Ann O'aro

A new discovery from the label that boasts some of La Réunion's greatest musicians on its roster (see Danyèl Waro and Christine Salem), Ann O'aro's debut takes the island's maloya music into haunting – and at times difficult – new territory.

It's clear what attracted such a prestigious label to get behind a complete unknown; her voice, which flits between song and spoken word throughout, can be both soothing and searing, and delivers a raw and unaffected intensity of feeling. Tightly produced to the last creeping echo, provided by a four-piece band offering minimal percussion, occasional woodwind and elevating vocal harmonies, the music was made to accompany O'aro's poetry, which constitutes a very real exorcism of her childhood demons. Incest, sexual violence, madness and suicide are recurring themes, with little relief in between. Follow the lyrics, which are translated in the album booklet (from Creole into French with helpful English summaries), and the stark imagery and frequent coupling of sex with death can become a bit much to bear. Put the booklet down though, and you're left with an enchanting and at times stunning work. This is certainly a moodier, far more personal and searching take on the music typically associated with dance and protest.