“…The female voice itself seems to have been split in half. On the radio, there are the booming divas singing of empowerment and revenge with their mechanistic melismata; in the drizzly samizdat of what used to be called indie rock, there are the wan wastrels, the massed legions breathily pleading for us not to hurt them. Once it seemed that every great girl singer was capable of generating her own style and fomenting her own revolution; now female singers seem bound to make a choice between sounding like precocious 12-year-olds keeping secrets or, well, like machines, complete with auto-tuning.
“Which is where Florence comes in, with her Machine.
“We all know Florence Welch, of course, though we’d be pressed to remember her last name. She has flaming red hair, a voice that’s a force of nature, and she still practices in the vestigial category of “alternative rock.”…Her first album, Lungs, boasted one of the great radio workouts of last year, “Dog Days Are Over,” and its very title served as an unsubtle advertisement for the two things that set its creator apart: first, the sheer power of her pipes, and second, her utter lack of irony.”
Read the full story at Esquire.