The idea of a British-born, blue-eyed Berlinite turning Aaliyah's "Try Again" into an industrial-dub robot dirge seems pretty suspect. But somehow, 25-year old Bristol-bred Emika pulls off "Common Exchange" with flying Grisaille colors. Chalk its success up to the electronic composer/sound designer's belief that life and dance music alike are fatally boring when you stick to the blueprint.
Emika's self-titled debut is one of those rip-it-up-and-start-again records. That's not to say that she isn't descended from a tradition of pitch-black and borderless artists, but rather that her influences are varied enough to strand you on Spotify for several hours. There are the obvious trip-hop antecedents: Portishead, the artists on Ninja Tune (Emika's label, where she once interned); there's the THC residue of the dubstep pioneers with whom she's collaborated: Pinch, Mala of Digital Mystikz. Then there are the Bauhaus grooves absorbed during innumerable nights at German techno tabernacle Berghain, where she developed a close working relationship with club resident Marcel Dettmann.
If the above paragraph sounds like gibberish, let me re-translate: To the European underground, Emika is a golden child in somber pose. Even the eternally sober Thom Yorke recently endorsed Emika on the BBC and said, "I hope she gets really famous." She's not there yet, but it's not inconceivable. After all, few artists emerge as fully formed and self-sufficient. She writes, she produces, sings, plays piano, digital sequencers, and synthesizers. Her old day job was fittingly in sound design for the music software firm Native Instruments. The professional inclination is revealed amidst the poison fog of Emika, a record that's both experimental and precise, well caffeinated and focused, yet always deliberate in its approach.
Over the last few years, dubstep has slowly seeped into the bloodstream of mainstream pop. Everyone from Britney to Rihanna to Korn and (maybe) Kanye have incorporated flourishes or wholesale ideas. In England, Katy B is a star, and Skream, Benga, and Joker have made moves toward the masses with varying success. But the pop realm and the dingy warehouse grime of early dubstep have largely been mutually incompatible. At best, they swap melody for rawness. At worst, they boast the street grit of a Flo Rida and David Guetta MDMA orgy.
Setting the xx aside, Emika comes as close as anyone to bridging the minimalist menace of the 2005-08 run on the Punch Drunk and Tectonic labels to breathy accessible vocals and classical piano. There's enough violence and double-crossing here to fill up a Rihanna record. Single "Double Edge" finds Emika moaning damaged syllables of emotional betrayal. "Professional Loving" finds her mulling the hollow, workaday love she experienced at her old office in Berlin. "The Long Goodbye" finds Emika emulating Beth Gibbons, wraith-like and ethereal, eulogizing friendships that never were.
But at its core, this is about the beats, as silvery and scalloped as a Frank Gehry facade. It's a slippery record, careful to never show Emika's face too clearly. She picks her spots smartly, aware that the mechanized doom rattles, cavernous silences, and multi-mirrored infinity of the production is powerful enough. This is the product of a dynamic and assured vision, one that retains an alluring sense of mystery. No matter how far Emika dances into the light, she never quite eludes the shadows.
