The return of Everett True | 37. Princess Nokia
I’m whistling soundlessly in the dark here, aren’t I? The mix tape I keep dreaming of doesn’t exist. I know I could create my own. That’s not the point, is it? Here’s the link to the music. Beautiful and… just whistling soundlessly.
There’s more. There’s always more. Aren’t you glad that there’s always more? That no matter how much you collect, there’s never closure? Here’s the link to the music. Solipsistic and gently unsettling and beautiful and… just whistling soundlessly.
Everything is my forearm, lit up like Sunderland Bridge, posters peeling inches thick from the wall. Everything is infinitesimally small time hiccups and insanely PUNGENT smells, and the knowledge that this music only unsettles because nothing follows after. It leads on… to what? Whistling tunelessly in the dark. Someone on YouTube has called the following a “new age Portishead” but I cannot hear any whale sounds. Someone else has called it “Cocorosie gone midnight tech wizard”. I can’t even begin to get my head around what that means. But I reprint both descriptions because – sure – on the surface, I can hear some of that. In places. And not in others. Categorising helps to stop the floundering, momentarily. Wait. Is my whistling bugging you? I’m trying to be as quiet as I possibly can.
Her music keeps changing. The following sounds little like what was described before. Her breadth of musical breath is dazzling. Then I hear something else, and she’s changed the entire fucking rules of the game again. (Rules is a bad word here.)
Inspired by Game Of Thrones. What isn’t?
We all dream the same dreams. Some of us just whistle quieter.
This is very possibly my favourite album of 2014 if we can put aside Beyoncé and her 13.5m Twitter followers for just one second.