Listening to Connan Mockasin feels like falling into a rumpled bed whose sheets have not been changed for ages: soft, comfortable and familiar, but also sticky, crumbly and vaguely disturbing. Whenever you let yourself be lulled into the supposedly known and sink into comforting laziness, something tilts into the abysmal. One might call it postmodern v-effect pop, or simply a great game of experience and expectation. Or you start the base of this musical pile a little lower and call it «catchiness with twist» … But aiming low in this context seems somehow completely inappropriate.
Text: Thomas Jenny