With Eusexua, FKA twigs continues to operate in a realm that feels entirely her own—hovering somewhere between avant-pop, ’90s techno, experimental R&B, and forward-thinking sound design. This isn’t a record that simply plays in the background. It demands physical and emotional engagement, constantly shifting shape as it pulses, glitches, seduces, and dissolves. The experience feels both strangely nostalgic and unmistakably alien, like memory refracted through a futuristic lens.

The album’s identity is established immediately on the title track, which unfolds with the slow thrum of a heartbeat wrapped in bubbling synths and fragile, close-mic’d vocals. There’s an icy sensuality at work—intimate, eerie, and futuristic all at once. Twigs never pushes her voice to the front; instead, it drifts inside the production, becoming part of the texture rather than dominating it. Even the word Eusexua feels deliberate, like a newly coined term meant to describe a state of intimacy or connection that doesn’t quite exist yet.

That hypnotic coldness carries into “Girl Feels Good” and “Perfect Stranger,” where deep techno basslines, looping rhythms, and robotic vocal treatments lock the listener into a trance. On the surface, these tracks feel emotionally distant, but underneath there’s a quiet devastation. The beats are minimal yet effective, her cadence flowing effortlessly, creating a sadness that’s oddly soothing. Glitched background vocals and subtle processing heighten the sense of emotional dislocation rather than resolve it.

Things turn darker and more confrontational on “Drums of Death,” one of the album’s most striking statements. Built around punishing, ritualistic percussion and fragmented vocal phrases, it shows how twigs can make restraint feel massive. It’s brief, unsettling, and unforgettable—teetering on chaos but held together by absolute control. That tension between freedom and precision runs through the entire album.

The record’s ’90s DNA becomes more explicit on “Room of Fools” and “Keep It, Hold It,” where house, trance, and techno elements collide with organic textures and unexpected instrumentation. Twigs isn’t simply referencing the era—she’s reshaping it. Tracks morph constantly, shifting from meditative restraint into full-bodied dance movements before dissolving again, reinforcing the album’s fixation on fluidity and transformation.

“Sticky” and “Striptease” lean deeper into vulnerability and sensual expression. Piano lines, soft bass, layered vocals, and digital glitches create an intensely intimate atmosphere. Twigs’ confidence here is subtle but overwhelming—every inflection controlled, every emotional shift intentional. Even when beats fracture or melt away, the tension never disappears.

The album also makes space for moments of warmth and playfulness. “Childlike Things” injects a burst of energy, pairing a simple, almost nursery-like framework with booming low end, funky keys, and an unexpected feature that somehow fits perfectly within the album’s surreal logic. It’s joyful, strange, and kinetic, a reminder that experimentation doesn’t have to feel detached or severe.

As the record drifts toward its conclusion, “24hr Dog” and “Wanderlust” slow the momentum, dissolving into airy, washed-out soundscapes where twigs’ vocals feel nearly weightless. These tracks underline the power of her voice alone—fragile, expressive, and capable of carrying entire songs with minimal support. Subtle strings, ambient textures, and restrained beats creep in gently, closing the album on a reflective, searching note.

Eusexua is fluid, fearless, and deeply intentional. No two tracks sound alike, yet the album remains cohesive through its mood, emotional clarity, and meticulous production. It draws from the past without being bound by it, feels futuristic without turning cold, and once again proves that FKA twigs isn’t chasing movements or trends—she’s building fully realized worlds of her own.