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There are parallels between Lykke Li's and Yeasayer's first
and second albums. Both split their audience into two camps: one camp hails
the existence of the year's best pop record, while the other squirms slightly,
keeps their head down and quietly admits that they just don't get it.
Both sophomore albums are made up of energetic, instant pop songs, with at
least one certified festival anthem (Lykke Li's being I Follow Rivers,
Yeasayer's being O.N.E) and most importantly, both promote a slightly
mystifying sub-plot that alienates an awful lot of listeners:
Yeasayer's was a difficult-to-grasp concept about the technology
generation and Lykke Li's is a story of defeat after a flourishing
affair. Each leads the listener into unnecessary territory; looking
at Wounded Rhymes like it's a dramatic break-up record distracts us
from the sheer might of some of the songs and the genuine sense of
optimism that works as an undercurrent.
Get Some, for instance, throws us into the middle of
that affair. Instead of overwhelming us with obnoxiously emotional
content, it initiates a sense of fun that much of the record lacks. We
need not even look at it in the context of Lykke Li's experiences.
Instead, we can immerse ourselves in the bold, pounded drums, the
shrill, dry guitars; satisfied at just how well it works as an album
centrepiece.
The dull, grey tones of the album's art and the song titles on
their own suggest much of Wounded Rhymes follows a different route.
Perhaps that's why Get Some works so well; planted right in the middle
of the album, totally different from everything that surrounds it. Out
of all the weighty, impassioned efforts, closer Silent My Song, with
its sluggish, heavy-footed pace, works best. You feel a great sense of
relief as it reaches is supple, peaceful climax; such is the ferocity
of what precedes it. That's not to say that you don't find yourself
wanting to go back to Wounded Rhymes immediately after: it's a
thoroughly addictive record, one perfect in its length, flow and
structure. The exchange between delicate minimalism (I Know Places and
the piercing, affecting Unrequited Love) and gung-ho, dense pop
(Jerome and the confident opener Youth Know No Pain) is executed
brilliantly.
That said, Wounded Rhymes remains a challenging listen - not your
conventional pop record. Lykke Li continues to be an oddball, a
fascinating character. Earnest and upfront, at times
she leaves you feeling intimidated. At other
times, the album works magnificently; more so than anything on her
breakthrough debut.
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