“Dancing on My Own” was the first single from “Body Talk,” a trilogy of albums, all released a few months apart, on which Robyn’s artistic signature became unmistakable: sorrow as the content, ecstasy as the form. Listening to her music, you’re not enveloped in the minutiae of her emotional universe, as you are with someone like Taylor Swift. Rather, Robyn will extract from her universe the simplest of plots—a pure love, thwarted—and then expand it to encompass everything. Her voice, tensile and clear, is an ideal delivery system for longing; it makes me picture melted sugar hardening on ice. “You don’t need to compress it or shape it,” Svein Berge, a longtime collaborator of Robyn’s and one half of the electronic duo Röyksopp, told me. “It seems fragile, but it’s punchy—when she says a word, it somehow goes straight through the speaker and pulls at your heart.”journey-inline-newsletterinline-newsletter