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SoKo could be the name of the new summer popsicle. Anthracite-colored with the bittersweet taste of earthly insecurities, with a hint of sharp irony.
Stéphanie Sokolinski, aka SoKo, is a decent-looking girl, and now that she's platinum blonde (as seen on the cover), she looks even more so. French with Polish origins, she debuted young (2003) in cinema. Basically, she makes money and then devotes herself to another passion, which is music. She leaves behind the image of a fresh-faced girl that seemed to show with her 2012 debut, characterized by acoustic pop with intimate tendencies. Now she lays her cards on the table and reveals a more polished and perhaps more authentic face, even of those that are her feelings. Not that she expresses deep concepts; on the contrary, there’s a simplification of themes that become generalist and a bit cheeky, but precisely for this reason, I perceive her as more direct, without any sort of gratuitousness.
Slotting in just past the post in a post-wave/goth cauldron, it's certainly an album that doesn’t sound new, but on the other hand, it doesn’t have the slightest pretension to do so. It seems more like an homage to her loves, towards bands like The Cure or the B-52’s; viewed in this light, it’s a joy to listen to, with evocative melodic cues that are quite remarkable.
The painted scenarios are mostly strangely clear, thanks to an excellent mix (initially, she asked Robert Smith, who refused, and “settled” for Ross Robinson) that puts the voice in the foreground without making it overly dominant. The voice is precisely the extra touch: warm and at the same time detached, slightly husky and luscious. I wouldn't want to evoke Siouxsie, but the style resembles her own.
The album is a chase for the atmospheres of early The Cure, especially Faith, and those of the post-depressive The Cure in the more cheerful tracks. “Visions” is emblematic of the first case: a subdued and croaky litany in which space seems to expand. “My precious” and “Temporary mood swings” serve as a counterpoint, among the more carefree moments but no less effective for it, especially the latter with its Arabian guitar and the neurotic singing a la B-52’s.
Collaborations abound: in “Who wears the pants,” the guitar intro, reminiscent of the Pixies, is played by Ambroise Willaume, voice and guitar of Revolver. In the subtle pop of “Bad poetry,” the drums are played by Stella Mozgawa, a member of Warpaint. In “Monster love” and “Lovetrap,” there's Ariel Pink's contribution in singing and arranging; the latter is a dive into the more plastic 80s, with the driest sound of the entire album and a neat little back-and-forth between the singer and Ariel playing cat and mouse.
She doesn't fail to explore dreamy atmospheres: “Come in peace” and traditionally goth like the title track. Nor does she let us miss out on a little plagiarism: “Ocean of tears,” which is crazily similar to “Antichrist Television Blues” by Arcade Fire.
An album that’s not particularly coherent but from which personality emerges nonetheless. For me, it marks the first happy release of the summer.
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