Review: FKA twigs — Eusexua

Music

FKA twigs
Eusexua
Atlantic Records
Street: 01.24.25
FKA twigs = Massive Attack + Solange + Eartheater

Dipping into an eclectic palette that layers the diverse sonic textures of humanity from a trans-humanist lens, FKA twigs beckons us to the dance floor in search of a feeling that up until now, has escaped definition. Conceptualized while filming The Crow, a remake of a classic that strongly influenced gothic worldbuilding, her inspiration from the underground rave scene in Prague set the stage for twigs’ most ambitious culture-defining project to date. 

Fans of ‘90s-’00s new age techno and pop will feel called back to the Eastern influences of Madonna’s Ray of Light, the hopeful serenity of Sacred Spirit’s “Yeha Noha (Wishes of Happiness)” and the unbridled freedom of Enigma’s “Return to Innocence.” Yet twigs rejects the “pink yoga leggings” softness and crunchiness associated with healing in pop culture. Healing can be harsh.  She expands her unique fusion of R&B and Afrofuturism to meld more with sharp industrial electronic production;sometimes healing can be dancing in the dark, surrounded by damp concrete and steel beams in a room of fools.

In my case, one of these perfect strangers offered me ketamine at one of three raves hosted before the release of her album. twigs emerged at nearly 2 a.m., joined by her makeup artist in a performance art of a cyber tribal body paint “line ritual.” In an ephemeral collective awakening of euphoria and fusion of culture after dancing for several hours straight at the Revue in Los Angeles, twigs only remained on stage for about 20 to 30 minutes, and we stayed up all night without realizing. It was a moment of pure Eusexua. Have you experienced Eusexua? twigs tells us it’s more than just a word. Eusexua is a practice. Eusexua is a state of being. Eusexua is the pinnacle of human experience. 

Without getting hung up on the definition, its transcendence feels like the splendor of Karl Jenkins’ African-inspired choral composition, “Adiemus,” or the playful whimsy of Caroline Polachek’s “mythicalogical” and “wikipediated” bagpipe solo on Desire I Want To Turn Into You. But Eusexua’s use of invented language is more than a representation of our limitless potential, it’s an 11-part manifesto on how to connect to the deepest parts of ourselves individually and collectively to enter a creative flow state — which twigs calls “dangerous” to structures of oppression in a Spotify exclusive conversation with Imogen Heap, who was so energized listening to the album, she stayed up all night. 

The heaviest track, “Drums of Death” feels deeply rooted in liberation and spiked with the venom of a deadly viper ready to strike. Featuring Koreless who samples G-Dragon on the production, twigs even revealed in an interview the beats were forged in the depths of Berghain, adding to the self-mythology of Eusexua. “Shed your skin,” she urges. As her album dropped the same week as the US descended into anti-trans and anti-immigrant Republican fascism, twigs’ electrifying and galvanizing lyrics feel like a battle cry for trans and queer folks to continue marching forward as their rights and personhood are stripped by Cheeto-puff Hitler. “Crash the system, diva doll. Serve violence. Serve cunt.”

Anybody who loves insects or reptiles knows the process of molting can be deadly. “Sticky,” one of the most brilliant tracks of her entire discography, captures this danger in vulnerability. As writhing snakes within threaten her relationship, twigs painfully sheds sticky outer layers that (we can infer) become caught as she outgrows old patterns. After staccato beats rhythmically mimic the all-too-familiar moment when you finally choke on sobs you can no longer hold back, relief comes as a heavy bass drop evokes a rattling rattlesnake rattler. Moving past pain and insecurity, vulnerability can be strength, too.

In 2014, twigs sang on her debut studio album “When I trust you we can do it with the lights on,” but wasn’t ready to open up. Now, over a decade later, she recounts “I tried to fuck you with the lights on to show you that I’m open and have a conversation.” After surviving abuse that completely rewired her nervous system, this transformation toward pushing for greater sexual openness and relational security feels even more profound. Offering up an earnest celebration of vulnerability, healing and enlightenment on the album, the wistful sorrow in each track reminds us that the journey requires exposure that can be excruciating. 

Effectively posthuman in her aesthetic and concepts, twigs draws comparison to fashion contemporaries like the iconic provocateur duo Fecal Matter in her Rick Owens looks and skullet haircut – carving out a subculture for a new generation of visionary cybergoth baddies, decked out in hard metal and silver stilettos and ready to devour the entire world. Questioning what it even means to be human with every creative decision, from her softly screeching cyborg vocals laid over glitchy electronic beats, to ethereal hairstyling choices that channel a wealth of references from the bene gesserit, Klingons and ancient Egypt, twigs juxtaposes our forgotten past with a compelling sci-fi future. 

In her alternate universe, there’s a faint echo of her sullen Magdalene lyrics, “I’ve never seen a hero like me in a sci-fi,” but in Eusexua, she doesn’t feel defeated. Instead, as a mixed-race woman boldly claiming space in genres that still predominantly use whiteness as the default setting – we see our heroine at her most self-actualized. Although the ideas carrying her manifesto forward feel more futuristic than ever before, the work itself feels the most human we’ve ever seen twigs.

While the previous two album covers in the FKA twigs canon feature a 3D-modeled distortion of her image as a machinated artificial intelligence — now that we’ve entered a decade where our technology has displaced the effectiveness of modeling software as an art medium — she elects instead on her third studio album for a raw and confrontational shot of her real-life, human portrait. It evokes the same raw sincerity of her first performance of the album’s songs in 2023 at a Valentino runway. Titled “Unearth Her,” the debut of her uncompleted tracks hint at her symbolic phoenix rise from scorched soil, and the fragility of self-exposure.

(Respectfully) thematically, Eusexua as an avant-pop era carries the torch of Lady Gaga’s Born This Way, with the titular lead singles of both albums dedicated to the limitless self-expression of humanity, anthems grounded in sci-fi references and sonically steeped in influences from the underground electronic dance scene — although perhaps it’s a more apt description to say she stands on par with Gaga’s heels. Those who remember the “Bad Romance” singer’s iconic custom Guiseppe Zanotti Spring/Summer 2012 gravity-defying “Adele” heel-less wedges designed for the Born This Way Ball tour will gush seeing twigs reviving the iconic 2010s silhouette – wearing a pair of heel-less shoes in the album art that were even created by Zanotti’s mentee, Nicolo Beretti. Talk about peeling back layers of the snake.

Many of us faggots in Salt Lake City held that album closely during years when marriage equality still didn’t exist. Eusexua may never capture the masses, or enter the cultural lexicon deeply enough to become the cornerstone of a failed historic US presidential campaign. But for those who listen, it’s as much about living a life in pursuit of the pinnacle of human experience as it is understanding how to recognize when you’ve reached those peaks and moments of inspiration before they pass by — as she forewarns in the lead single: “I was on the edge of something greater than before, but nobody told me.” Well, I’m fucking telling you. Listen to the album. —Arthur Diaz

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