Twenty-year-old Zach Condon's war-torn alias is just the start of his obsession with conflict. The title of his debut album evokes Stalin's notorious labour camps and he's found inspiration in the battle-scarred spirit of the Balkans. Yet his music is a sublime mix of optimism and resignation. Mandolin, ukelele, horns and simmering percussion conjure up mournful celebrations; violins strike the tangled melee like shards of lightning.
Condon's tremulous vocals add an even-handed tension: light and hazy while a dense rhythm rumbles below him in Prenzlauerberg; heavy as lead as he swallows back his tears during Scenic World, oblivious to the kitsch Casio-keyboard melody. Bleeps and shifting rhythms punctuate the sepia sound of old eastern Europe, but it's the ageless warmth and humanity that makes the clashing elements work.
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