, swaying synths, Rodgers’ sweet, ethereal vocal lent understated force in the juxtaposition. It’s in the chorus that she strikes flashes of genius though, clean, rich piano cutting through the haze with the off-kilter tenderness of Thom Yorke at his most organic.
It’s a phenomenal track and astoundingly produced, but what’s most exciting is the higher plane it hints at, the whispers of a genuine brilliance that should they blossom could result in something truly magnificent.
Meanwhile in yet another return to Sweden, Malmö’s Dimman, Matthew Bolger & Richard Egan are setting themselves apart from the raft of modern electronica with their outstanding new effort Sigmal. Warm and dextrous the track is one, long, masterful build of layered synths, wholehearted bass and wistful, dusky aesthetics that has an infinity to reveal given time and space.
Beginning murkily enough, a sparkling guitar line adds light, until layer after beautiful layer of deft instrumentation kicks into the track, which reaches its first apex as Slow Skies‘ Karen Sheridan‘s sweet sampled vocals join the throng. By the end it’s simply impossible not to be engrossed, the profusion of texture swirling into a piece of electronica at it’s most undeniably gorgeous.
There’s no such subtlety for fellow Swedes BODY, however, the Stockholm band whose debut EP Hollow/Dingo appeared this September and is a barrage of goth-infused garage-rock that howls for your undivided attention.
Founded on a blistering attack of twin guitars, Mary Christ’s vocal cut with a Savages snarl, the four minutes of Dingo distills brutal post-punk freakouts, ominous cacophonies and barbaric sonic assaults into a tense, teeming package of fanatical strength.