It would be tempting, upon hearing the opening title track of Brazilian, Berlin-based Dillon’s debut This Silence Kills, to compare her to Bjork, ever the archetypal conceptual-experimental female pop performer (and don’t try to tell to me about Nicki Minaj). There’s a similar lushness, with electronic blips and squeals, sensual imagery and impassioned vocals, and thoughtful chamber-inflected arrangements. But this comparison would do a disservice to both artists, because Dillon’s strengths are quite different from those of her Icelandic counterpart, promising but somehow still unformed.
On “Tip Tapping,” she channels the broken-down carnival vibe of CocoRosie, complete with busky horn arrangements. Elsewhere, subtly clipped digital vocals jive with piano and harp ballads, as on “Thirteen Thirtyfive.” Amidst the eerie darkness of this tune, girlish metaphors like “you turn my legs into spaghetti” recall the waifish early songs of Joanna Newsom. There are less adult elements here as well. After a more abstract middle passage, the puzzlingly surreal and childlike “Hey Beau” talks about a crystal of some kind that’s been stolen by pirates, with a chorus repeating, “the robots are gonna help us find the crystal.”
As the album goes on, Dillon’s instinct for the Now – for channeling what other are people are doing musically – becomes clear, although with occasionally flat results like the electro-indie-pop coffee-shop fodder “Your Flesh Against Mine.” Although that track isn’t her best, it combines current trends in reflective indie rock, which is quieting and adding electronic, off-kilter elements as its scene splinters further, waiting for the next big piece to break off. Maybe Dillon is on the cusp of that break, but it may take her a couple more turns at the wheel for us to know for sure, and you know how that goes these days. Good luck to her.
