OOFJ, “Acute Feast”

Acute Feast

On their debut album Disco to Die To, OOFJ succeeded in producing haunting soundscapes that pretty much assured that any review was required to have any one of the following keywords: “Lynchian,” “cinematic,” or “ghostly.” Acute Feast, OOFJ’s sophomore release is also the duo’s “-er” album, a conscious expansion of their widescreen ambitious aplomb. Slicker. Darker. Sexier. It’s difficult not to listen to the album through a noir lens. Multi-instrumentalist Jenno Bjørnkjær builds a delicious sense of velvet-lined claustrophobia, layering together electronic swooshes, distant string orchestras, and heavy drum machines. The sparse guitar of “Stephen Says,” the lone sax line of “Sailor”—every embellishment seems to circle frontwoman Katherine Mills Rymer like a wreath of cigarette smoke. She’s the ultimate femme fatale, her lithe soprano almost daring us to underestimate her, even when she’s describing the taste of her lover’s skin. It’s a haunting combination of talents, one that offers no way out. Then again, why would you want one?


We won’t spam you. Promise.