FKA Twigs

Doomed and drowning in its own gloomy glow, the glorious sound of FKA Twigs is a woozy throb of confident youth.

It’s music to accompany the steady bloom of a flower or the slow motion collapse of a council block. Modern and melancholy and as impressive with supplementary images in compelling videos as it is through headphones with only pavement to peer at, her current output promises a potential direction for the UK music industry to move to, and for us consumers to groove to.

Her stunning ‘EP2’ showcases a rich exploration of textures and sonic patterns and like shimmering porcelain glimmers with strength and shadows intricate shape. The minimalist sway of Water Me spins in space like Kubrick’s ship and falls back to modern Britain bruised and raw and real.

He told me I was so small 
I told him water me 
I promise I can grow tall
When making love is free.

She sings, like Plath with piercings, a swooning declaration of swollen love that feels like forever and the future, like yesterday and tomorrow.

Expect her at every music awards ceremony in the world next year. She’ll be the one handling several golden statues and looking ethereal on the red carpet. Floating above stretched crimson with a lipstick pout matching the floor and wide eyes like sullen moons.

 

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About Jack Murray

My name is Jack and I am a writer who wishes he was a footballer. You can read my work at sillycivilians.tumblr.com and follow me on Twitter @SILLYCIVILIAN. As well as being TV & Radio Editor for the University of Edinburgh’s @TheStudentNewspaper, the UK’s Oldest Student Newspaper, I write about television, fashion, music, popular culture, politics and football for various other national publications. I was voted Britain’s 3rd Best Dressed Real Man by Esquire in 2010, and believe that I’d probably come about 29th in a current poll. If I wasn’t a writer and was actually a footballer, I would play as a cultured holding midfielder for Everton and be casually compared to Andrea Pirlo. I also wish I was Andrea Pirlo. Or at least had Andrea Pirlo’s hair. Or his capacity to grow exceptional beards. I'll settle for writing funny words on the internet though. Perpetually beardless.

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