Single Of The Week 2
Piano Magic
Wrong French
Che

Victoria Segal

"And there were those films made in the Seventies where dolls ran through fields late at night after men...."
It starts with rain, a chill drone, and then a 12-year-old girl starts to speak, in a thin, phantom voice. As the melody begins to form, so does a picture, a picture that is increasingly terrifying. Never explicit, it seizes the latent horror of the fairy tale - the fear of being eaten, lost, killed - and dislocates it from the happy endings into an electronic cage. Only Pram scrabble about in the dirt for lost innocence to creepier effect.
"his shirt is my dress/I lost my knees and hands/He drowned my make-up in the white sands...."
Deciding whether Piano Magic are sick or inspired is impossible - the two go hand in clammy hand so often that it seems stupid to ask. Yes, I can imagine a review where this would be called exploitative, pretentious, perverse - but at least two of those words are compliments under another name.
"I was baking when he kissed me/I I got flour in his hair/He rolled me like a bottle/Whispered wrong French in my ear...."
Post-rock ghost-rock. Brrrrr.