This record doesn’t quite sound like anything else. Okay, I’m lying. It sounds a bit like a three-way car-crash between Carole King, Enya and ‘70s croony weeper Clifford T. Ward. And from that mangled wreckage of metal and vocal chords Frida Hyvonen tentatively strides with her stately piano playing, assertive classically-reverbed alto-voice, ‘90s synthesiser pads, occasional cellos, Theremins, and sad specific lyrics about childhood crushes who grew up to be chimney sweeps, London based dandies, scientific principles, and an abortion. And it’s all quite lovely and modern and yet still seems to conjure up images of fondue dips, patterned curtains, floral head scarves and dinner parties in the suburbs.
Key Track: 'December'