This Friday, March 27, you’ll also find in stores the records from Robyn and Snail Mail.
Fcukers Ö (Ninja Tune/PIAS)
Long-awaited since the 2024 single Bon Bon, Ö delivers with electroclash fed by house, dub, and hedonism. Behind their jaded looks, their rough-edged productions, and DIY-tinged videos, the Downtown New York duo’s stance seems less about a pose and more about a genuine anti-industrial move aimed at fun and creative control, for which their ultra-hedonistic debut album Ö would be the perfect vehicle.
By Théo Dubreuil. Read the review of Ö.
Flea Honora (Nonesuch Records/Warner)
The Australian-born, California-raised artist finally pursues his teenage fantasy in his sixties — after being launched into orbit by punk or funk, bebop has always been his creed. If he fulfills his late-in-life jazz wish, he does so with a confidence and a clear vision that spare him the academic exercise, exemplified by the memorable Morning Cry, a free-spirited and hypnotic creation.
By Vincent Brunner. Read the review of Honora.
Requin Chagrin Takeoff (KMS Disques/Sony Music)
Takeoff was born in the solitude of a teenage bedroom. That of Marion Brunetto. The musician, singer and tinkerer at the helm of Requin Chagrin gathered all her instruments and old tape machines to the south of France, where the sun spills onto the façade of the family home in Ramatuelle. From this makeshift studio emerges a fourth stellar record.
By Juliette Poulain. Read the review of Takeoff.
Robyn Sexistential (Yung/Wagram)
Robyn remains more than ever a free agent of pop. In three decades of making music, she has rejected industry diktats and the push toward conformity, especially when aimed at women, securing a lasting top position without ever renouncing her values, her beliefs, or her femininity. Paving the way for an entire generation of artists – Charli XCX, Romy, Lorde, Carly Rae Jepsen, or Taylor Swift – who claim her influence as much as her independence.
By Patrick Thévenin. Read the interview with Robyn.
Snail Mail Ricochet (Matador/Wagram)
Without a hint of nostalgia, Lindsey Jordan adopts an alt-rock fantasy to lift her melancholy through razor-sharp vocal control. At first listen to Ricochet, one gets the unsettling feeling of stepping into the soundtrack of a 1990s teen movie in a Clueless vein. Yet the naive sparkle of memory is quickly unsettled: there’s something rotten in Dawson’s kingdom. The retro sepia postcard is soon swept away by the singer’s ache and clarity, coming from a Baltimore suburb.
By Arnaud Ducome. Read the review of Ricochet.
