Christian Baringe and Daniel Jansson are two musicians from Stockholm who, by all appearances, have no intention of conforming to anything at all. Their debut album Cyanide Sisters consists of eight tracks and… at first, none of it makes any sense.

Just a moment ago there was an organ fog, and now you’ve been thrown into a forgotten hit from the ’60s, run through a rusty VHS player and wrapped in the sound of rain. The music crackles, creaks, rattles, and somehow that makes it feel warmer, closer, almost homely — like an old radio that suddenly starts picking up voices from another world.

I played Cyanide Sisters out of simple curiosity — the cover looked nice and even mysterious, the title was intriguing, and the band name itself seemed familiar. A couple of minutes in, I was no longer sure whether I was listening to music or staring at an old black-and-white photo where everything is slightly blurred and no one looks at the camera. It felt as though someone were pulling tape — literally — right inside my ears. I did not know whether I enjoyed it or not, but I did not want to turn it off. Something in that sound hooked me, though I did not immediately understand what it was.

Sometimes albums catch you not with songs, not with hooks, not with vocals, but with the sheer fact of their existence. You do not understand why, but suddenly you’re hypnotized, staring at the cover and playing the first track. That’s exactly what Cyanide Sisters is like. I cannot explain why I like this almost anti-pop approach of theirs. Why these guitars, drowning in static, do not irritate but soothe. Why the vocals, which could be mistaken for an echo, sound so captivating. Maybe I just missed music that is not trying to sell you anything. Christian Baringe and Daniel Jansson — judging by the album — do not seem interested in selling or even being understood. That commands respect.

The most surprising thing about this release is the complete absence of genre pressure. You seem to catch familiar outlines: at times it echoes ’60s pop groups, then shoegaze bursts in with its eternally blurred edges, and suddenly — elements of swing you definitely did not order, but here they are. The album chooses its own direction, and this does not come across as a whim, but as an honest statement.

You will be enveloped in a mysterious atmosphere of muted haze and tape hiss in Kill the Light. It sounds like a lullaby, like a confession, like a whispering night from the depths of the subconscious. The gentle swaying of the mood reveals the unique sound of Cyanide Sisters, and already in the next track Get in Line, their genre mix begins to unfold. Deep shoegaze holds its breath, and only toward the end does the fog begin to lift. All That Glitters Isn’t Gold comes in brighter and more vivid. The sharp, high vocals blend with swinging electric guitars pushed to the forefront. They seem to lead the melody, but by the middle it becomes clear that every sound shapes the track’s unique atmosphere. Rainbows brings serenity, as if nature pauses and allows something hidden in the shadows to awaken. This song, with a slight bitterness of melancholy, settles on the shoulders like a cool dew. An incredibly light and refined sound.

But with Stay Down Here and Trash Can, the atmosphere begins to darken, with a subtle sci-fi aftertaste. Stay Down Here creates goosebumps with its mystical harmonies, while Trash Can thickens the air, heating things up. The sound becomes overloaded, heavy, and the vocals dissolve completely into it. Trash Can adds a deep, shadowy tone to the album, fully rebooting reality.

I like the artful sound of Fat and Old. Cyanide Sisters invite you to disconnect from reality and follow the sound, your thoughts, and find yourself in a completely different world. Flawless. The final track, Another Winter, running 5 minutes and 57 seconds, sounds like a hypnotic confession. The vocals dissolve completely into the hazy texture, but that whisper feels like something from the subconscious — rising, entrancing. Very unusual and aesthetic. I could call it cinematic sound, the kind that pulls your thoughts far away from the real world.

I think this album will resonate most with those who are tired of predictability. Everything here goes against the grain — the timing, the structure, the expectations. It all sounds as if it was created in a dream, yet with a strange precision. I am not sure I will remember the melodies a week from now. But I will definitely remember how I felt while listening. And that already says a lot. Across eight tracks, Cyanide Sisters traces a path that resists being defined in genre terms.

Some might hear melancholy in it, others — meditative calm. Or perhaps the opposite — a push, an inner strength to move forward. I lean toward the latter. I caught moments of clarity in these songs, when even through the noise, the tape hiss, and the shadow, a light begins to show. Not blinding, but dim and steady.

I would not call Cyanide Sisters an experimental work. There is something deliberately foreign to the word “experiment” here. It sounds more like an attempt to forget and rebuild. As if you found an unlabelled old cassette and played it without knowing what was on it. The tape starts — it seems to be ’60s pop music, but then the guitar turns gritty, and the vocals fall into a dream. And you no longer know what it is. But for some reason, you want to keep listening.

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