You hatch sometime between sunrise and sunset, which is a somewhat meaningless distinction since two suns revolve overhead to create a permanent dusk.

The sky is autumnal, empty and lightly burnt, but the stillness feels dioramic. Shadows cling to everything but you and, though you are completely alone, tension hangs in the air. There are eyes on you and the blast radius you left after bursting forth from a bronze egg. But where?

You notice another one as ghostly fog leaks from the cracks in the shell. As the pieces start to break away, a dull light emanates from within the vessel and suddenly you aren't alone.

FKA twigs is wrapped in thin copper wire that digs into her skin when she moves. Even as she breathes, her ribcage is gauged by sharp, imperfect barbs. She stands and a network of bloody streams form down her thighs. Her lips are dark rouge. You realise you're wearing a long robe donning an airbrushed portrait of Aaliyah on the back.

When she begins to move, things get blurry. You're pummelled with bursts of heavy bass until you can no longer stand. FKA twigs watches you writhe with gentle curiosity and smiles before cooing "I'm your sweet little love-maker" as disembodied hands dance across her throat.

By the way, she isn't addressing you, the human. She is too sensuous for this mortal coil. She is as tangible as a streaky, desert mirage. You would be mistaken if you thought she ever even saw you.

She glides around you with choreographed specificity while delivering snippets of songs; "I'll be yours!" in teary falsetto, as the unofficial fourth member of TLC "Was I just a number to you?", "Closer to you, to you, to you, to you" airily, "Tell me," with conviction "what do I do?" You're hearing a one-sided dialogue dripping with Elizabethan absolutes through the voice of today. It's a screenshot of an iMessage conversation with Romeo. Mercutio's ill-timed, Snapchatted dick pick.

When she finishes, FKA twigs curls into the fetal position as six dots of light jettison across the sky. The heavenly bodies crash-land a few dozen yards from where you are and you see they are more eggs but, this time, they're made of marble. They take longer to hatch. FKA twigs remains completely still.

Six women, also trapped in copper wire, emerge from their shells and form a circle around FKA twigs, who then stands up and repeats her performance, only this time she starts to unravel her copper trappings. In doing so, she becomes bright as the sun, trapping you all in amber for several millennia.

LP1 is out this week on Young Turks. Read our review of it here.

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