Everything is epileptic…
Katherine St Asaph: Ghost functions less as a cohesive EP and more as a demonstration of all the myriad styles Sky Ferreira can handle. This one’s the Ariel Reichstad Song: supersaturated, color-blocked ’80s dress of a bass burble, twinkles and chimes, chorus that bursts like a lightswitch rave, nothing subtle anywhere. But Sky’s in another song entirely, or, more accurately, a reverie. “You’re crystal-clear, facing the light — don’t disappear,” she sings, as if that’s a distinct possibility; then, later on, “suddenly strange, everything is great,” bemused; then, before the chorus, “is this real life?” It evokes a very specific feeling: the one where you’ve woken at 6 a.m. and the room’s cast in the soft focus of bleary eyes, and it takes you awhile to orient yourself to your surroundings and who’s suddenly occupying them, improbably and undeniably and just what you’d imagined. Which, granted, isn’t terribly far from the “she said bedroom! There’s some dude in her bed in the video! This is all anyone needs to talk about!” lech chorus of basso profuckoffs, but is nevertheless probably universal — and seldom described with such joy.
Brad Shoup: “Well, everyone knows Kate ran up that hill. What this song presupposes is… the hill is a dude’s butt?”
Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: As she hops over the bubbling of Stock Aiken Waterman synthesisers, Ferreira makes loneliness sound somewhat inviting in a fuzzed-out bubblegum song blown up to gigantic size. It is, however, a little one-note. The glimpse of cornball guitar that appears as the song fades out gives a feeling that there was more going on in the studio than the song, and no, you’re not invited to find out what.
Anthony Easton: Breathy, by the book, and terribly boring.
Edward Okulicz: Blasts into the speakers and it’s like Rachel Stevens’ “So Good” with a backbone and a mind of its own, but alas, not quite as belting a tune. Still, the very mid-00s, quite British sound approximated by this never quite got its commercial dues, so if someone wants to market a pretty girl to hipsters using it, I’m not going to get too grossed out when I’ve got plenty of utility for it.
Alfred Soto: The chorus boasts the pre-4AD swirl und drang with which Chairlift triumphed last year, but I can’t explain it’s lacking – energy? more of that lovely guitar faded too soon?
Iain Mew: A return to the crystalline brightness of “One,” though suitably bedroom-bound and smaller in scale. I don’t feel completely sure of where she’s going with her imagination, but the way that everything contrasts so sharply with the underlying electronic scraping is neat enough to mostly make up for it.
Will Adams: In “Lost in My Bedroom,” Sky Ferreira is blissfully lost, enveloped in vocoders and a stomping schaffel. If anything goes wrong, there’s a quick solution: “Shadows appear/I close my eyes,” without any explanation of why this works. It just does. It’s unabashedly giddy and all the more endearing for it. When I returned from classes today, my foot brushed against an empty pizza box that had been there since last night. While that and the rest of my room was all disgusting, I found solace in knowing that it was my room. Don’t worry: I cleaned up eventually.