If you have yet to hear of Let’s Eat Grandma, you can largely be forgiven for now. Probably not for too much longer though as their upcoming debut album I, Gemini is garnering critical acclaim from all directions and seemingly appears to be an album that is going to divide critics straight down the middle. What it offers with one hand, it simultaneously takes away with the other as the duo of two 17-year-old best friends from Norwich move to novelty and being progressive at the same time, often making it hard to distinct between both notions.

With a name and album title that spreads itself across the family tree, there certainly seems to be a deep family root embedded within both Jenny Hollingworth and Rosa Walton. The term Gemini, in reference to Greek mythology, points towards the twins Castor and Pollux, therefore obviously making reference to the twin like nature of Jenny and Rosa. Furthermore with ‘I’ in front of it, we get a further blurring of the identity between the two. It seems though, this falls in tangent with the obscure nature of the duo that runs deep throughout the proceeding 50 minutes or so of the album. On the whole, the album ventures through nursery rhyme lyricism, uncanny yelps and mumbles from the duo and a post-modern jab at trying to drag long outdated instruments back into pop-culture; cue the return of the recorder which appeared to be long dead following your year three music lessons learning ‘Three Blind Mice’.

Where we begin is with the deceptive rabbit hole of ‘Deep Six Textbook’ – it is not necessarily the most inventive of pieces on the record however. Nevertheless, what it shows is an appreciation of a more traditional electronic-pop song structure. The voices of the duo appear either interesting or irritating on this piece. They have a certain grating at times, the way they squawk slightly out of key with the music but then the warped haze in which they operate in is embellished further as they begin to finish one another’s sentences. This closeness between the duo adds to the image that they are beginning to build. It has long been noticed in pop-culture that for a musician to be good, the music must firstly be adequate at least but then they must possess a certain novelty factor that separates them from the norm – see the Australian artist Sia who refuses to show her face. The contemplative organs swell in the background on top of apathetic drums leading for quite the dark, enigmatic opening to an album.

As we progress further from the opener into the world of Let’s Eat Grandma, we slowly find the niche that the duo are aiming for slightly more. Glockenspiel beginnings soundtrack ‘Eat Shiitake Mushrooms’ allowing for a lucid fairground feel, as organs interject with fervor, the song breaks into more conventional dance breakbeats. In this sense, it is impressive how the duo experiment with sound and the inroads that it makes to emotion as they begin to rap above it. The video itself shows the two looking sullen, breaking out of their house on the promised road to freedom, the heady visuals making obvious reference to hallucinogenic use of mushrooms and ultimately leading for it to emerge as some contemporary take on Channel 4’s Skins. It’s certain the group have their selling point and target market.

The dub-heavy, sax infused ‘Sax in the City’ finds the duo at their strongest on the album, regardless of the awkward titling of the song. ‘Chocolate Sludge Cake’ does similar. Musically it is sound, finding comfort at regurgitating the use of a recorder, giving ode to Japanese sounding undercurrents. It paints quite a beautiful landscape for the song, giving room for it to weave in and out before building into climatic choruses but please – it was not funny the first time round, please stop trying to force genre stipulations within ironic titling – it just feels a little bit awkward and well, childish.

What must be respected by Rosa and Jenny is their inclusion of more abstract instrument choices. What they have done here is really dismantle any preconceived notions of pop music, finding that it is better to toy with the genre than abide by its rules, ultimately giving them a slightly punk outlook on the musical world. ‘Chimpanzees in Canopies’ once again gives quite a childish theme to the song but similarly plays around with ukuleles and traditional American-folk style melodies. The nursery rhyme lull of the vocals really play on the childish nature of the duo. This childish nature emerges as both a novelty and an interesting point of reference – how far can it go though?

‘Rapunzel’ as a song sees the duo push boundaries further than ever. Beyond its exquisite piano-led introduction that shows flair and absolute musical prowess there lies the morphing into the unthinkable. Surely something that must have skipped any record label consultation as the howling lyrics yell over the top: “My cat is dead / My father hit me / I ran away” – Perhaps fitting in a film soundtrack but unfortunately misplaced on record. This is something interesting for sure but at the same time it falls into this pattern of modern thinking that declares the ridiculous is all of a sudden good just because it breaks a mould. ‘Rapunzel’ is a reminder that all that glitters is not gold.

The melancholy drift of ‘Sleep Song’ finds the duo at their most lethargic. Voices ricochet around giving it a Willy Wonka feel – the section where they row down the tunnel – claustrophobic, drifting but as with the song, when the screams enter towards the end, you begin to notice the malice hidden behind the corner.

‘Welcome to the Treehouse’ is split across two tracks, both juxtaposing one another with part one being the hazed drift and part two sharing intense drumming rhythms and swarming organ swells. The songs find unison with the phrase: “I keep thinking about it” – once again suggesting that the band are not happy unless they play with the insular and the self-questioning.

As the journey ends full circle, bringing us back to a ukulele version of ‘Deep Six Textbook’, the adventure we have been on certainly feels washed in the aquatic, the fairytale and the darkness. Where Let’s Eat Grandma find success is within their novelty factors and their progressive musicianship – the obscure instrumentation, the play on fairytale notions but ultimately and most importantly, the play on their age. If the duo were not 17 and 25 for example, singing about nursery rhymes would be lamented by critics for just being inappropriate and a bit too odd. So how do they find success outside of their novelty factor? I can’t help but feel that there is something missing from Let’s Eat Grandma. The album is progressive at times but similarly strays into the ostentatious world of self-glorification leaving for all its invention to feel slightly empty and forced. It lacks soul and opts to fill these voids with ironic statements. What does this actually pose for pop-culture asides from edgy YouTube videos? Perhaps the duo will find they really build strength through their maturing over the coming years, when the novelty wears away somewhat and their obvious music talent shines through the record label PR stunts.
Tom Churchill

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