Zola Jesus - Stridulum II

The back-story first of all: Wisconsin-raised Nika Roza Danilova spent most of her formative years training as an opera singer, before severe bouts of anxiety and self-criticism led to her abandoning this path. Following periods of depression, and while still in high school, she chose to rechristen herself Zola Jesus in a bid, as she herself puts it, “to deter my peers from talking to me”. The cover of Stridulum II – her debut European release – bears a fetishistic snapshot in which Danilova appears to be suffocating beneath a torrent of chocolate syrup.
 
Somehow it’s hard to picture this 21 year-old spending her days-off bringing her pug to be groomed and shopping for fake tan. Judging by many of her interviews, Danilova appears keen to cultivate this outsider stance, and initial encounters with her music – a pitch-black mix of industrial grooves, ghoulish echo-effects and bellowing vocals – certainly underline this outré image. While it’s probably stretching things somewhat to appoint her as head witch in a (tenuous) goth rock revival, there’s little danger of Zola Jesus making it onto the Starbucks playlist any time soon. Ellie Goulding she ain’t.
 
The funny thing is, though, that lurking beneath the veiled mystique and stylistic flourishes is a collection of nine remarkably straightforward, accessible songs. Fair enough, last year’s The Spoils was doused in such a thick layer of lo-fi non-production that, even in its most melodic moments, it struggled to raise its head above a parapet of abrasive distortion; for all its potential, that record was more alienating than welcoming. By contrast, Stridulum II – itself a cumbersomely-titled extended version of her Stateside-only Stridulum EP from earlier this year – sees Danilova adopt a more streamlined approach, allowing her cavernous voice to soar above, rather than sink beneath, noirish synths and churning cement-mixers of noise.
 
Danilova has spoken of her desire to make simple, direct music, citing the concise nature of old folk songs as a reference point. This may sound odd, but it’s an approach that certainly informs her lyrics: “It’s not easy to fall in love / But if you’re lucky, you just might find someone”, she declares on ‘I Can’t Stand’, and this simple, almost naïve take on themes of longing and heartache pushes many of her songs towards 21st-century power ballad territory. Elsewhere, things are a little more opaque: ‘Run Me Out’ has a catatonic, Twin Peaks dream-sequence vibe, while the title track is hard to resist, its insistent synth line hurtling backwards through a wind-tunnel of noise as Danilova’s submerged vocals repeatedly threaten to collapse. ‘Sea Talk’ reworks the funereal gravitas of Joy Division’s ‘Atmosphere’, while ‘Manifest Destiny’ could be this outsider’s ‘Florence Welch moment’, its buoyant “How can we sur-viii-y-iiive?...” chorus running over with crossover potential.
 
It makes sense that Danilova should find herself touring Europe with Fever Ray this autumn – both women possess a dark, occultish appeal, not to mention strikingly powerful larynxes. But comparisons with her touring partner might actually serve to hurt Zola Jesus. Whereas Karin Dreijer Andersson’s material invites multiple revisits, each one revealing new depths and hidden layers, much of Danilova’s output is frustratingly one-dimensional; once you’ve heard some of these songs more than a few times they have a tendency to vanish into the ether on subsequent listens. As a result, Stridulum II, while showing plenty of promise, lacks the consistency and allure to keep this listener coming back. One to watch nonetheless.