Catch that buzz: Fever Ray

If Sweden’s introverted siblings The Knife only pricked the subconscious of the mainstream with bouncy balls and cover versions, Fever Ray, the side-project from rejuvenated front woman (in the loosest possible sense of the word) Karin Dreijer Andersson serves as the perfect epilogue to the duo’s electroclash assault on popular music. Having neglected a Swedish Grammy, jumpstarted José Gonzalez’ somewhat vacant career, inspired gender-hopping Robyn to ditch her status as Ms. Spears’ label mate and made Venetian festival masks just about the most desirable facial accessory since Wayfarers, if this slab of undying veneration constitutes your first venture into the pair’s twisted kaleidoscope you’ve got a fair bit of catching up to do. Oh and love it or hate it, Pitchfork proclaimed their last offering Silent Shout to be the indispensable record of 2006.

Fever Ray doesn’t stray all that far from its stomping ground of brutally vulnerable cacophonic synths and blips yet minimalism and subtlety take front seat. Accessible chart fodder this ain’t; behind the mask broods an aggressive, repressed heart capable of catastrophic crescendos and ultimately, the embodiment of melodramatic ambiguity at it’s finest. Martin de Thurrah’s visual interpretation of When I Grow Up is possibly the most evocative four minutes of stupor-inducing magnificence since MTV gave up on music videos and captivates as much as it confounds.
Bewilderment is heightened by the track’s ability to transport even the most selective of ears to ill-boding doldrums without the unsettled, thrashing sonic streamlines for which The Knife have become renowned. If those HMV or iTunes vouchers from Christmas need putting to use you could do worse than to delve into the sinister yet impeccably intricate depths of Andersson’s brain. After all, it’s probably Scandinavia’s best export since Absolut.

Fever Ray- Seven
Fever Ray- Triangle Walks