Megan looks like butter wouldn’t melt and yet her lyrics – intensely personal, grimly visceral – suggest a damaged psyche. It’s just that Purity Ring’s fantasy world often focuses on witches. There are a lot of lazy comparisons with The Knife being bandied about (yes, it is the visual equivalent of crashes of light in the fog yes, there are down-pitched, distorted vocals), but the only element they share is a thrilling iconoclasm with genre if The Knife re-imagine Euro-pop through a dark lens, then Purity Ring do the same with hip hop.Ĭorin’s hip hop-inspired sonics may seem an odd fit for Megan’s fantastical lyrics, but he assures me there is little difference between the kind of fantasy worlds that Clams Casino, say, puts beats behind and Purity Ring’s. “The reality,” says Corin, warming to the nightmare/future pop dynamic, “is like mashing those two kinds of pop together…” Megan finishes: “We bring out the best in one another.” That best is a world painted in densely evocative lyrics and underpinned by beats that are complementary in their complexity. In person, though, Megan and Corin are lovely and quick to laugh.
#Purity ring meaning skin
It’s a curious backdrop to Purity Ring who trade in tempestuousness and lyrics about witches and stitching new skin from the gory remains of others metaphors for love and affection that resemble an abattoir floor. The surroundings of the restaurant are jarringly normal it is bright and clean (and rumour has it Animal Collective are upstairs) with floor to ceiling windows. While 4AD label-mate Grimes has perverted chart and R&B tropes, forcing them through an ethereal hyperpop lens, Purity Ring have summoned a swirling, fantastical darkness with their debut album ‘Shrines’. These are exciting times for fans of cross-pollinated pop weirdness. “But I like the sound of nightmare pop!” “There is more than one type of ‘mare, Megan.” They see the look on my face and laugh. “By definition it inhabits the world ahead of us, we can’t pass it,” retorts Megan. “Of course we’re future pop…” says Corin. Tired and barely fed after a missed train from Paris, Megan and Corin are at loggerheads.
Sat at a restaurant table with them, half-eaten desserts before us – a gin and tonic sorbet taunts me – a worrying fault line has appeared.
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