Aldous Harding’s voice is a weird world, some sideways place where everything is always melting and morphing. It’s a slippery and enchanting marvel that glances the hermetic realms of Scott Walker and Marianne Faithful and Anohni, but it remains its own odd thing. It is a prism refracting midnight vibes—childlike wonder and stricken desire, brand new glee and ancient menace. Harding funnels it into recognizable pop forms, but it is too much, and so it spills past the lip of the common to claim the space beyond what is known. To hear it is to believe in something you will never touch.

by Chris Stamm