Musick is a big fan of albums that feel like they exist in their own little world. They get released in the same way as other albums, but listening to them feels almost alien, as if the only way to fully appreciate it is to dress up in white face paint and put on a blonde wig. Maybe that's just with this album. Created by Karin Dreijer Andersson, aka one half of The Knife, Fever Ray is an eerie concoction, mixing creepy, slow-moving melodies with Andersson's often heavily treated vocals. On the one hand everything is made to keep the listener unsettled and at arm's length, but there's also a warm core to the record that centres around the birth of Andersson's child. The mundane – lyrics about dishwasher tablets, tending to a neighbour's plants, etc – is twisted and contorted, whilst the harrowing 'Concrete Walls' hints at post-natal depression. As with Bjork's Vespertine, it's an album that deals with the domestic, but also seems to rally against greed and the need for power (“More, give me more, give me more”). It's an album that you need to live with, it's dark secrets revealing themselves slowly and carefully. Best not to listen to it if you're having a bad day, but if you're looking to be transported to some kind of dark netherworld then this is a brilliant place to start.
Key track: 'Seven'
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