Ketseleh - Marion

Ketseleh

Marion
self-released; 2021

4.1 out of 5 - TOP ALBUM

By Michael E. Vincent
​

Maddie Swinger, recording as ketseleh, set out to record "pop music with depth," which is no small feat when breaking through the noise of Ariana Grande, Doja Cat and anything remotely molested by the Max Martin algorithm. Yet, when the prose on the Marion EP Bandcamp page eclipses the IQ of the entire genre in which Swinger professes to operate, it would seem unreasonable not to explore her “vignettes.” Said differently, the lyrics are crafted to impress. In which case, she’s forgiven for her (self-admitted) dalliances with Björk’s back catalog, even if we can all acknowledge the awesomeness of “Hyperballad.”
 
The quartet of tracks are as brooding as Swinger’s haunted mien on its cover. Nary a guitar or real drum sully the effluence. While precise inspirations are eschewed, she claims to have listened to “music of the ‘90s-early 2000s” which, when reconciled to this album, seem definitively post-post grunge. And lest that conjure uncomfortable reminders of frosted tips, Woodstock ‘99 and Brian Dunkleman, rest assured that Marion EP exists in its own non-derivative universe; one colored in three-dimensional anxiety. Shades of Fiona Apple mingle with Au Palais, as ketseleh — the so-called “machine” behind the sounds — seems programmed to mesmerize.
 
“Marion,” the opener, is a study in nuance. Pretty but not predictable, electronic but not soulless, lo-fi but hardly muddled, the track blooms over a serviceable beat. Swinger’s voice, an instrument in and of itself, seems to float above the fray. At its peaks, the song could explode into a lush euphoria, but these urges are tempered to good effect and, if anything, lessen the burnout over multiple listens. The stripped back “Be Seen,” which sounds perfectly funereal amid somnolent piano, plays it straighter. Alas, its repetitive structure may prove tedious unless one were commencing a Quaalude addiction.
 
“End It All,” the strongest track, is either a sing-song-y paean to suicide or a cheeky metaphor. Alternatingly thin and bright, Swinger makes good on the dichotomy she so clearly advertises. This is, perhaps, her best “far cry into the void,” where even slight changes in vocal pitch shatter the time-space. Sure, she could push things further, but discipline dodges cliché (and nobly evades a radio ready chorus). By the time one arrives at “Whose Hand Do You Reach For?” the desolation is more a familiar friend than an incongruent force. A deconstructed “Moonlight Sonata” even bleeds through. And since Beethoven hasn’t dropped a tune in nearly 200 years, this is probably the closest we’ll get to Romantic Period throwbacks.
 
Overall, there’s much to admire on Marion EP  from the album’s DIY aesthetic to the openness in sound and texture. It may be a stretch to truly call it “pop,” but then again, the dynamics of said genre are always shifting. Swinger just operates on its fringe, outside the range of #wap hashtags and Twitter feuds. So it’s a shame that her ethereal vocals too often get lost in the mix. There’s deep lyricism here. And maybe, if we all strained to hear it – as this listener did – we’d plumb the depths of her lullaby. Or maybe it’s all just theater; a lucid dream.
 
No matter the case, it deserves a listen.

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