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Experimental London-based singer, Portia Winters, offers a compelling debut that shows just how far pop music can go.
Minimalistically sparse, Epicotyl focuses on the voice as the main instrument. Winters’ strong, confident vocals blend the tight control of classical training with r&b emotionalism. Behind her, glitchy electronics beep and pulse with cyberpunk austerity, pushing the boundaries of pop melodicism into futurist space. In the center, “Revolution,” almost a radio single, turns Icona Pop hooks into Bjork weirdness, while, later, “Now Go Down My Hair” blends electroacoustics with angelic choral singing. It’s the album Adele and Lorde will never make because they simply don’t have the courage to do so.
If you’ve ever wondered what cowboys, samurais and data traffickers would listen to in the smokey, neon underground clubs of William Gibson’s Sprawl, look no further. Portia Winters has made a pop album for the technological age. Now the rest of us have to catch up.
