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London's Lucy Taylor is a name you may not recognise, but there's a whopping chance you've heard her work. She worked with Bloc Party's Kele Okereke on his solo tours providing keys, and plays live with MGMT, doing flute on 'Electric Feel'. Alongside these, and myriad other projects, she also finds time to be Pawws.

Taylor's sound as Pawws is clearly steeped in the romantic balladry of the '80s. In a similar vein to Molly Beanland, Taylor summons pastel-shaded synths and dramatic emotion, and, in the same way that 'Total Eclipse Of The Heart' will enlist a lump to lodge itself in your trachea, Taylor wields a tender sadness to do the same. There's no huge rage-fuelled tantrums, no "let's burn his clothes and shit in his glovebox"-type of vengeance on the cards. It's reflective, lip-wobblingly resilient and oddly composed. She's most certainly not happy, for the most part, but she's not going to chase, hunt, maim or dismember any former beaus, nor is she hankerin' for a restraining order. Sugar is an exercise in strength and control in the face of crippling uncertainty or massive emotional trauma.

We've had the good fortune to be exposed to much of the EP already. They're gigantic efforts: 'Sugar' is dark, vaguely bitter - like a nice chocolate - but composed and crumbling. 'Outside' is a gleaming shimmer-spree of Las Vegan glitz and sultry, sinewy façades. There's an effervescent beauty in Taylor's vocals, but also a very real, very raw pain: "You choose what you want to see/you only see what you want to believe/I wish you could see through my eyes/'cause I'm looking in from the outside." That commingling of high-class glamour and distraught, obliterated-heart flip-side is a prevalent tactic on the EP, where Taylor attempts in vain to mask her pain. It's a post-midnight Cinderella/prom-queen-crying-in-the-rain kind of timbre (there has to be a more succinct way of trying to describe that...).

Everything we've heard from Taylor, in her Pawws costume (or even with others, really), has been marvellous. Each track beats and throbs with an earnest core, but on top of the sincerity behind her music, she also crafts immense pop paeans. It's glittering, hook-laden pop, sculpted with care and precision, and would sit happy next to acts like Tove Lo, the aforementioned Beanland, Thumpers and Naomi Pilgrim. There may be a calmness in Taylor's sounds, perhaps a passiveness in her resolution composure, but there's a niggling feeling that she's not about to take anymore cerebral punishment. With Sugar, she hints at the powder-keg she has the potential to be, and with that hint, makes us exceedingly excited about her next move.

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