Her pillowy movie star lips arranged into a regal pout, Anna Calvi gets straight to the point.
“Somebody wrote an article about me recently and I thought it was quite barbed,” complains 2011’s hottest goth-pop revivalist (we aren’t being factitious – there are quite a few fellow travellers snapping gloomily at her heels). “In fact, his comments were unjustifiably bitchy. But I think you’ve got to expect that sort of thing. If everyone liked you, there’d be something wrong. Come on, it would be quite weird, wouldn’t it?”

We are discussing the backlash which seems to be coming Calvi’s way before her career has even properly taken off yet. A placing on the inescapable BBC Sound Of... poll coupled with vocal cheerleading from Brian Eno have seen the Londoner-of-Italian extraction fetch up at the threshold of 2011 in a blaze of exposure. And some people seem mightily put out to see her jostling for prominence amongst this year’s crop of Winehouse clones and indie whiners. Especially miffing was a write-up in a mid-market UK broadsheet, in which the 23-year-old was slapped down as a “hackneyed” purveyor of – oh dear, has someone swallowed a thesaurus? – “crepuscular, simmering sensuality”.
“It’s fine,” she says, waving the incident away. “There will be people who appreciate what you do and people who don’t. That’s life. You have to accept the good with the bad.”
She can afford to be sanguine. Whatever the bloke from The Guardian would have you believe, Calvi isn’t exactly lacking for admirers. With a doomy, ethereal sound – think Kate Bush locked in Scott Walker’s attic – her self-titled debut LP has, alongside to Professor Eno’s approving murmers, attracted admiring glances from gloomster royalty such as Interpol and Nick Cave. Her biggest fan of all, arguably, is Domino Records boss Lawrence Bell, who signed her when she was still penning ditties in her parent’s basement.
“Brian Eno was one of the first people to hear my songs,” she says. “He heard them just as I’d been signed to Domino. From the beginning he was extremely supportive. I’ll always remember his advice. He told me I didn’t need a producer in the sense of someone coming in with their own vision and interpreting my work for me. That was good to hear, as it was how I felt myself.”
Listening to Anna Calvi, two things stand out – her Florence-does-Siouxsie vocals and those strident guitar licks. She’s particularly invested in the latter. Owing more to Jack White than the home counties folkies she grew up amongst (she’s a friend of Mumford & Sons’ Ben Lovett and banjo bashing underachiever Johnny Flynn), her bluesy shredding adds a psychedelic undertow to her storm-tossed songs. Some have compared her style to Jimi Hendrix and Rory Gallagher.
“I’ve never heard of the second person you mentioned but Jimi Hendrix was always an enormous influence,” she ventures. “I’ve always had a strong connection with the guitar. My imagination has always come flowing out when I play it. It gives me so much in terms of inspiration. It definitely feeds my imagination. I’m not into showing off. That’s not what my style is about. I love using it to build atmosphere.”
Slow and intense, Anna Calvi isn’t always an easy listen. It certainly wasn’t a straightforward record to make. Calvi devoted five years of her life to the project. There were moments, she admits, when she wondered whether she would ever reach the finish line. Luckily Domino came onboard just as she was starting to doubt herself.
“I found they were extremely respectful of my vision as an artist,” she enthuses. “They understand that it’s my job to be creative and their job to look after the other side of things. I’m very lucky to be with them.”
Born in London to a Tuscan family, Calvi spent the first three years of her life in hospital, the consequence of a hip condition demanding long-term medical intervention. Though too young to really remember the trauma, she feels it nonetheless shaped her as a songwriter.
“Both my hips were dislocated when I was born. It definitely had an effect me me. I think the way children make sense of their world is by being creative. What happened to me was quite frightening when I was young. However, I’m sure it brought out my creative side. Even if it hadn’t happened, I would have been creative. But being in hospital so long forced me to look even more deeply into myself.”
While Calvi rolls her eyes at the ‘nu goth’ chatter, there is no denying she is part of a wider movement of dramatic new artists. Fellow conspirators include Zola Jesus (Lady Gaga goes cyber-goth), Salem (Crystal Castles submerged in ennui and mescaline ), Esben and the Witch (Britrockers stay up all night watching Wickerman) and Claire Maguire (Duffy as reimagined by Tim Burton). Nobody likes to be pigeonholed. Still, Calvi will admit to sense of kinship with her fellow travellers?
“As I was making the album I wasn’t interested in what was fashionable in the music scene,” she says sternly. “I wanted to make music which was honest and true to me. As long as I’m happy with the results, I don’t care what titles people use.”
She had her first taste of mainstream exposure last October when Nick Cave invited her to tour as support to his Grinderman project.
“He’s one of my musical heroes. Can I be honest: I was quite scared to meet him. I thought he might be a bit well... He was actually really nice. A real gentleman. They took us out for meals and watched us play several times on tour. They were really great.”
Sounding much older than 23, Calvi appears to have her head screwed on. She certainly isn’t getting carried away with all the hype. That said, she’s played enough open mic nights to recognise an opportunity when it’s dangling before her and seems genuinely delighted to have made the BBC long-list.
“I’m surprised they picked an artist like me, “ she proffers. “I’m coming from the left-field. A lot of the people they champion are major label artists. Good for them for choosing something a little bit more obscure. Anything that raises awareness of the music is good, from my perspective. Good for them.”