When the Norwich duo emerged aged 16, critics dismissed them as pop puppets. Their new album bristles at the disparagement of teenage girls – and the restrictions of femininity
Rosa Walton and Jenny Hollingworth – AKA Let’s Eat Grandma (or LEG) – don’t understand why anyone would find their music unsettling. On their 2016 debut album I, Gemini, released when they were just 16, they juxtaposed folk whimsy with anxiety inducing electronic beats and macabre lyrics. “My cat is dead, my father hit me,” they sang on Rapunzel, sounding like something out of a Tim Burton film. A review in this paper described the album as “deeply creepy”. But for Walton and Hollingworth, the whole thing was “just a bit of a lol”.
“I don’t think I ever viewed the album as dark before everybody said it was,” says Hollingworth. “What people see in a record is more a reflection of what they’re thinking than what we were thinking when we wrote it,” says Walton, sipping on an afternoon pint. But what about the peculiar influences they spoke of in interviews – the horror films and serial killer documentaries? Walton starts to cackle: “I actually think we made that up.”
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