Zenith

A sweeping, cinematic, emotional change is in the air. Molly Nilsson's sixth studio album Zenith begins with clear, wide eyes open to Earth as we would love it to be but seldom is. Recorded in her home of Berlin and whilst touring and, as ever, conceived, produced, written and recorded in solitude, Zenith is Nilsson's big statement and consequently her most affecting work to date. It sees her reveling in big arrangements, sweeping synth strings, bigger choruses and emotions. Like the rest of us she looks within and to endless sunsets in wonder and puzzlement. That Molly Nilsson is a DIY cult figure is beyond question; she has always written directly and with wit straight down the line between the universal and the personal. The difference with Zenith, and you can hear it in the opening chords of opener The Only Planet, is that her scope is now much wider and her heart heavier than ever before: over a post-ecstatic dusk, Nilsson serenades the globe in a loving embrace. Following on, 1995 is, arguably, one of Nilsson's finest songs to date. It's one of those songs to learn the lyrics to, to listen to on repeat, a reason to wear the grooves down to the bone, it's why pop music can be one of the greatest art forms we have. It's an example of how, on this album, Molly draws the listener closer to her heart than ever before. Over the 13 tracks here we get the impression that Nilsson may always be restless; like anyone else she has conflicting feelings of love and hate. It's just not many other people can tell you exactly how you feel before you know it yourself.