Archy Marshall at Depth

King Krule was eighteen when "Octopus" surfaced, already doing that thing he does—wrapping that incongruously low voice around guitar lines that feel like they’re being played in a room slowly filling with water. The south London bleakness was already fully formed, the tension between punk and jazz already pulling at the seams of everything he recorded. There was something genuinely unsettling about it: a scrawny redheaded teenager with a baritone that belonged to someone decades older and considerably more damaged, singing about the particular weight of being young and already tired. "Octopus" has that quality too—something lurking at depth, patient, waiting for you to stop paying attention.