You may think Molly Nilsson’s Un-American Activities is just another record, but it’s more like a defiant, genre-bending manifesto. Written and recorded in California at the historic home of German writer and anti-Nazi dissident Lion Feuchtwanger, the album is soaked in the spirit of rebellion, artistic freedom, and sharp political critique. Nilsson’s unmistakable melodic intuition is ever-present, but here, it’s infused with experimentation and confidence as she explores themes of power, freedom, oppression, and, most importantly, love that transcends boundaries.

Having taken up an artist residency as part of the Villa Aurora program, Nilsson found herself in a creative crucible, pushing her music in unexpected directions. Un-American Activities is a tribute to Feuchtwanger, one of the earliest declared "enemies of the state" by Nazi Germany, and to the universal fight against oppression - a thread that runs through much of Nilsson’s work. But it’s not just a historical reflection, it doubles as a searing indictment of modern America, a nation still wrestling with its promises of freedom and equality.

Nilsson’s evolution is clear from the first note. She’s stepped into uncharted sonic territory, blending unexpected genres and techniques throughout the album. Take “Jackboots Return” for instance - a cold, cutting New Beat track that confronts the chilling rise of the far-right AfD party in modern Germany. Is it the 1930s again, or something much closer to home? The question lingers. Then there’s “The Communist Party,” a hypnotic nod to early 90s rave, infused with Belgian 80s influences and a dash of Madonna’s Vogue-era bravado. Here, Nilsson samples directly from McCarthy-era anti-Communist propaganda, delivering a biting commentary on America’s dark history of political persecution. But Nilsson doesn’t stop there. “The Beauty Of The Duty” brings pounding Electro into her signature sound, doing for that genre what her previous album Extreme did for metal - molding it into something distinctly hers. These songs go hard, and they go deep.

Yet, hidden in all this experimentation there are unmistakable moments of classic Nilsson. “Excalibur” glows with the fuzz-drenched optimism of old, its chorus a bright star that cuts through the haze. “Red Telephone” is drenched in reverb and distortion, each note an ascending cry to the heavens. The album’s emotional core, however, comes in “Palestine.” In a heart-wrenching fusion of empathy and hope, Nilsson borrows from The Wizard Of Oz, turning it into an anthem of solidarity for the oppressed. It’s this moment, perhaps more than any other, that captures the album’s bold spirit.