There is an alternate universe where Emily Scott is already a household name, and if there is any justice in the world, our universe will soon catch up with that one.
Pale Spring’s Cygnus might be Doom Trip’s most straight-up pop release yet, but a kind of slanted, dour pop with muted, echoed trip hop production, courtesy of Scott’s husband Drew. Scott comes off in her delivery like Dido, Imogen Heap, or Portishead’s Beth Gibbons. Like its avian subject, the swan — a symbol of beauty and grace — Cygnus demonstrates a dignified sorrow at every step, its bowed head a contemplative symbol of its inner workings. Scott plays the part perfectly, her emotive voice a confident manifestation of bare melancholy and regret displayed for the purposes of entertainment. Our attention is voyeuristic, our intention is empathy.
But then the stars.
The constellation Cygnus is a simple cross shape, recognizable enough that Ptolemy listed it in the second century BCE. Pale Spring’s Cygnus contains a similar emotional nexus, connecting head to heart and mind to body, but tenuously, as fragile a point of reference as the constellation’s imaginary lines. It infiltrates like a frigid winter night, sky brilliant with flickering points, air crisp and sharp. And through it all Emily Scott’s voice radiates like melodicized moonlight.
Is she a household name yet?
How about now?
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