So lonely he can't be bothered to learn how to spell?
Multi-instrumentalist Emil Svanängen, the man behind Loney, dear has toiled in the basement of his parents house and his home studio in Stockholm for years, (self-releasing four CD-Rs since 2003 into the bargain) and it appears that 2007 is the year that he's set to break big into public consciousness. I know what you're thinking: I've never heard of him. Join the club.
I reckon I've got a relatively keenly-tuned musical nose, (even if it does look like I've nicked it from a fox hunting toff suffering from acute alcoholism), but Emil (no we're not on first name terms, but I refuse to spend another hour searching my word processing program to find a lower-case "a" with two dots on it) has whipped past my pixie-like appendage with the skill of a single mother in Costcutter who's spent all the housekeeping cash on smack and now really needs a Dime bar.
'Loney, Noir', (his second UK album release) is an electro-indie-folk affair; spookily reminiscent of Postal Service, Death Cab For Cutie, Bright Eyes and even more bizarrely Zoot Woman. As with all Scandinavian folk, it's lyrically reliant on themes of melancholic romanticism, emotional and social disaffection and a muted yearning for a sense of mental wellbeing - a propensity I attribute to the fact that most countries in the region charge twenty quid for a teaspoon of lager. Anyway, I'm guessing that you're thinking the album sounds pretty boring. Well, the answers no...and yes...
Emil's greatest talent is as composer, arranger and producer - although that's not to arbitrarily denigrate the lyrical content - there are plenty of touching moments within - but they're more of a side dish; a bowl of mixed greens that while enjoyable to munch, is no match for the hearty flavour of a huge, bloody steak. Keyboards, acoustic guitars, fuzzy bass synths and a smattering of woodwind magically coagulate to form a rich and multi-layered landscape. On the flipside, it has to be said that while this vista is hauntingly seductive, it does lose its intrinsic poignancy in the album's latter stages.
Vocally, Emil's acerbic timbre acts as a caustic knife and slices through the electric-acoustic butter of opener 'Sinister In A State Of Hope', with implausible ease, while on 'Saturday Waits' his quasi-Bee Gee falsetto is stunningly effective when set against the lush, wall-of-sound landscape. It's an assured performance to be sure, but what gives it that extra bite is the inherently proletarian quality - his voice isn't perfect; it wavers, undulates and shakes, much like the vocals of Robert Smith and Siouxsie Sioux do.
'I Will Call You Lover Again' begins with a basic keyboard lick that sent my mind scrambling back to 1986 and my old Amstrad CPC 464 (the one with the cassette deck no less), before the nursery-rhyme lyrics kick in, while the apologetic ballad 'I Am The Odd One' is infused with just enough visceral piquancy to swim above the abyss of soppiness.
For the most part, 'Loney, Noir' is an affecting and intriguing record, but it does lose its direction and edge in the second half. However, if you're a fan of the aforementioned Bright Eyes and The Postal Service, you're sure to love this album.
Taken at face value and within the boundaries of the genre, 'Loney, Noir' is a remarkably assured work; playful, knowing and full of heart. However, there's little here to convert the circumspect music fans, who'll probably get bored after the first half, plumb the new Artic Monkeys album back into the earbuds and head back to Costcutter to nick another Dime bar...and some nappies...