Review Summary: Malaysia's newest indie pop darling takes centre stage.
Like many nascent, would-be songsters in this part of the world, Michelle Lee a.k.a. Froya was forced to relocate to a bigger city in order to continue pursuing her dream of making music for a living. The title of her debut album alone tells you plenty about how the entire experience was like for the native Sabahan – she probably won’t be forgetting the all-consuming sense of fear, dread, and trepidation that came with the big move anytime soon. But while Froya’s work clearly owes a stylistic debt to regional forbearers such as Yuna and Zee Avi, who each spent years perfecting the template for the New Age globe-trotting/guitar-toting female troubadour, it also provides a teasing glimpse into what the future of Malaysian indie pop might look like.
Sure, the entire preposition is polished enough so as to not present too much of a commercial risk, but Froya commendably flaunts her oblique streak like a Boy Scout would his badges. There’s the boisterous title track, for instance, which opens with anxious pantomime beats that eventually yield to a rollicking set of trumpets, while “Dawn” in turn is a smart and mature jungle pop number that is probably as close as you can get to rave music without completely spilling over the edge. Elsewhere, “Kill You” sounds like something Angel Olsen could have written for
Burn Your Fire for No Witness, with Froya’s harrowing vocal performance and clever usage of negative space giving the song a vivid and otherworldly tone. The Malaysian singer-songwriter also has a clever ear for atmospherics, as the surreal “Sealed Jar” – which sounds like it was forged in a chamber of lost souls – or the dainty “Put on a Smile” prove. Such a motley band of descriptions suggests that
Panic Bird can be a bit of mess at times, and it probably is, but it’s the kind of eclectic tangle that compels repeated and closer listening.
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