Whether intentionally or not, the release of Emika's self-titled debut album was well-timed. By 2011, dubstep's ascent to global notoriety was well underway: the U.S. was feeling the first ripples of Skrillex fever, while the U.K. had already seen chart success from Katy B and Magnetic Man. By this point Anglo-Czech singer-producer Ema Jolly had been engaged with the genre for some time, having discovered it while living in Bristol as a teenager. Her music showed it: In contrast to the pyrotechnics of mainstream dubstep, hers was a poppier take on the style that drew on the stringent, sub-heavy minimalism of early DMZ for inspiration.
There was more to Jolly's music than dubstep, though. After her spell in Bristol she moved to Berlin, and fell in love with techno. She quickly became embedded in the scene centering around the legendary Berghain club and its label, Ostgut Ton; in 2010, field recordings she had taken in the club formed the basis for the label's landmark Fünf compilation. Jolly's debut album unified these influences-- the yawning negative space of dubstep, Berlin techno's dank hypnotism, and the intricate sound design she had learned at university and put into practice working for Native Instruments-- in the service of a downcast, nocturnal brand of pop. Jolly's sepulchral vocal was a central presence but not an imposing one, preferring to lurk in the shadows cast by her brooding synthetic arrangements.
Come 2013, dubstep has well and truly jumped the shark, and it no longer seems like a useful lens through which to scrutinize Emika's music. Sure, Dva, her second album, tips its fair share of nods to the dance forms that inspired her-- "Sleep With My Enemies" sports the razor-edged bass and 140bpm rhythmic chassis of dubstep, and "Mouth to Mouth", one of the record's highlights, draws on techno's slow-burn dynamics. But Jolly's vocal is more prominent than ever, and for the most part song-form takes precedent over dancefloor structures. Dva is better viewed simply as an underground pop record-- and as pop records go, it makes a pretty bold entrance. Opening track "Hush (Interlude)" sets the electronics to one side, enlisting classical soprano Michaela Šrůmová and a 28-piece string orchestra. The result-- a decent enough pastiche of lachrymal European romanticism-- suggests that Jolly's ambitions have reached grandiose new heights.
Unfortunately, that impression is short-lived. From there, Dva becomes naggingly familiar: jagged, sub-heavy bass lines and metallic percussion give way to slightly plasticky synths and unadventurous drum work, suggesting that Jolly has toned down the sonic experimentation found on her debut, perhaps by way of foregrounding her songs' pop potential. It represents only a mild progression from the themes and sonics of Emika, and while there are occasional hooky pop moments to equal that album's finest, those songs rarely stray beyond the limits set by their predecessors. "Filters", with its louche shuffle, and the aqueous piano-led balladry of "Primary Colours" leap out. But otherwise, Jolly's limited sonic toolbox and obsession with dirgy minor-key tonalities soon begin to wear dangerously thin.
All of this could be forgiven, perhaps, if Jolly herself was a commanding vocal presence. Unfortunately that's not the case: pushed further into the foreground, the awkwardness and flat melisma of her feather-light delivery become painfully apparent. It's difficult to think of a more apt example of how Jolly fails to inhabit the grandiose architecture she has constructed for herself than on "Dem Worlds". Here the string orchestra returns, but Jolly's vocal is dwarfed by its towering, full-bodied chords, her contribution sounding more like an extraneous doodle than the product of the "rebel diva" she has claimed to be. In Dva, Emika may be aspiring to a larger scale of pop, but for the most part this only serves to amplify her flaws.
