Ha! Funny you should ask. While this column prefers not to discuss it’s own psychological state in public, that happens to be one of many arresting lines from the eponymous debut album of Mackenzie Scott, aka Torres. Naturally we’re happy to idly pontificate about hers.
Let me guess. 22. Sylvia Plath devotion. Americano habit. Acoustic fucking guitar.
Right, right, right, wrong. The Belmont University, Nashville, graduate’s songs of estranged love and coiled despair ignited when her family gave her a Gibson 335 for Christmas. Tired of strumming her pain to chatting audiences, she was delighted to feel the electric guitar ‘scream in my hands’. We defy you to so much as blink during ‘Honey’, a pent up mantra of haunted longing on which the sweetly circling melody kicks well and truly off in a sudden outburst of distortion.
This ’90s revival thing, it’s really happening then?
Yes. Great news for fans of slightly folky female fuzz (see also EMA, Sharon Von Etten and St Vincent) and empowered androgyny. Bloggers have enjoyed guessing whether the kiss on Scott’s album cover is being bestowed by a man or a woman. Her fashion motto, meanwhile, is ‘what would Johnny Cash wear?’
Black. And a cowboy hat. So is it all autobiographical?
Could anyone write a track like ‘Waterfall’ without gazing over the brink? ‘It's all me,’ she says, ‘as devastating as that may be’.
The Bottom Line: Lovelorn in electric ladyland.
In case you didn’t know, Scandinavia is cool right now. The food, the fashion, the facial hair – plus the Vikings have invaded the British Museum. All we need next is a healthy economy, a reliable public transport system and a sense of social justice, and London will be indistinguishable from Oslo. Meanwhile in Hackney, there’s yet another Northern European-inspired incursion. Or apparently so: the website claims this bar-restaurant-club draws on ‘a Nordic aesthetic’, although it’s not immediately obvious within. Oslo occupies the previously deserted old Hackney rail station and takes on a bit of a railway theme with its luggage-rack lighting, plus there are industrial stylings that give the whole place a Janet Jackson ‘Rhythm Nation’ video feel. The restaurant part is rather fancy, its food incorporating a few of the forages, pickles, jellies and marinations of New Nordic cooking. The kitchen is regularly given over to guest chefs, and you have to book – it’s always heaving. Eat in the bar and the food is more straightforward. Where once the standard snack in pubs was a toastie, sausage roll or pork pie, now it’s the slider or fried chicken. These are served alongside frankly obscene portions of chips, slathered with the likes of cured bacon fat and bacon salt, or braised oxtail, gravy and cheese. There’s a commendable range of craft beers from the vicinity, including a couple from Five Points Brewing just five minutes up the road at the Downs.Head upstairs and you’ll find a
Venue says: “Join us every Thursday night until late for Soul Soul Soul – a night of vinyl appreciation with DJs playing soul, funk, disco and more.”