Nika Danilova’s high school years sound like Glee as directed by Tim Burton, from a script by Lemony Snicket. Raised by hippie parents in ass-end-of-nowhere Wisconsin, Danilova adopted the moniker Zola Jesus on her first day of class – not because she wanted to appear mysterious and exotic to her peers, but because she wanted them to get the hell out of her face.

“When I was in school, I had no desire to make connections or relations with any of the people around me,” she says, chillingly matter-of-fact about her anti-social tendencies. “I alienated myself a lot. I never had any interest in having a stereotypical American childhood experience. It was entirely by choice. You can make friends in high-school if you want to, no matter how weird you are. There will always be people like you. None of that interested me in the least.”
She may not have fit in as an awkward teenager, but Zola Jesus is certainly surfing the zeitgeist at the moment. A purveyor of magnificently bleak orchestral pop, she is in the vanguard of what is being described – predictably if not inaccurately – as the ‘nu-goth’ movement. Alongside Anna Calvi, Esben and the Witch and Salem, 21-year-old Danilova has been heralded as spiritual heir to Siouxsie Sioux, Sisters Of Mercy and other embodiers of suburban gloom.
“I cannot deny I am into things that might be considered gothic,” she admits. “Baudelaire, Joy Division etc. But it’s reductive and not very helpful actually.”
Besides, her debut album Stridulum II is, for all its exterior bleakness, ultimately a rather uplifting affair. Recorded in the first flush of young love – she has since married the object of her affections – it’s full of redemptive lyrics and hopeful-running-to-naïve observations about the human condition. Alone among her nu-goth peers, Nika actually seems to be able to find reasons to get out of bed in the morning.
“Not only is it about being in a relationship,” she elaborates. “It’s about having relationships with other people. It’s a very hopeful record. I had a lot of hope writing it.”
That said, the actual process of assembling the record was incredibly stressful. At the time Nika was finishing her philosophy degree at the University of Wisconsin. Juggling ‘school’ and a burgeoning recording career was hugely draining.
She has since moved to Los Angeles to be with her new husband. Don’t expect her to gush about the city’s buzzy music scene though. So far as she’s concerned, LA’s much extolled Silver Lake/Echo Park hipster axis is as ersatz as the silicon chested cage dancers on the Sunset Strip.
“I don’t like that part of the city. It’s just as much a cartoon of culture as Hollywood. They’re just wearing different costumes. I mean, I’ve been to [legendary indie venue] The Smell... they’re great and I really support what they’re doing. Overall though, that part of LA is not for me. I keep to myself. I don’t want to part of a ‘scene’.”
In the airy kitchen of her LA apartment, Nika is a picture of confidence. However, she hasn’t always been comfortable in the spotlight. Early in her career, she admits, stage fright was an issue.
“I faced a lot of anxiety and self-criticism while studying opera, and after a while I just couldn’t handle it anymore,” she said in an interview last year. “I would too often lose my voice before performances due to anxiety, and was so hard on myself. I would beat myself up about any imperfections or flaws in my voice. I was such a perfectionist, and my voice was still so young so it couldn’t do everything I wanted it to, and I resented myself for that. But since performing as Zola Jesus it’s been getting easier.”
Something of a prodigy as a child, Nika grew up intent on a career in classical music. Through high school, her heart was set on a place at Antony Hegarty’s Julliard alma mater at New York’s Lincoln Center. As she got older, though, she began to find the strictures of the classical world suffocating. Eventually she rebelled, in the process sowing the seeds for what would become Zola Jesus.
“I was getting into modern classical and avant-garde music. It reached the point where I was outgrowing Puccini. It got old. I started to lose interest in the conventions of studying classical music. There was little room where I was studying for invention or for doing things differently. You start to become curious about doing it differently. Pop musicians aren’t playing like nothing has happened since The Ronettes. To me, classical music felt stuck in the past. It needs to progress. And I’m not saying that doesn’t happen. It can and does. Not where I was, though.”
Stridulum II is named after an obscure seventies horror movie (Nika is an aficionado of splatter pics from the golden age of video nasties, the gorier the better). Its most striking feature, perhaps, is the cover image of Danilova. Sputtering from beneath a tide of visceral goo, there are echoes of Sissy Spacek’s blood drenched Carrie. Actually the offending liquid is nothing more horrendous than melted chocolate.
“Basically I stood there and they poured chocolate over me until I looked like a mutant. And then they shot away. It was exciting. It’s something I always wanted to experience. This was my way of doing it and getting away with it. It was nice but, at the same time, kind of terrifying.”

Stridulum II is out now. You can listen to 'Night' on hotpress.com