Singer-songwriter Christina Rosenvinge has Danish ancestry but grew up in Spain. On this album she sings almost entirely in English. Her accent gives her voice a slithering creak that is nearly a lisp. Her ‘breathe’ is ‘brith,’ her ‘peach’ is ‘pich’. Like many singer-songwriters, she has misgivings about love and partnerships—“I can’t forget, I’m your wife, I’m your pet”, she sings in “White Hole”, adding, “Love is a big white hole”—but unlike some of the others she doesn’t seem angry. She sounds wry, as if love being a big white hole is something she supposes she’ll just have to come to terms with. As a matter of fact, she sounds as if she’s having too much fun playing with her voice to really get upset about anything. One moment she’s tick-tocking brusquely under her brith, the next moment the voice has jumped up and stretched itself out into a long waaaaa-ow. I haven’t heard Rosenvinge’s other albums, but Continental 62 is reportedly an experimental departure for her. She’s trying out new ideas. So she whispers and ticks and slithers. This method of delivery doesn’t sound as natural to her as it does to a singer like Camille. Rosenvinge doesn’t have the same undercurrent of viral audacity running through her tone. Still, it’s better to throw around new ideas than let yourself feel scared and stick with the same thing forever.
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// Notes from the Road
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