On her fifth album, Florence Welsh holds the mirror up so close to her own face, she can see her breath on it. Named for a medieval epidemic of involuntary “dancing”, understood then to be a form of possession, choreomania is now seen as a desperate outlet of stress. In that vein, Dance Fever is an exorcism of Welsh’s own demons, but also an ode to the titanic movement and expression that has defined Welsh as an undeniable force. She writes her most confessional lyrics to date, reckoning with womanhood and self-sabotage, and melds them with butterflies-inducing soundscapes which prove that with Dance Fever, she is at the peak of her powers.
Words by Sophie Walker