Thirty minutes after we first meet, Jenny Hval and I are jumping around in a bouncy castle with walls resembling six-foot-tall breasts. And the year-old Norwegian artist is really going for it —bending her knees into a miniature catapult and then landing face down with arms stretched across an enormous inflated plastic boob. After Hval wins the game, she is given a small paddle by an employee of the museum, who instructs her to spank me she obliges. With a great sense of ease, Hval tells me that once, for a project, she watched the scene about 50 times. But Hval never quite sounds like anyone exactly but herself, especially on her new record, Apocalypse, girl.
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