All modesty aside, Jenny Hval is an absolute miracle of experimental pop. It’s a lofty affirmation, but well deserved by this vigorous Norwegian artist. With a background in performance, she moulds word and sound to a conceptual line that is as apocalyptic as it is hopeful. I

t is in this limbo that she moves, playing feminist or capitalist cards, mixing in small sensorial stimuli to be discovered by those who listen to her. Her libidinous voice is revealed in the velvety keyboard and penetrates the austere, cold landscapes with a clarity made sordid by the lyrics she writes.

The more recent “Blood Bitch” deepens what “Apocalyse, Girl” had already suggested, adding more clues – and more enigmas, actually – to the possible sketch of the rare figure of Hval.