Zola Jesus
Stridulum EP

THE REVIEW

"She has an entire gospel choir of the undead crammed in her throat".

This is what I thought when, some time ago, I first came into contact with the very young Russian singer Nika Roza Dalinova (stage name Zola Jesus) for that album, "The Spoils", which in those wounds hid gloomy twilights and wounds impossible to heal. A raw sound that combined folk echoes with the most intense, almost industrial, electronics, a hint of gothic-dark climate, lo-fi, and peculiar pop melodies. As she grew over the years, the girl managed to refine her sound, album after album, always sounding different, yet always true to herself.

Thus, going through the sonic assaults of "Tsar Bomba" and the painful minimalism of "The Spoils", reaching a mature and accessible sound, yet ever on the line of experimentation, of the splendid "Conatus", Zola Jesus distinguished herself with her interpretative and writing abilities, captivating in the pleasurable side project of the Former Ghosts (together with Jamie Stewart and Freddy Ruppert) and frightening, scratching, seducing. 

Her best work, however, remains this album: "Stridulum" (also released in a corrected version with more tracks titled "Stridulum II"). An album where splendor and suffering blend to create pieces that are hard to erase. Whether it's the wonderful "I Can't Stand", which even manages to move, the erratic funeral march of the title track, or the beautiful and painfully exquisite "Trust Me", which in just two minutes heals the wounds of love disappointments to exorcise them, there is no difference.

Because "Stridulum" is a cohesive and deviant album, desperate, yet capable of enjoying the beauty of a newly bloomed flower. Melancholic, reflective, obsessive. It flows and disrupts the environment in which it is played. An incredibly beautiful and lovable proof, but at the same time heavy as a stone, like life.

With her compositions, Danilova scatters forget-me-not buds over massacres and bloodshed. She points a knife at your back, while you embrace her, and whispers, crying, "Hold me, love me, don't leave me." She tells you this with that gospel choir of zombies lurking in her vocal cords, while the black, pitch-black sky envelops you.

I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but, in a few words, it shook me. And it's beautiful when that happens.