Keyword results: Sweden
For a country of over 9 million people, Sweden certainly exports a lot of culture. Cheap Monday... Ingmar Bergman... IKEA... ABBA...
Another astounding export from the land of the blonde ski bunny are The Concretes. They make '60s radio pop akin to contemporaries Camera Obscura or The Clientele, mixing in a bit of Motown melody and girl group harmony to kick up the ante.
Early last year a new wave of Swedish artists began to receive mainstream attention. A year on from ‘The Whistle Song' and the Scandinavian invasion is no transient novelty genre. The latest artist set to bust out of her home land is 22-year-old Lykke Li, whose could-it-be love song 'Little Bit' has laid its hat in head.
It won’t be long before radio stations suck the disco-blood from the neck of Swedish singer-songwriter Jenny Wilson and her album LOVE AND YOUTH is lost among a graveyard of hack remixes. If it hasn’t happened already, you should enjoy it while you can.
'Let My Shoes Lead Me Forward', despite the occasional shudder-inducing Scissor Sisters similarity, is like a squirt of serotonin to a raved-out mind, while the subtler 'Summer Time' – 'The
Roughest Time' couldn’t be more poignant as sunshine burns people’s shoulders and relationships seem to burn people’s hearts.
When it comes to forming an indie sensibility many bands attempt to channel the talents of their idols, deconstructing popular sounds and influences and reconstructing them in ways that are all too often thin or predictable. This faux-formation of authenticity is becoming increasingly transparent as music listeners get fatigued by repetition and more wary of checklist bands.
In the spirit of Gloria Estefan, The Knife’s new album - like love - cuts both ways. On one hand it marks a departure from the wavering and sometimes clumsy beauty of 2004’s DEEP CUTS, and on the other signals a transformation into the more precise and darker world of dance music.
Sometimes described as ‘Haunted House’, SILENT SHOUT can be either starkly sophisticated or as creepy as a man sporting a trench coat and leather gloves.
A decade ago, Sweden's Robyn was considered by TwoThousand to be one of the most frighteningly M.O.R. artists to spook the charts. Her Max Martin penned ballads featured cheesy E.S.O.L. lyrics that would make a Danish backpacker cringe (for example, take the line “you’re the one that I ever needed” from the nails on a chalkboard smash hit 'Show Me Love').
Love, or rather, the word love, was sullied by high school. It was a time when people started feeling hot and bothered. A time when we first confessed love – or, perhaps, the first time we were crass enough to start spelling it “L-U-V”, calculate ‘luv percentages’ and tag school desks with our crush’s initials inside bulbous hearts.
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