TANGERINE drop folksy tale of heartbreak “The Coldest Winter”

TANGERINE announce debut album with folk-inflected offering “The Coldest Winter,” out today via AWAL.

Formed of sisters Marika and Miró Justad and Toby Kuhn, TANGERINE are an LA-via-Seattle trio that have been plugging away since 2013. Their brand of woozy, folksy indie pop has been carefully constructed by Marika and Miró’s beautifully controlled and synchronised harmonies and best friend Toby’s wonderfully woozy guitar work.

Back in 2016, their debut EP, Sugar Teeth, showcased a beach rock vibe, with frantic guitars and verbose lyrics, whereas their 2018 White Dove EP showed a more, glossy, 80’s inflected side. Their newest single, “The Coldest Winter”, which is the first taster from their upcoming debut full length album, sits somewhere in between.

Inspired “after a period of heartache and personal loss due to a death in the Justad family”, the track is fittingly melancholy, but is enveloped in sweet nostalgia too. The track itself focuses on looking “back on a love affair framed by an especially cold winter”.

“The Coldest Winter” has a personable, intimate feel but is also expansive. The tenderly plucked acoustic guitar folds the listener into the narrative of the song, acting almost like a campfire, inviting us in. The underlying, throbbing keys gift the track a cinematic feel however, opening out the story and allowing us to truly be taken along into “The Coldest Winter”.

At the helm, are Marika and Miró’s layered vocals, guiding the listener through the unfolding story. The combination of their voices is a heady one, a truly hypnotising sound. Whilst the folksy soundscape changes around them, their voices meld stoically and ground the listener in the tale.

The closing minute of “The Coldest Winter” eventually turns into a swirling mass of a snowy guitar flurry. There’s something dreamlike about Toby Kuhn’s guitar work in this climax as snippets of far off vocals amass around the central, repeated guitar riff. The snow storm calms until all we’re left with is a lone strummed guitar, fading out, leaving us bittersweet and alone.

Rachel Chandler