Venues were completely filled with dry ice, through which you could vaguely make out eerie figures on the stage: a deeply sinister clown, someone dressed as a kind of insect.īut even if you've never seen the shows, or heard a note of Fever Ray's music – or indeed the equally acclaimed, dark and forbidding electronica Dreijer Andersson makes with her brother Olaf under the name the Knife – you could feel wary of interviewing her, based on her previous encounters with the press. And the band's live shows – designed by her long-term collaborator, visual artist Andreas Nilsson – may well be some of the most disturbing gigs in recent memory. But the kind of adjectives it inspired – brooding, bleak, claustrophobic, creepy, forbidding – don't suggest that the woman behind it, her voice masked by electronic effects, is going to be a barrel of laughs. The Fever Ray album may be one of the year's best, an incredible electronic meditation on sleepless new-motherhood. That's not just down to the contents of her solo album, recorded under the name Fever Ray, or the extraordinary live shows with which she has promoted it – although it has to be said, neither help much. I t's hard not to feel a degree of trepidation before meeting Karin Dreijer Andersson.
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