Edited by Cameron Cade
FKA Twigs’ latest album, Eusexua, feels like stepping into a kaleidoscope of emotion and electronics. In this album, Twigs effortlessly blends an energetic synth-driven melancholy with intricate layers of vulnerable and euphoric storytelling. It’s a record that not only showcases her ability to navigate complex emotional terrains but also solidifies her as a master of balancing the deeply personal with the universally resonant.
My introduction to Eusexua came through its titular single via my ‘Daylist’ on Spotify, a track that immediately enchanted me, with its perfect mix of vibrant, synth-heavy production and an aching undercurrent of melancholy. The song felt tailor-made for those of us who revel in bittersweet contradictions—where dance beats meet heartbreak. Another standout single, “Perfect Stranger,” captures a similar magic, its rhythms and introspective lyrics on sex, weaving a spell that stays on repeat in your mind long after you stop listening to it. Both tracks encapsulate the essence of Eusexua: an exploration of physical connection and isolation, set against a backdrop of sumptuous, minor-key electronica.
What makes this album truly special is its ability to merge opposing forces. FKA Twigs’ lyrics are deeply personal, yet they feel like they’re being whispered from the collective subconscious. Tracks like “Keep It, Hold It” evoke an almost dreamlike state, with whirring atmospheres and fragmented voices that recall the surreal brilliance of Kate Bush. I recognise that I recently drew from Bush’s work in my review of Ethel Cain’s album Perverts, there is clearly a new wave of synthy electrics that Bush was a champion of. “Keep lt, Hold It” echoes Bush’s “And Dream of Sheep”, through the production, particularly in the way spiritual sounds and ethereal whispers create an unsettling intimacy. It’s an environment that invites listeners to lose themselves while still feeling tethered to something profound and human.
Thematically, Eusexua delves into love, longing, and the intricate dynamics of desire. It’s an album for the sad girls who love alt indie and electronic music, as it pairs electronic beats with a palpable sense of yearning. Tracks like “Sticky” and “Perfect Stranger” juxtapose frenetic energy with lyrics that speak of vulnerability and disconnection. Twigs’ voice, as always, is a remarkable instrument: delicate yet commanding, capable of both fragility and fierceness. She glides effortlessly through the album: Sometimes cloaked in reverb, other times front and centre. Her words piercing through the layered production like shards of light.
Musically, Eusexua is an evolution for FKA Twigs, leaning into a more accessible sound without sacrificing the experimental edge that has defined her artistry. The album’s production, full of shimmering synths, driving basslines, and intricate percussion, is both meticulous and organic. It’s a soundscape that feels alive, constantly shifting and morphing, much like the emotions it seeks to convey. “Striptease” and “Drums of Death”, featuring Koreless, stand out as moments where Twigs pushes the boundaries of electronic music, weaving in unexpected textures and rhythms that catch the listener off-guard in the best way.
Despite its more danceable moments, Eusexua never loses sight of its emotional core. Twigs demands you feel this album—whether it’s the catharsis of moving to its beats or the quiet introspection of its lyrical depth. Twigs invites listeners into her world, a space where contradictions thrive: joy and sorrow, detachment and intimacy, synthetic and organic.
For those who are not already seasoned Twigs fans, Eusexua as an album is a gateway to an artist whose work is as complex and multifaceted. It’s a bold, beautiful, and utterly absorbing record. Much like the ghostly echoes of Ethel Cain’s Perverts, FKA Twigs’ Eusexua feels like an experience that defies time, existing both in the now and in some intangible dreamscape. A triumph of electronic melancholy, it’s destined to become a cornerstone for anyone who’s ever danced through heartbreak.
Image - Pitchfork
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