There’s every chance in the world that I’m writing this review from a significant disadvantage, and I’ll be the first to admit that I have somewhat odd tastes in, well, everything - from clothes to shoes through women and ending in my choice of drinks. I was also a fan of Machina, which many felt was an anemic chapter for the Smashing Pumpkins to close out on. That said, I’m still of the opinion that the newest addition to the Pumpkins’ extensive catalog is a worthy one. Is it another Siamese Dream? No. Do I believe to it to be on par with Mellon Collie… or rival Gish? Fuck no. What Zeitgeist is, though, shouldn’t just be dismissed because it cannot compete with the fantastic peaks that the Smashing Pumpkins have found themselves upon during their bizarre journey through the musical landscapes of the 90s or because of the projects Corgan involved himself with between the death and resurgence of his band.

From the first seconds of the album, Zeitgeist revels in torrents of overdriven guitars, Chamberlin’s distinct and masterly control of the drums, and that wonderful nasal delivery that Corgan etched into my heart at a young and impressionable age. Also in those first few moments it is obvious that this is a Smashing Pumpkins record, not a poorly photocopied, mangled replica made to ‘fuel Corgan’s greed’ (along with ticket sales for the reunion tour, the bastard!). I find it hard to believe that Corgan or Chamberlin would pour so much energy and talent into this record purely for the monetary reward (and the fact that many critics are seemingly balking at the idea that major label bands actually make money from their music is a strangely naive tact to employ when joining the bandwagon calls that Corgan is some fiscally-fixated monster orchestrating some underhand scheme so he can frolic in hotel suites full of ‘black money’). The musicianship is astounding — the guitar work is phenomenal, especially during the solos, and not enough can be said about Chamberlin’s craft — the songs are well structured, and having listened to Siamese Dream twice through this morning before returning to Zeitgeist, I remain confident with the rating I’ve given and words I’m putting down here.

While only a handful of songs would survive in any capacity through intense scrutiny next to the likes of “Today” or “1979″, they work together on Zeitgeist. I personally don’t feel there is an awful piece anywhere on this record (though “For God and Country” comes perilously close and is easily the most forgettable track on the record). “Tarantula” is a monstrous composition, a beast composed of besmirched walls of distortion, huge drum fills and fuzz-box squeals cutting through the avalanche of sound alongside Corgan’s snarling voice. The opening three tracks are as good an introduction to a rock album as you are going to find, easily excelling anything heard on rock radio stations around the country. “Neverlost” and closer “Pomp and Circumstances” are both accomplished slower numbers, kind breathers in this marathon of chugging guitars and thunderous drums. Even the meandering “United States” eventually finds its way and closes out with all the spite and angst I’ve lacked in my life since the Pumpkins called it quits.

Would I have preferred Corgan and Chamberlin producing something on the scale of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness? Of course. But, I’m alright with the work they’ve done, and one must remember that they’ve only recently reunited. I’m hoping the flaws and stumbles will work themselves out soon enhancing the band’s future compositions. Until then, I’m confident Zeitgeist, and especially “Tarantula”, will survive me at least through summer and the coming autumn.

With every composition given a sense of its own individuality through lengthy, film title-like track names such as “That Summer, At Home I Had Become the Invisible Boy”, Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters feels like an orchestral arrangement of many shifting movements or the aural equivalent of a novella, each chapter allowed significance and precedence through its unique approach. While this depiction of the album appears to suggest that the record is a series of loosely linked, cinematic soundscapes, and in some respects this is true, the overall experience of the recording is one of a complete work, a series of resounding tapestries amalgamated by their emotional explorations despite their diacritical nature. This unity is made possible through James Graham’s distinctly Glaswegian accent coloring the tone of his vocal delivery, the grandiose layering of the guitars and bass, and drum lines that slip easily from a near marching band steadiness into more fluid and thundering deliveries; each element, while facilitated differently in the individual songs, is a telling brush stroke of a singular group of artists.

Evoking a strange collection of peers, the Twilight Sad are a difficult group to classify, even in today’s world of curious genre labeling. Maybe our contemporaries at Pitchfork would risk labeling them an ‘epic indie’, a ‘cinematic shoegaze’, or, hell, a ‘post-shoegaze’ band (you can never really prepare yourself for what’s buried in the peculiar literary ejaculations of a Pitchfork review). At times the band seems to tread similar tangents to that of the Arcade Fire only to launch themselves to the dynamic heights of fellow countrymen Mogwai, and a number of other accomplished groups could be used as ineffective measurements of their musical range. The Twilight Sad are one of the most unique bands to step out of Britain in the past few years, their sound thick with distorted and delayed guitars, full, deep bass, and substantial drums, all propelling Graham’s dark, accented vocals as they explore a number of poetically articulated, though often rather vague, themes. While adolescence seems to be the focus of the album’s title and is referenced again in “That Summer, At Home I Had Become the Invisible Boy” - “I’m 14, and don’t you know I’m looking the wrong way; and is the past outside or in this lovely home?” - it is difficult to always be confident in one’s translation of Graham’s cryptic, often bitter lyrics. This has yet to stop me singing along with even the most perplexing lines, my favorite being - “Head up, dear, you’re shallow and blind. And head up, dear, the rabbit may die…”.

I will not be surprised to find Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters slipping into the upper ranks of my ‘Best of 2007′ list even with another half-year’s worth of releases to come. While darkly eloquent and monumental in its scope, the album isn’t taxing or burdensome. As with adolescence itself, a sense of hope and eventual escape pervades even the darkest track. With this being our first full taste of the capabilities of the Twilight Sad, I can’t even imagine the record they’ll create in the next few years. I debated briefly whether Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters should get the full five marks, but, with the expectation of future recordings surpassing this album, it seems I shall have to wait a little while to give these Scottish boys five gears. I just hope they don’t keep us waiting too long.

To start, since Exit Decades has become a quick favorite of mine over the past month or so, if we had ‘half-gears’ here on Automaton Industries, I’d probably give this record a 3.5 out of 5, but, all said and done, it is not quite deserving of a 4. Kicking the record off in a curiously similar light to Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm, Cut City seem unsure over the course of this album whether they’d prefer being lumped in with the contemporary British artists of esteem or their 80s punk influences, most notably Joy Division. While they excel at the styles they explore on Exit Decades, and, for the most part, the record flows quite seamlessly, I can’t help but get the impression that once they settle on a delivery that these young upstarts from Göteborg will produce a damned fine album, one I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to give a 4 or better. The fact that Exit Decades is not that record shouldn’t deter anyone at all from investing in it, the album, despite it’s hazy focus, is still a quality addition to one’s collection.

Opener “Like Ashes Like Millions” shows that Exit Decades, even when treading ‘au courant’ paths, seems to lean more towards the nostalgic approach of bands like Wire (especially 154-era) and Joy Division, not only in the compositions’ arrangement, but in their production. “Anticipation” and “Damaged” take this tact a few steps further, the latter sounding like an unaccountably overlooked track from the Closer sessions. After this reminiscent halfway point comes “Such Verve” and “Rival Trial”, two exceptional tracks, but ones that feel strangely distanced from their predecessors. While the production remains the same, the manner of delivery is far more in line with the 80s throwback bands making waves today. And, once again, the record shifts gears in its closing moments. The ‘ever pushing forward’ pace slows and dissipates into the contemplative “Just Pornography (For M.E.)”, which, in turn, colors the more direct closer “The Dull Miles (Exit Decades)” in darker, more introspective shades, especially noticeable in final section.

While the album has its disassociative qualities, instead of being a difficultly this facet hints at the extensive potential that Cut City possess. There’s not a bad song on this record. Once the band decides whether they’d prefer being Ian Curtis’ disciples or fall closer to Interpol’s approach, they will create something that will excel this fine album. Hell, even if they never ’settle down’ I’ll still be buying their records.

“Hela mitt liv har handlat om relationer, det är på det sättet jag definierat mig själv [My whole life has been centered around relationships, they are how I’ve defined myself],” Asha Ali says in an interview on her website. The Ethiopian born musician, now living in Stockholm, Sweden, certainly focuses her self-titled debut around the delicate and shifting nature of human interaction, Ali’s voice drifting with ease along the many musical backdrops and approaches contained therein. ‘Coward Heart’, the album’s opener, recalls stripped down Swedish indie-pop; ‘These Months’ emotes a lost barrenness with its lonely piano hits and atmospheric guitar; and ‘Warm Fronts’ feels like a more mature version of the country/folk/indie sound that Saddle Creek seems especially fond of. Ali’s delivery and the production - empty space and careful layering - hold the record together, though this still doesn’t give the album a great sense of direction. The musicianship and songwriting is strong, but is not always well distributed throughout the album. It does ultimately hold the debut together, and makes it an album worth checking out.

When Asha Ali gets it right - she gets it very right. Even though it dissipates the force of her record, the diversity apparent within it shows how dynamic and poignant a musician she is. ‘These Months’, easily the standout track on the record, darkly builds itself up in whispers of delayed guitars and reverberating piano tones. There is a sense of maturity on that song that is not present on its the following track, ‘Are You Here Soon?’, a ballad-esque number with horns and some brilliant slide guitar. The strange diversion from the eloquence of ‘These Months’ to the lighter ‘Are You Here Soon?’ highlights the main failing of the record: inconsistency in sound, approach, and weight.

Asha Ali’s self-titled debut feels like a mix of two EPs and a few b-sides, which is not a slight towards b-sides - they are often great songs, but you can tell there was a reason they didn’t make the album. There are a number of upbeat songs, a few slower numbers, songs with a full band, others with just a few instruments, and individually the majority of the album’s songs are profound ventures. Once they are strung along like beads into a full album there is a voiceless, schizophrenic quality that is hard to ignore despite the proficient musicianship and Ali’s wonderful voice.

If you have a leaning towards female vocalists, especially ones with a commanding, powerful voice equally at home on Scandinavian indie-pop songs as on alt-country ballads, then this is a record that is worth looking into. There is very little wrong with this album, unfortunately what is wrong leaves the whole feeling less solid than its individual components.

Often when exploring the emotional landscape of insecure 20-somethings enduring those first discouraging tastes of maturity, bands, and especially singer-songwriters, want to cut deep, making only the sharpest observations, and portraying themselves as a sad product of the sterile world that unfolds around them. Sometimes after a few glasses of red wine or in the dark winter months I’ll break one of these albums out, sit and reminisce about places and times that I existed in, lingering over those ‘bad times’ that we all file away as learning experiences that have shaped us into who we’ve become. And this is all well and good, but their inaccessibility at other times displays the failing of these records, painting themselves effortlessly into small, dark corners of our existence with their passionate weight and strained approach.

Introducing… is not one of those records. While it might sneak close to the edge of becoming emotionally overwrought, just as it verges at times onto the territory of cutesy Swedish indie-pop, there is a strong current pushing this dynamic record from start to finish. Annika Norlin, the driving force behind Hello Saferide, crafts her songs with all the delicate care that artists employ, but with the distance that a friend will confess a failing or tell a self-deprecating story, laughing all the way through as they admit how they acted, the words that were said, or how the whole situation grew quickly out of their control. This pleasant dichotomy allows Norlin a great deal of freedom within her songs, pulling us easily into her world – one where it isn’t raining all the time, where she likes boys that put out when she comes home drunk, and in which you should always wear socks because she’s still not all that fond of bare feet. Once you’ve stumbled a few minutes into the record you are no longer surprised as confessions lay alongside joking references to 80s soap operas or wishes that she was a lesbian (and her best friend, too).

With only three songs breaking the three-minute mark, Introducing… paces itself smartly on the backs of concise pop songs. ‘Nothing Like You (When You’re Gone)’ and ‘My Best Friend’ start the record off, the first missing a lost love, the other wishing that a best friend could become something more, and in just under five minutes we’ve been thrown into the deep end. While the first response to the chorus of ‘My Best Friend’ - “Damn, I wish I was a lesbian…” - may not be one of inexplicable awe at the lyrical prowess of Annika Norlin, the song is an infectious, sun-bleached number that flows so well into ‘If I Don’t Write This Song, Someone I Love Will Die’ you can’t help but forgive its playfulness, and grow to appreciate it as you become more familiar with Norlin’s musical approach. The arrival of ‘I Thought You Said Summer Is Going To Take The Pain Away’, ‘I Don’t Sleep Well’, and ‘Long Lost Penpal’ – which features the wonderful voice of Andrea Kellerman (AK Firefox) – solidify Introducing… as a record which cannot be easily dismissed as pop fluff or a depressing, superficial affair.

There are too many themes and shades of grey explored within the record to make any meaningful reference to, not unless I was to tack another few paragraphs onto this review (which has already become a decently lengthy affair), but there’s plenty to make you remember broken hearts, drunken evenings, and to make you smirk, if not laugh, interlaced throughout Introducing… - a rather striking feat given its brevity. Norlin succeeds in making light of the fact that drinking, laughing, loving, losing, and crying don’t need to be explored independently, as this often isn’t the case with many of the bittersweet facets of life, and her voice and wit give these efforts a sense of durability that I can’t see wearing off anytime soon.

[Author’s Note: This review is of the LP available through It’s A Trap. You can also pick up the CD version at It’s A Trap’s store, though you will miss out on ‘The Quiz’ - which was originally released on the EP Would You Let Me Play This EP 10 Times A Day? and added as a bonus track onto the LP.]

Coming of age is no easy task for established musicians, and collapsing under the pressures such passage entails is not an uncommon event. I imagine it’s something along the lines of trying to survive the horrors of puberty, only with a captive audience along to heckle your every unsightly blemish and newly discovered sexual urge. In the case of Idlewild, transitioning from a band of rowdy young punks into a group of men looking to explore a subtler, more nuanced brand of rock hasn’t been an easy sell to the fickle world of fans and critics alike. So it’s to their credit that they’ve capably managed such a feat with no small amount of tact and dignity.

Make Another World, their fifth studio album, in many ways feels like the culmination of everything the band has been working towards. Stripped of the confines that came with their longtime contract to Parlophone, Idlewild have returned to the world of independents, and the results are an incredibly lean, focused record. They’ve also welcomed back Dave Eringa, the producer on both 100 Broken Windows and The Remote Part, which has no doubt helped regain some of the energy and urgency that was lacking on their last outing. As the album first cracks to life with the kinetic ‘In Competition for the Worst Time’, it’s hard not to feel as confident in their recent decisions as the band no doubt feel themselves.

That confidence is further cemented into place with the weighty thrash of ‘Everything (As it Moves)’, a song recalling the successful formula of its paranthesis sharing brother ‘(I am) What I am Not’, ably followed by ‘No Emotion’, which cultivates a post-punk swagger that would sit quite comfortably alongside the likes of Battle or Bloc Party. By the time you reach the slow burning ‘Future Works’, the moody, pop-Americana overtones of Warnings/Promises have become a distant memory, only to briefly reappear in the form of lingering horns that bridge the gap nicely into the organ toting ‘You and I are Both Away’ (two of the album’s few instances of instrumental flourishes), before returning us back to the original course.

Thoughout the proceedings, vocalist Roddy Woomble remains as fiercely poetic a frontman as ever, effortlessly commanding attention amidst the din of distorted guitars that often accompany him. While his voice may still recall hints of Michael Stipe and Morrissey, it’s long become distinctly his own instrument, and combined with his world-weary lyricism, it’s an impressive one. Equally adept are his bandmates, who show every bit of technical skill and craft that only ten years honing your art will earn you. Guitarist Rod Jones, a staple of Idlewild’s sound, plows through the album’s peaks with wreckless abandon, layering on circuitous riffs that form the backbone of many tracks. This show of force is particularly impressive on the album’s watershed moment, ‘A Ghost in the Arcade’, as his angular, glam metal lead encapsulates Woomble’s emotive plea, “Hey alibi / let me shout out your name / to explore exactly why / we throw our lives away”.

A decade into their career, and it’s apparent that Idlewild are set to maintain their position as one of the hardest working bands both in Scotland and beyond. While their varied catalog has pushed the limits of both our expectations and their abilities, Make Another World arrives as a restoration of everything that made them so appealing in the first place. And with their newfound freedom still fresh in the mix, I have no doubt the best is yet to come.

Sophomore efforts, that time when a band must reaffirm itself and prove that their debut wasn’t merely a fluke, some collection of happy mistakes that will stand forever as the watermark of their musical contributions. And what band could have more pressure on them than Bloc Party, those darlings of the indie scene who rose to stardom and almost universal acclaim with the release of Silent Alarm?

‘Song for Clay (Disappear Here)’, the strange venture that also fills the opening slot, sees Kele Okereke’s voice stealing up into the falsetto range as the songs builds and finally breaks into a nearly Franz Ferdinand style guitar attack. Several of the first-half tracks, most evident in the frantic energy of ‘Hunting For Witches’, incorporate heavier, darker sentiments drawn from the British experience of the past few years – the London Bombings in 2005, reactions to immigration, drug culture, and a growing resentment towards the emerging youth subculture and its inability to graduate beyond the schoolyard. On this last point Okereke is not able to capture his passions adequately with words, a tendency that transcends the record and its themes, failing exceptionally on ‘Uniform’ – “There was a sense of disappointment as we left the mall, all the young people looked the same. Wearing their masks of cool and indifference…” While this might pass for inspired in sixth grade (or 3rd form as was most likely the case for Okereke), it doesn’t have the same emotional weight over a decade passed those sterile classroom settings. Though, to be honest, the musicianship goes a long way in saving ‘Uniform’ from complete excommunication from my stereo.

As the album progresses the songs breathe a little easier, taking cues more readily from Silent Alarm’s ‘Here We Are’ than the shadowy vigor that infiltrated the album’s early songs. Despite ‘On’ bringing us yet another vampire reference slipping far too easily into Okereke’s delivery, it is also a wonderful turning point, and a welcome, almost nostalgic, return to Bloc Party’s elegant control over layered, mid-tempo numbers. The subtle strings and graceful arrangement even bring a slight sense of poetry to Kele’s proclamation, “You make my tongue loose, I am hopeful and stutter free”, which might not otherwise have been the case.

‘I Still Remember’ may have prompted a number of questions posed to Okereke in recent interviews, all stemming from the underlying meaning of lines like “I kept your tie…” (Did you mean a boy tie or a girl tie?), but ‘Kreuzberg’ is the shining star of the second act – layers of lost fragility synchronized into a powerful, flowing ballad lamenting a meandering life. While ‘Two More Years’ didn’t make the cut for the record, or even give us an early indication of its pace and emotional impact, ‘Kreuzberg’ nearly makes up for this slight, especially as the song pushes further skyward in its final moments.

A Weekend in the City is a solid album from an ever inspiring band, and will probably excel many other releases this year regardless of its failures. Will this record ever see much light beyond the shadows of its formidable predecessor? With the critics - doubtful, but I find it hard to imagine a record that has both ‘Waiting for the 7.18′ and ‘Kreuzberg’ not making someone’s day.

It’s not very surprising that The Cooper Temple Clause have been experiencing some growing pains. In the nearly four years since their sophomore release, Kick Up the Fire, and let the Flames Break Loose, they’ve suffered through both the loss of their label, and the well publicized departure of bassist Didz Hammond, who jumped ship for the more commercially viable shores of Dirty Pretty Things. On one hand, Makes This Your Own serves as a testament to their resolve and talent, a welcome return for their patiently waiting fans. On the other hand, it is the unfortunate soundtrack to a band in crisis.

Identity was never an issue for TCTC. Their vitriolic brand of synth heavy rock was as unapologetic as it was vicious, glistening with the confidence of a band wise beyond their years. There may have been ups and downs throughout the first two albums, but even when they stepped outside of their comfort zone, like with the borderline hopeful single ‘Blind Pilots’, it was far more often hit than miss. Standing as a stark contrast to their prior sense of self, Make This Your Own (an exceptionally ironic title if I’ve ever seen one) is an awkward, muddy mess of genres and influences, too often sounding like every band but the one who’s name graces the sleeve.

While there’s something to be said for branching out, the sudden attempts to diversify their sound often feel more like shallow passes at mainstream accessibility, rather than genuine efforts to broaden their musical horizons. The constantly shifting styles prove intensely distracting, and the problem is only exacerbated by the decision to split vocal duties up amongst the band, rather than focusing on frontman Ben Gautrey’s trademark gravelly tones. At best, as with the Placebo meets Nightmare of You whine of ‘Waiting Game’, the results of this experiment tend to be harmless, yet forgettable deviations. At worst, like the pandering, power-pop of ‘What Have You Gone and Done’, they’re flat out embarrasing inclusions to the band’s catalog. The first time you hear The Cooper Temple Clause ape Weezer is an uncomfortable experience very much on par with catching a friend masturbating. The memory won’t be leaving you soon, but you’ll do your best to go on liking them anyway.

The good news is that they don’t make it too incredibly hard to do so. ‘Head’, one of the album’s singles, is the sound of this group back in top form. Coming across as a much more natural progression of their music, it injects perculating analog leads and new wave friendly melodies into their traditional formula of dense, distorted guitars and industrial rhythms. And ‘Once More With Feeling’ is classic TCTC, with stuttering, glitchy percussion and mournful strings that climax into a fierce wall of sound. Even some of the more obvious departures prove successful, particularly the 80’s throwback ‘Connect’, bearing Human League inspired hooks that manage to have a pop sensibility without feeling forced and contrived.

As it stands, The Cooper Temple Clause’s third album has left me incredibly conflicted. While it’s safe to say the sinister, cinematic rock is still alive and kicking, there’s a newfound hunger for radio play that is unfortunately edging it out of the picture. One thing is for sure, this is a band that desperately needs to pick a direction.

The fact that the members of Aerial were coherent enough after the past year to write an album like the Sentinel is a feat in and of itself. They recorded their first album, Black Rain From The Bombing, toured Sweden, toured Europe, supported the likes of Mono, Bell Orchestre, and Arab Strap, and wrote and recorded the Sentinel - all in a year. Stamina like that is something you rarely see outside of horse races or celebrity sex tapes, and should be admired, especially in light of the end product it produced.

Imagine the product of several open relationships, lost nights, stained sheets, and empty, broken bottles of Jameson involving Mono, Explosions in the Sky, and The End Will Be Kicks and you get about as close as you can get to what the Sentinel radiates, particularly when using others’ accomplishments as signposts. Aerial weave a dense symphony of guitars, fluid and dynamic, yet perfectly in stride with their bass and drum counterparts, gently washing over and alongside them without drowning them out, without denying them their own individuality and presence – and with such a distinct standpoint, one that allows them assured footing on their own turf, and not on the shoulders of others.

The record starts off with people talking, and, like those wonderful people who come to shows just to have conversations about who is no longer welcome in their company right next to you, their voices straining and rising over the music (usually with some annoying twinge to their tone), it doesn’t stop, not even when the fragile guitars start, bleeding into an equally delicate voice. Not until the closing seconds of the opener are we left alone with Aerial’s creations, a subtle shift over to ‘My God, It’s Full Of Stars’ and the Sentinel starts its ascent.

It’s almost useless to try and talk of the work of post-rock bands, even ones with indie leanings such as Aerial, without wanting to lavishly layer superlatives throughout unending sentences, as if one can only capture the essence of the creation by mimicking the lengthy structuring of the guitars, and elongated framework of the songs. Other than hopefully creating a flowing series of sentences of aligned adjectives and competent authorship, you don’t really get much of a sense of the music itself. How many times can you use the words ‘epic’, ‘cinematic’, or ‘atmospheric’ when discussing the guitars, the presence of the vocals, the powerful undertow of the bass, and the present, yet lost flow of the drums?

Luckily, instead of reading endless lines of my failed articulations, It’s a Trap (the most authoritative Scandinavian music site anywhere on the interweb), in association with Nomethod Records, have put up the mp3 of ‘You Will All Die, All Things Will’, and a high quality one at that - none of that 128 kbit/s nonsense. If this song cannot convince you of the talent present in Aerial’s most recent project, then there is something deeply troubled in your soul, and you were born lacking an overabundance of wonder. Don’t worry, I’m sure smooth jazz will be able to rather accurately paint the soundtrack for the rest of your uninspired days.

Despite their home bases in Stockholm and Malmö, Labrador Records has shied away from signing Swedish bands that sing in their native language. That was until the arrival of [ingenting] in 2004. Taking cues from varying artists such as the Velvet Underground, the sunnier side of the Pixies, and the Beach Boys, [ingenting] became “the first band singing in Swedish that’s been amazing enough to be released on Labrador,” as proclaimed by the label. They remain, three years later, the only band on the roster who sing in their mother tongue.

Mycket Väsen För Ingenting, the latest effort from the Swedish popsters, only solidifies the correctness of Labrador’s retreat on its unofficial policy against bands singing in Swedish. While this rather limits the band’s reach in some respects, especially for all of you who like to sing along quite loudly to songs in the privacy of your shower, car, or room, the music itself is strong enough to demand attention. Bands like Sigur Rós and, to a lesser extent, fellow Swedes Kent have found success despite the world’s limited understanding of Swedish and Sigur Rós’ Hopelandic, and I don’t see why [ingenting] wouldn’t be able to find a place in a few non-Swedish hearts.

Starting Mycket Väsen För Ingenting off with a song of the same title, quite content to skip hand in hand along with the garage rock stylings of the aforementioned Velvet Underground, the record slips so easily and effortlessly between a number of sounds as you pass down through the tracklist. ‘Punkdrömmar’ grabs your attention with a far more ‘typical’ Swedish pop-rock approach, just to introduce us to their love of the Pixies (most likely focused around the wonderful ‘Here Comes Your Man’) displayed in songs like ‘Lisa sa’ and ‘Suzanne (vi kan inte gå hand i hand)’.

Despite the obvious effect of other bands on [ingenting]’s song writing process, the band remains determinedly original and very Scandinavian, obviously so on ‘Släpp in solen’, originally released on Sommardagboken to, as the band hoped, be a great summer song and “accompany the sunrises, the full moon and the ocean mist.” Quite a poetic venture, and one, despite its somewhat overly-sentimental overtones, that pays off.

Overall, regardless of your familiarity with the wonderful Swedish language (which I was lucky enough to learn during my time in Stockholm), Mycket Väsen För Ingenting is a solid and inspired record. Combining a number of influences and intertwining them with their own Scandinivian pop sensibilities, [ingenting] have created a record that reveals more and more of itself with repeated listening, living up to their label’s powerful proclamation that the record is “a slightly schizophrenic and highly wonderful collection of songs that tastes of the Swedish country side as well as decadent urban night life and crushed dreams.”