All posts tagged St Vincent

Tiger Lion – The Sea

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Clémentine Blue has been trying to understand the true meaning of home for a long time now; having moved to the UK from France a few years ago, she’s since found herself living in Brighton, Manchester and more recently London. As a result, her musical palette is disarmingly colourful, glistening vividly with all manner of ideas and inspirations – but her real ability lies in being able to bring together these influences to form a bewilderingly beautiful patchwork quilt of sound, fashioned by the memories of people she’s met, loved and lost along the way.

‘The Sea’ is the first song to be taken from her stunning debut EP ‘Outremer’, a collection of bedroom recordings produced and mixed by Clémentine herself, exploring themes of loneliness and abandonment with a tender sensuality. Like Annie Clark’s St Vincent, Tiger Lion is a project that defiantly embraces change, experimenting with different cultures by taking traditional instruments away from their context. However, it’s her moments of intimate expression that really draw you in deeper, exposing a vulnerability with a depth far beyond your initial expectations. The accompanying video, directed in collaboration with Angèle Béraud, is soaked in shades of blue; each subtle tone and texture forming an emotional connection with the music.

‘Outremer’ is released via Woodland Recordings on the 29/11. Limited edition physical copies of the EP will be available with hand-stamped CDs inside a 7″ sleeve, a numbered print of one of Clementine Blue’s analog photographs + lyrics booklet and hand painted credits.

Tiger Lion plays Pitchblack at Birthdays in London on the 18/12.

http://www.woodlandrecordings.com

Phill Young

House Of Dolls – Yellow Turns Grey

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If St. Vincent and Amnesiac-era Radiohead got together in the studio, the end result would probably sound something like House Of Dolls – a duo comprising of Marie Celeste and Kit Lawrence from Christchurch, New Zealand.

Yellow Turns Grey is a winding, off-kilter track sparked by stark sounding beats, wiry, dissonant guitar riffs, chiming orchestration and murmured, disconnected vocals. Like a black and white rainbow, its paranoid funk conjures a distinctive Lynchian mood. A world of buzzing flies and blinking strip lights – hallucinations and cold sweats at three A.M. when your reflection’s your only friend. Like a facsimile of itself, its looping eccentricity is a large part of its appeal.

Paul Baird