I know Sweden is a cold place brightened by blonde hair and never ending golden days which are often confused with their endless nights, both filled with enchanting blues. I can comprehend that the beauty of such a twilight place could become as boring as eating jamican ginger cake every single day for the rest of my life. Why then, is there an unwritten law for Scandinavians allowing them to keep producing amazing lo-fi records? I wish I knew. This is one of the better records that I've heard recently. It's perfect for soothing away the sorrow of another day in the mundane without summer sun or picturesque pistés.
It's really not easy to sum effortless emotion like this but I'll try ...there are some really gentle caressing moments where a bass line and stoned guy on a Clapton style electro-acoustic wander around you with menacing ignorance. The band, completed by a drummer using brushes, seem to vanish if you relax your inner eye a little too long. The therapy of music continually takes over, probably similar to having a volcanic mudbath followed by a hot spring. I dunno. Like I said, they seem to fade out, slipping beneath a few of the soft spoken lyrics about dust, crystals and caves that glow in the dark with candles flickering around silhouettes on those horizons that lead to worlds forgotten to time, lost to our broken civilisation and totally free of pop idol – actually, I might have written those words in my head whilst being inspired by this. Who knows? I certainly don’t know what to make of something this subtly sleazy. Imagine a record sounding like a women in long posh jacket wearing nothing but a little summat-summat from Anne Summers but no-one is any the wiser apart from her watermark grin. Classy, hey!
Mmm..it’s lo-fi, it’s good, what more do you need to know? Maybe why it's an angel getting "his wings" but I guess that's a pre-equality statement to agitate. You're probably thinking why the name LOG? Me neither.
7Sean Adams's Score