The arrival of Little Boots has signaled something of a collective epiphany. Sometimes you don’t know what has been missing from your life until it’s right there in the room with you, and then you wonder how you ever managed without it. It has been barely a year since her solo project tentatively began, and already Victoria Hesketh is UK pop music’s most talked about new star. Ticking off every major piece of ‘next big thing’ feature press without even a properly released single to her name, she’s a rare instance of mirrored and completely justified industry and public hysteria. Behind each flawlessly sculpted gem –aided by a hand-picked elite of helpers including Joe Goddard (Hot Chip) and Greg Kurstin (Kylie Minogue, Lily Allen)- is a universe of imagination. Victoria’s penchant for fantastical visions – quasars erupting flying unicorns riding celestial dust trails to the end of infinity, and the like- bubble beneath incantations of bittersweet matters of the heart. Every inch of her effortlessly enchanting, petite five-foot-nothing frame radiates the kind of star quality the hit parade has been waiting for.

People have labeled her songs many things: space-pop, nu-disco, electro, R&B, to name but a few. The truth being that while tags like these may ring true in relation to a particular instance, they don’t begin to cover the experience of the music she creates. Despite having the hippest circles eating out of her palm, Little Boots couldn’t be less fussed with making ‘cool’ music. She creates the kind of songs that pour into your ears and surge round you with an intensity reserved for that long forgotten track you fell head-over-heels for but never worked out what it was. Melodies and moods that overwhelm, that ominous stomach churn when you know that the only remedy is playing it to death.