Jon Deaux’s One to Watch
Jon Deaux’s One to Watch
FRENCH DARK WAVE – SIERRA VEINNS
The universe always has a way of keeping you on your toes, doesn’t it? Just when you think you can go ahead and call electronic music a dead and buried art form, some crazy French producer comes along and kicks it back into high gear. Not with some big splashy comeback, mind you, but with bass. The timing of life is just cruel like that. It lets you get comfortable, all snuggled up and whatnot, and then it just flips the switch and watches as you stumble around like a blind man.
Let me introduce you to Sierra Veins. Her fans will tell you she’s directly wired into the mother circuit. I’ve been around long enough to recognize “divine electricity” for what it is: some kid turned on the smoke machine after some idiot blew a fuse. But every now and then, someone actually does come along and light up the room. When that happens, you don’t just hear it, you feel it in your bones.
She’ll be playing Edinburgh, Manchester, and London in March. If you still have any wits left about you—and I’m sure you do—you’ll find a way to get there. The universe just loves to hand out opportunities and then stand back to see if you can blow it.
I know hype. I know the real deal. Hype is loud—billboards, algorithm-driven posts, all that malarkey. The real deal is quiet, lurking in the shadows just waiting for you to trip over it. Sierra Veins isn’t hyping. She just shows up and takes over, like it’s always been her scene.
She didn’t begin as Sierra Veins. She had a different name, just Sierra, which honestly sounds more like a mountain range than a musician. Good luck finding her old work—it’s hiding in anonymity. That’s what happens when your name is indistinguishable from soda brands and software. So in May 2025, she changed it. Sierra Veins. That name has bite. It throbs. It already knows where you’re weak.
Her 2023 album, “Stronger”, was just a warm-up. Polite, almost. Like she was honing her knife in broad daylight. She released her latest offering “In The Name Of Blood”, and suddenly the underground is buzzing. Not with party poppers—but with neon and leather, and a rhythm that’s like you’re confessing a secret you shouldn’t be keeping.
This album doesn’t put you to bed. It takes you by the throat. Identity, heartbreak, obsession—yeah, they’re here, but they don’t just sit around feeling sorry for themselves. They’re called “raw” by critics. They always are. But raw is uncut. This is honed. “My Poison” doesn’t just play, it comes on in. “The One” could be the theme song for a Bond movie—if the films ever got their nerve back. And “It Was Written”? That song sticks with you. It’s heartbreak that doesn’t bother to yell. It just quietly rearranges your insides when you’re not paying attention.
She’s toured with Carpenter Brut—if you’ve survived one of their shows, you know what it means to live. She’s written songs for Yves Saint Laurent, which proves darkness never goes out of fashion. She’s played Hellfest and Roadburn, where the audience thinks they’re seeing something wild, until she gets on stage and raises the bar.
Edinburgh, Manchester, London. These aren’t massive venues where you’re straining to see from the nosebleeds. These are intimate, up-close-and-personal shows. You’ll feel the music in your chest. At first, it’s just another night out—coat slung over a chair, drink in hand, maybe a glimmer of hope. Then the lights go down, and from the first note to the final echo, you’ll understand this isn’t just a concert. You’ve been enlisted.
This is the universe having a laugh at us. Some of you will read this, nod, maybe forward it to a friend—“We should go.” But you won’t. Something will come up. Laundry. Too tired. That old excuse: there’s always next time. Then one day, when she’s playing in front of stadiums and tickets are scarce, you’ll remember—“Oh yeah, I knew her when.”
Regret doesn’t get bored. It doesn’t have a next time. It just waits, foot-tapping, lingering.
March is a terrible month. Cold, gray. The kind of weather that makes you question why you ever leave your bed, let alone your apartment. But every now and then, in the middle of all that darkness, something breaks through and reminds you you’re still alive. Or at least, that you can still feel something stronger than your radiator.
Sierra Veins is about to do that.
The rest? The universe is already watching.
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