Calling Ava Renn a pop artist would do her a disservice, or at least only scratch the surface of the music she makes. Okay, if it is pop, at least it runs on poised and dark, and deep and cinematic sonic moves that are gently drawn, Trojan Horse-like, into a more mainstream and accessible sphere, and perhaps also a timely reminder that the pop genre has so many hidden, shaded corners and liminal spaces for the discerning and brave artist to explore.
‘Sellout’s Prelude’ (see, the title alone points to something more thoughtful than the usual chart fare) is a wonderfully atmospheric piece, a heady balance between the solidity of the drums and scything guitars and then soaked in the fragility and vulnerability of more acoustic textures and that amazing voice: a voice that seems both worldly and ethereal at the same time and perfect for a song sitting between thoughts of self-destruction and self-preservation, between oblivion and redemption.
Contradictions abound: choirs of (fallen?) angels drift through a landscape of delicacy and destruction, raw electric chords ride roughshod over chiming acoustica, and the song creates a fantastic dynamic as it runs between languid lulls and crescendoic highs.
If Nick Drake or perhaps Joni Mitchell had explored heavier, electric sounds alongside their dulcet, deft acoustic tones, those would make perfect reference points. Even as things stand, they make great touchstones for this seductive, subtle, and darkly serene (serenely dark?) song.
