Text: George Nikas|Photo: extract from Wounded Rhymes album cover |lykkeli.com
What would you do if this girl whispered in your ear ‘ I’m your prostitute, you’re gonna get some?’, while the guitar vibrato and the cannibalistic rhythm from the voodoo drums rise the temperature and make you sweat inside a suffocating blurry liquid LSD while a black mamba is approaching you with addictive moves? You would probably want to find more money for the juke box, even if it is a bit dangerous and you indie friends look at you in a weird way. Even if it is her second album, and you discovered her when she was still twenty two. Because she’s from the same country that gave birth to Roxette and raised Bathory. And she knows how to make pop songs appropriate for obscene rituals.