At first, it's a little difficult to determine where
the Knife
ends and
Fever Ray
begins. On paper, it's clear --
is the project of
Karin Dreijer
and their brother
Olof
, while
is
Karin
with co-producers
Christoffer Berg
,
Van Rivers
, and the
Subliminal Kid
-- but the differences aren't as distinct when listening to
the first few times. Initially, the album's dark, frosty atmosphere feels like a continuation of
's brilliant
Silent Shout
, and the oddly bouncy rhythms on songs like "Triangle Walks" and "Coconut" recall the duo's tropical-yet-frozen Nordic/Caribbean fusion. Eventually, though,
reveals itself as far darker and more intimate than anything by
.
The Knife
's spooky impulses are usually tempered by vivid pop instincts that
replaces with a consistently eerie mood, particularly on "Concrete Walls," which feels like an even grimmer cousin of
's "From Off to On." However,
's mix of confessional lyrics and chilly, blatantly synthetic, and often harsh sounds makes this album as successful an electronic singer/songwriter album as
Bjoerk
's
Homogenic
. These are some of the most alluring and disturbing songs
Dreijer
has been involved in making. The excellent album opener, "If I Had a Heart," explores possibly inhuman need with a churning, almost subliminal synth and murky bass driving
's pitch-shifted vocals (which sound more like a different part of their psyche than a different character in the song); when
's untreated voice comes in, keening "Will I ever ever reach the floor?" they sound even more frail and desperate by comparison. The rest of
follows suit, offering fragile portraits and sketches that walk the fine line between intimate and insular.
further expands on the storytelling skills they developed on
: the characters in their songs feel even more resonant and unique, especially on "When I Grow Up," which is as fascinatingly fragmented as a child's train of thought, skipping from sentiments like "I'm very good with plants" to "I've never liked that sad look by someone who wants to be loved by you."
also has an eye for unusual details, as on "Seven"'s "November smoke/And your toes go numb." It all comes together on the haunting "Now's the Only Time I Know," where the low end of
's voice sounds especially vulnerable and the lyrics fill in just enough to be tantalizing. At times,
threatens to become a little too mysterious, but it never sounds less than intriguing, from the layers of claps and castanets that make up the beat on "I'm Not Done" to "Keep the Streets Empty for Me"'s almost imperceptible guitars. With almost tangible textures and a striking mood of isolation and singularity,
is a truly strange but riveting album. ~ Heather Phares