The Nordic Music Prize, an initiative affiliated with Oslo’s by:Larm showcase, handed its inaugural gong to Iceland’s Jonsi last year, and the nominations for its second incarnation have just been wittled down to a final shortlist.

Including the pick of the year’s records from Iceland, Norway, Finland, Sweden and Denmark the award was modelled on the UK’s Mercury Music Prize. This year’s final shortlist includes:

Ane Brun – It all starts with one
Lykke Li – Wounded rhymes
Rubik - Solar
Gus Gus – Arabian horse
Malk De Koijn – Toback to the fromtime
Siinai – Olympic game
Björk – Biophilia
Iceage – New brigade
Montée – Renditions of you
Anna Järvinen – Anna själv tredje
Goran Kajfes – X/Y
The Field – Looping state of mind

The Norwegian albums in the longlist had been:

Razika – Program ’91
Lars Vaular – Du betyr meg
Jonas Alaska – Jonas Alaska
Team Me – To The Treetops!
Ane Brun – It All Starts With One
Stein Torleif Bjella – Vonde Visu
120 Days – 120 Days II
Montée – Renditions Of You
John Olav Nilsen og Gjengen – Det nærmeste du kommer
Martin Hagfors – I like you

Overall the Norwegian contingent looks a fair bit weaker than last year, where hit albums from Shining, Casiokids, Susanne Sundfør, Kvelertak and Lindstrøm & Christabelle were among those in the running. This time it is country-tinged songstress Ane Brun, who has enjoyed a considerable rise in popularity recently, even touring with Peter Gabriel, and kitsch pop revivalists Montée who are holding up the Norwegian end. They might not seem unduly likely to walk away with the winnings, but then the big names on the bill have hardly produced their best work this time around. Critical reception to Bjork’s multimedia effort Biophilia has been mixed, Lykke Li’s sophomore record has hardly sparked the interest of her debut, and some of the album’s on show (sorry GusGus) are just plain crap. Let’s hope the jury are at least willing to throw a curveball.

The first raft of artists have been announced for by:Larm, Oslo’s annual showcase of new Scandinavian music. Fifty-seven acts have been confirmed so far, including such Norwegian hopes as Lemaitre and Machine Birds, more established bands like Pirate Love and Maribel, and hyped contributions from the neighbours numbering Swedes Korallreven and Danes WhoMadeWho among their ranks.

The first by:Larm was held in 1998 and for ten years the festival rotated between the major cities of Norway, although for financial reasons by:Larm settled permanently in Oslo in 2008. Part industry conference and part musical showcase by:Larm combines a string of meetings, debates and lectures with performances from a whole host of the country’s best new bands in a range of venues across the capital.

This year’s by:Larm will invade Oslo from the 16-18th of February 2012, check out the lineup so far here.

Norwegian daily Morgenbladet have consulted 100 celebrated Norwegian musicians in a bid to generate an insiders take on the country’s greatest ever albums. Figures including Sivert Høyem of Madrugada, Stavanger crooner Thomas Dybdahl and Kaizers Orchestra frontman Janove Ottesen contributed to the list, which is, fittingly, 100 strong.

Some of the records will be familiar to an international audience, whilst others have a firmly Norwegian-only appeal.

The top 20:

20. Holy Toy – Warszawa
19. Sidsel Endresen – So I write
18. Turbonegro – Apocalypse Dudes
17. Åge Aleksandersen og Sambandet – Levva livet!
16. Arne Nordheim – Electric
15. Susanne Sundfør – The Brothel
14. Torleiv H. Bjørgum og Hallvard T. Bjørgum – Skjoldmøyslaget
13. Motorpsycho – Timothy’s Monster
12. Kåre & The Cavemen/Euroboys – A Long Day’s Flight ‘Till Tomorrow
11. DumDum Boys – Splitter pine
10. De Press – Block to block
09. Röyksopp – Melody AM
08. Jan Garbarek, Keith Jarrett, Palle Danielsson, Jon Christensen - Belonging
07. deLillos – Suser avgårde
06. The Aller Værste – Materialtretthet
05. Knutsen & Ludvigsen – Juba Juba
04. Kjøtt – 12″
03. A-ha – Hunting high and low
02. A-ha – Scoundrel days
01. Radka Toneff/Steve Dobrogosz – Fairytales

It’s hardly definitive (i.e. there’s some shit on there), but in its entirety the list does pretty much cover all the bases.

Check out the full countdown (and some of the contributors personal Top Tens) here.

120 Days haven’t been resting on their laurels, however, with members honing their craft on such diverse recent Norwegian musical projects as Bygdin, Serena Maneesh and a recent instrumental Susanne Sundfor experiment, so (especially given the waiting time) it seems fair to expect some exciting sonic leaps.

Out worldwide on Splendour on March 5th, 2012, 120 Days II‘s tracklist looks like this:

1. Spacedoubt
2. Dahle Disco
3. Lucid Dreams Part 1
4. Lucid Dreams Part 2
5. Lucid Dreams Part 3
6. Sleepless Nights #4
7. Sunkissed
8. SF
9. Osaka

120 Days – ‘Osaka’

Disco has long been considered ripe for plundering by cutting-edge Norwegians, but whilst the Oslo-disco crew of Lindstrøm et al twist the framework of the genre into something steely, modern and hip, Montee appear to harbour no qualms about nabbing the more tasteless tics of seventies and eighties pop in their pursuit of something as quaint as a massive chorus and a brash dancefloor-ready beat. This is an album that is completely unironically framed by an opener, ‘Faith’, which sounds like what White Lies would come up with if they had a penchant for Village People choruses, and a closer, ‘Paper Thin’, which is a brazen homage to the work of Sting. It should, of course, be extremely painful listening. But by and large it is quite the opposite.

Trying to genuinely channel classic disco-pop into songs fit for a modern audience without just slipping into the novelty aisle is a tough balancing act, and there are moments when the po-faced brashness stumbles into the cheese counter. ‘Find My Love’ is too smooth and throwback for these ears, whilst ‘Souvenir’ is just about saved from greasy funk inanity by a sweet little chorus. Most of the rest, though, is catchy enough to force you to like it whatever your supercilious intentions. The influences may be unimaginably kitsch, but there are enough changes of pace and splashes of colour here to make a varied listening experience, like watching a ‘Best of the 80’s’ video countdown on VH1. The urgent melancholy of the catchy ‘Rendition of You’ snaps into the swirling camp of the catchy ‘Staying Up’. Hell it’s catchy all the way here really. Indeed it’s ‘catchy’ that saves Rendition Of You, because if sixty years of pop music have taught us anything, it’s that we’re suckers for a hummable tune. “Don’t hold back in fear, when I try to place my arms around you” – could flagship single ‘Ghost’ really be taking inspiration from the least cool film of all time, the pottery-starring Swayze vehicle of the same name? I can’t pin that one on them for sure, but judging by the available evidence; probably. But then it’s got a high-pitched male choir and it’s so damn catchy! Such is Montee’s resilience in their pursuit of A Tune that it is frankly hard not to get swept along.

There are songs that it feels okay to like too. Highlight ‘Gone Today’ marries a moody Talking Heads verse to a stadium-sized triple-barreled pouting pop chorus. Without a wasted note, it is exquisitely-formed pop perfection. ‘Crystal Shore’ conjures a twinkling falsetto folksy refrain out of pulsing downtempo, and even the backdrop of lilting block-flutes can’t tip it too far into the saccharine. Overall, though, you will have to let down your guard to get the most out of Montee. This is a band who have determinedly decided that the intersection between Cut Copy and Alphabeat is worth exploring, and have then had a very decent stab at convincing you they were right. Two-thirds of these songs would make great singles whatever the decade. If you like your pleasures guilty, Rendition of You may well have you in the throes of orgasm.

7.6/10

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2011

The album gets off to an assertive start, ‘Råkks’ offering wobbling synth shimmers in call-and-response with pocking bleeps and a stripped-down funk beat, before it slaps right into the irresistibly shiny ‘R’n’Bully’, the twee beeps and sleazy bass of which embody skweee’s often glorious dichotomy by being like someone playing a gameboy with one hand and squeezing a hot girl’s arse with the other. Beatbully’s strengths lie in his undeniable ear for catchy hooks, and his obvious command of ‘production values’ – everything here sounds colourful, crisp and clean. Far from bullying his beats, Beatbully strokes them seductively out. As the context of dødpop’s two compilations proves, however, Beatbully is also very much at the laid-back end of the skweee spectrum. And that’s saying something. There is certainly never anything frantic about the nine short tunes on Kosmisk Regn, and by and large the low-key nature of the songs on offer works just fine. ‘Bølleboogie’ and the appropriately named ‘8-Bits Drøm’ both sport hooks worthy of massive club tunes, but deliberately downplay them – the latter’s quasi-anthemic refrain could have had sweaty clubbers pounding an Ibiza dancefloor; if it wasn’t played out in rudimentary radar-blips. Such is skweee, of course, and ‘8-Bits Drøm’ is perfectly judged, and indeed probably the record’s high point.

At other times, though, too much energy is lacking. Beatbully is better at high-end hooks than he is low-end bass manipulation – sometimes proceedings lag while you wait for a melody to kick back in. The title track boasts another killer squelching instrumental chorus, but you long to inject just a little bit of pace into the whole affair – it’s like Ikonika in a tar pit – whilst ‘Expecting Company’ takes this a step further, slowing the skittering, limping beat down to an almost queasy pace, although here the lopsided rhythm is so disorientating that it becomes an asset, and another twinkling chorus section ultimately renders it a winner. The final track ‘Buddah Nr.2’ makes explicit skweee’s links to dubstep, and also Beatbully’s firm intention to give that shared territory his own spin, with mixed success: it’s like dubstep stripped down to two-dimensionality; shuddering bass and an irregular beat used not as a driving force but as dreamy atmospherics, the sheen of twinkling chatter that drifts alongside it perhaps as close as the record gets to its seeming misnomer ‘Cosmic Rain’, as a voice simply echoes the words ‘bullet boy’, perhaps a nod to the gun-crime movie that put the territory of dubstep’s London on the big-screen.

The problem, though, is quite what to do with a whole album of dance music, that, by and large, you can’t really dance to. ‘Move Your Feet’ achieves its goal to an extent, and the opening salvo of ‘Råkks’ and ‘R’n’Bully’ both have some propulsion, but whilst Eero Johannes in charge of these hooks might manage to both retain skweee’s principles and deliver a club-worthy jolt, in Beatbully’s hands these by and large ain’t dancefloor fillers. Try jumping up and down to ‘Buddah Nr.2’ and you’ll be left poised in a crouching position waiting for the beat to come around again. If you can get over that, though – and let’s face it; most of us are listeners and not movers – what Beatbully leaves you with is a record that is almost always fun, funky and charming. You’ll have some of the tunes in your head for days, and if it seems slight at first the record will soon worm its way into your affections. What Kosmisk Regn ultimately seems designed for isn’t dancing, but chillin’ – this is the perfect record to nod your head to, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the open window of your car, as you cruise along a serene street on a scorching summer’s day. If you like the sound of that, you’ll like the sound of Beatbully.                     

                                                                                                            7.2/10

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2011.

Casiokids’ 2006 full-length debut Fuck Midi played with all the elements that make the group such a compelling proposition today – creaky keyboards, a blend of indie-pop hooks and bubbling electro instrumentals, energy and sincerity hand-in-hand – but, despite a surplus of ideas and enthusiasm, largely failed to coerce them into anything particularly striking. After that record the band vowed to stick to singles only, and spent the next few years honing their craft and periodically releasing a series of double A-side gems that were, almost without exception, utterly delightful. This follow-up album collects these eight singles and packages them with a second disc of remixes and covers. Which does mean that if you’ve been following Casiokids at all over the last few years chances are you will have heard most, if not all, of these songs before; even the remixes have been doing the rounds for some time. But by no means should its compilation status be allowed to devalue Topp Stemning as an album. The record is no less cohesive for not being the result of one session push, and if you have heard the bulk of the material before, well, it’s largely so good that there can be no real excuse for not listening to it quite a lot more.

The quality of the music on the first disc is superlative. ‘Grønt Lys i Alle Ledd’ is a disarming indie pop charmer, ‘Togens Hule’ squeezes ancient-sounding squeals and bleeps into a compulsive and sweet instrumental ride, and ‘Verdens Største Land’ gives the impression of a more D.I.Y Cut Copy, with a driving beat, smooth bassline, chiming synths and falsetto harmonies. The two songs forming the centrepiece of the album are also Casiokids’ strongest to date: ‘Fot i Hose’ and ‘Finn Bikkjen’. If you’ve heard one Casiokids track before, chances are it’s ‘Fot i Hose’, which has achieved quasi-ubiquity in the group’s native land and won a fair few fans abroad. And no wonder. Bouncing synth rolls over echoing bass to produce one of those musical instances where simplicity begets almost infuriating addictiveness.

One of the band’s hallmarks is their childishness – gigs (often specially for children) have included fruit, furry animals, shadow puppets and giant heads, the instrumentation has a playful naivety, and the lyrics deal with seemingly simplistic and ‘immature’ themes and diction – but these youthful imaginings have a bittersweet edge. ‘Grønt Lys’ lists simple pleasures, but the composite effect is a melancholic questioning of their validity, as if the band’s own light-hearted play breeds insecurities of its own. This restlessness recurs in ‘Finn Bikkjen’, the vocal high-point of the album, which marries wistful falsetto to a ripe synth beat. Ostensibly the song translates as ‘find the dog’, but the band have hinted at the title having its roots in a derogatory Bergen expression instead, where ‘bikkjen’ denotes something bad. Does the lamenting chorus then represent a hymn to negative experience and upheaval? No matter, a mournful synth wash and yearning vocals meander through a melody of the sweetest kind. It is the moment at which Casiokids’ recent tour pairing with Hot Chip seems most fitting.

The remainder of the first disc is similarly strong. ‘Gomurmamma’ is another persuasive geriatric instrumental effort that quickly puts down roots, and closer ‘Min Siste Dag’ is an intimate indie-pop singalong with a cute swinging refrain that recalls fellow Bergen natives John Olav Nilsen og Gjengen’s recent debut. If the disc has a weak point it would probably be ‘En Vill Hest’. There’s a cracking tune in there, but somehow this penultimate ditty, perhaps the band’s tribute to Paul Simon, ends up sounding a little off-key. Even then, though, there is enough in the afrobeat intrusions and curveball chorus-melody to more than entertain.

The ‘bonus’ disc almost holds its own with its partner, and it’s refreshing that the remixers are largely upstart locals – Captain Credible’s two efforts in particular are first-rate, his ‘Fot i Hose’ managing to retain the character of the original whilst making it more dancefloor-friendly and also immediately recognisable as his own glitchy and hyperactive work, and Velferd (of Bergen newcomers The New Wine, and signed solo to Untz Untz) bathes ‘Verdens Største Land’ in persuasive disco swathes to provide a worthy companion to the original. ‘Det Snurrer’, a cover of Familjen’s Telle-released track from a few years back, is similarly successful. The remainder of the remixes, and an undemanding James Yuill ‘translation’, are solid if unspectacular, but by this point nothing could stop Topp Stemning from going down as a resounding triumph. Apparently the album title comes from a text from one of the bandmember’s mothers, telling him that there was a ‘great atmosphere in the local bar’. Stick this, the finest Norwegian record of the decade so far, on in the local, and a ‘topp stemning’ is guaranteed. Casiokids just grew up bigtime.

9.0/10

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2010

So it feels a little like Norwegian duo Thinguma*jigSaw, releasing a wilfully quirky folk record populated by saws and accordions, might have missed the boat a bit – folk may be coming back into fashion in the UK in the sanitised form of Mumford & Sons and Laura Marling, but Ghoul’s Out is unmistakably part of a freakier tradition. Good music is good music no matter when it drops of course, but without a wave to keep it afloat Thinguma*jigSaw’s effort, whilst undeniably lovely, feels a bit too insubstantial to make much of a splash.

The brainchild of Martha Redivivus & Seth Horatio Buncombe (good, solid Norwegian names), Thinguma*jigSaw have surrounded themselves with a carefully cultivated and nicely comprehensive image (what we might these days call Burtonesque), and have also strapped on a handmade genre appellation: ‘splatterfolk’. This might sound like a musical extension of the Saw and Hostel franchises, but it in fact proudly (and none too modestly) trumpets the duo’s embracing of the dichotomy of ‘intensity and sincerity’ and ‘unpredictability and wit’.

Banjos are plaintively plucked, guitars achingly strummed, saws weep and flutes flutter their breathy eyelashes, as Buncombe’s pleasant and evocative voice, often in falsetto mode, paints these eight tracks with increasingly morbid lyrical exhalations. ‘We’re All Doomed’, the first track is unapologetically titled, and from there on the lyrical moroseness doesn’t let up. ‘Ghoul’s Out’, ‘Dawn of the Dead’, ‘The Reaper Cometh’, ‘The Perfidious Sarcophagus’: it’s fair to say these guys think about death quite a lot. But if plumbing the depths of the soul was the object I’m not sure it was achieved. The musical accompaniment to these sinister postulations is too airy and resignedly content, and the vocal tone too placid for us to seriously invest in Thinguma*jigSaw’s morbidity as something intense and vital – I See A Darkness this is not. There are some special songs here: ‘Ghoul’s Out’, a reimagining of Paranormal Activity with a happy ending, is charming in its fragility, ‘Dawn of the Dead’ is a winningly cheery Celtic-folk suicide note, and beautiful album highlight ‘The Perfidious Sarcophagus’ is softly reminiscent of Nick Drake, but arguably Ghoul’s Out’s failing is in not being freaky enough. The splatter-folk claim and hubristic assertions of complete musical originality suggest a project far more striking than the reality of Thinguma*jigSaw. James Joyce, rather than any musical peers, is highlighted as a major audience (the band even base themselves in Dublin), but the only real nods to his writings come in the pretty half-hearted attempts at Joycean language in ‘The Perfidious Sarcophagus’: ‘milky mucus as our pumps rick-tock in our jumping jock flesh’. Joyce was content with nothing less than redefining the whole English tongue and spent decades writing several hundred pages of minutely studied incomprehensible gibberish. If you’re gonna evoke the guy you might as well go the whole hog.

Ghoul’s Out is assured, well-executed and charming, but it’s also a bit too short, a bit too musically insubstantial, not quite melodically memorable enough, and ultimately not quite as weird as you feel it ought to be. The duo have hinted that whilst this is a ‘lighter… more commercial’ set of songs, another upcoming record dealing with ‘infanticide, snuff-killings and other unpleasantries… will be Thinguma*jigSaw`s darkest and grimmest outing yet.’ I’m willing to wager that’ll make a bit more sense. Until then, though, Ghoul’s Out is a decent placeholder that hints at lots of potential.

6.8/10

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2010

Velferd’s confidence has been apparent from the start. His track ‘Driveby’ on local label Untz Untz’ first release was a dreamy effort that swayed pleasantly between twinkling downtempo and pristine disco funk bleeps, whilst a pair of standout remixes included on the bonus disc of Casiokids’ excellent debut betrayed a kinship with Nordic remixer-extraordinaire Fred Falke, and The Aspens Turning Gold builds on all of this to offer up four tracks which, through drawing on numerous sounds familiar from the last decade of Norwegian disco (and as such acting as a decent primer for the wave), largely manage to do so with such assurance that what is created is far too sure of itself to come off as reductive.

Of the four efforts on show the central two are the least remarkable. As soon as the echoing bleeps kick in ‘9092’ is immediately reminiscent of Bergen’s most famous electronic offspring – a murky take on the cascades of ‘Happy Up Here’or ‘Eple’ springs to mind. There are some delicious sounds bouncing around, but the track never quite takes off to reach the melodic heights of Røyksopp’s hits. Similarly ‘Drum Squad’ kicks off with a compellingly powerful live-sounding percussive assault, but unfortunately the funk bassline that forms the backbone of the track, if equally tangible, is irritatingly simplistic. ‘Drum Squad’ is structurally interesting – Velferd evokes the march suggested by the title with the forcefully repetitive rhythm section, but the fluid noodling that is draped over this backdrop doesn’t quite manage to subdue the feeling of monotony.

It is the two efforts that bookend this E.P., however, that truly shine. The opening title track stirs an evocative synth sheen that establishes it firmly in Lindstrøm’s space-disco tradition, but from this assertive soundscape another fleshy bassline confirms that Velferd is more than capable of giving the genre his own distinctive spin. There are unforgettable synth hooks galore, but rather than run them into the ground ‘The Aspens Turning Gold’ constantly shapeshifts, seamlessly segueing in a new cosmic direction. Upbeat disco melts into a dark prog excursion – Pink Floyd guitar licks effortlessly blending with the live-sounding bass and chattering synths, each musical layer managing to evoke a different musical era without this juxtaposition feeling at all unnatural. The stargazing breakdown two minutes from the track’s conclusion could have been cut verbatim from Lindstrøm’s ‘The Long Way Home’, but it is so brilliantly executed that Velferd is forgiven being unable to escape the long, long shadow of the Oslo producer. The track is a precocious delight.

Equally compelling is the closer, ‘Cobalt’. A charming naïve synth hook offers the E.P.s catchiest melody, but again on this song Velferd refuses to push one idea beyond a couple of minutes – giving much of the E.P. the feel of an expertly meshed mixtape. Our hook bubbles into rhythmic disco pulses, which then explode into lush melancholy, this vision of a house-infused The Field itself exchanged for clean but dreamy guitar which hints at crystallization through a synth haze. Just as you fear that Velferd is letting things stew for too long he slams his foot on the gas and we burst back to that opening hook as naturally and satisfyingly as could be, a whimsical disco journey bringing us back home.

The Aspens Turning Gold is still the sound of a producer finding his feet, but such is the feeling of confident control exuded on this release that it would be surprising indeed if Velferd did not go on to play a significant role in the evolution of Norwegian disco.

7.8/10

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2010

Bech ascribes his desire to present his music as a crossover between pop and art installation to a ‘flirtation’ with the theories on ‘the symbolic power of art’ advanced by the recently deceased social theorist Pierre Bourdieu. To many, however, his dancing is daft, his status within the art-world makes his success a textbook case of ‘the emperor’s new clothes’, and his singing is nothing short of embarrassing. For there’s the rub: Bech’s ‘Norwenglish’. A classically trained vocalist with a background in opera he may be, but there is no denying that Bech’s pronunciation on his debut full-length Look Back veers on the side of comical, and combined with his earnest choir-boy delivery the most lost-in-translation Eurovision memories are evoked by some, alongside, perhaps more cruelly, German electro-punks D.A.F., whose own garbled lyrics were intentionally parodic.

So for all the apparent art-world baggage, it is in fact Bech’s English that is the only audible stumbling block, and it is a curious one. Strangely the lyrics themselves cause no real problems; if they are occasionally clumsy they at least avoid the hollow clichés and recycled phrasings of so many Scandinavian singers who have perfected their Anglo-American drawls to a tee, and Bech’s position as a creative force within the global village of an art world that is increasingly international suggests there should be no reason for Bech’s English to lag behind the general youth populace to such an extent. Perhaps then, this pronunciation is, if not an affectation, at least deliberately exaggerated. Not for satiric purposes though. Some of the most celebrated (and discouragingly dense) writings of Bech’s beloved Bourdieu advance a theory of artistic autonomy that suggests that “‘pure’ works of art are not accessible except to consumers endowed with the disposition and the competence which are necessary for their appreciation” – in other words, ‘pure’ art should intentionally embrace the rejection of the commercialised masses; novel attributes that may alienate the many (just like Nils Bech’s English) are commendable both for their refusal to pander to existing taste and because they define the emerging artist. Could Bech be deliberately limiting his appeal?

The truth is though, that like the pop-diva of the moment Lady Gaga, whose artistic pretensions, evocations of Warhol and Grace Jones, and distinctive visual stylings and idiosyncrasies are merely distractions from the reality of her music: that it is just generic pop; strip away Nils Bech’s art-scene background, his image and the surrounding furore, and what we are left with is some pretty decent and accessible electro-pop. And whilst the voice has caused all that fuss and may provoke a chuckle at first, with repeated listens familiarity begets fondness, and Bourdieu’s maxim on the importance of novelty proves true: Bech’s music wouldn’t be half as interesting without his distinctive vocals, and his voice, which might at first have seemed shaky and risible, is discovered to sway instead between sultry provocation and wide-eyed prettiness, with a good dose of post-modern humour in-between.

The first half of the record is probably stronger, with a string of cracking singles showcasing Bech’s versatility. ‘Brown/Blue’ is a sweet love song that states its position in disarmingly simple terms – ‘I want to lean in’ Bech primly trills over swelling muted electronics and occasional chiming piano. His ear for a charming melody is ever-present, and his unashamed individuality and willingness to embrace the naïve make for a thoroughly enjoyable ride. ‘Contemporary Dancing’, a plea to dance schools everywhere to let boys participate, could come across as silly, but for all its ingenuousness it gains a kind of honest joy from being sung by a not quite grown-up boy who genuinely places solemn significance in the ability of dance to aid his own self-expression. Plus you’ll be humming that chorus for days.

Bech’s voice may be what grabs headlines, but the contribution of his musical collaborator Bendik Giske is considerable. A saxophonist with contemporary jazz trio Listen!, Giske both sets down the arrangements and produces here, and his deft handling of the musical accompaniment plays a major role in making Bech’s vocals seem appropriate. Warm saxophone loops, bursts of house synths, and chattering electronics lend the whole album a subtle vibrancy: on ‘Don’t Worry’ Bech’s dark swoon is bathed in percussive choirs as an ‘Eye Of The Tiger’ riff chugs along intermittently in the background, upbeat piano and angelic harmonies give way to bursts of Giske’s bouncing sax on the delightfully smooth ‘Curious Love’, ‘French Affairs’ recalls The Knife, and Eighties-tinged synths and pulsing electronics drive the guilty pleasure of pop-throwback ‘Space/Time’, a duet with Mirejam Shala, whose early-Kylie bubblegum vocals make Bech’s classical-tinged accompaniment sound wonderfully anachronistic.

The most fitting musical comparison to Look Back is probably Antony Hegarty’s contributions to Hercules And Love Affair’s self-titled debut – whilst Bech’s voice is not nearly as heart-stopping and often lacks control, both singers are marked by a cabaret influence and effeminate edge to their unusual vocals, combined with an unusually-phrased emotional forthrightness, all against a background of warm, horn-infused electronics. This similarity is probably most evident on this album’s titular highlight ‘Look Back’, as Giske’s saxophone builds into an electro disco stomp until Bech’s looping vocals overlay the chorus’ mantra in layers of danceable jubilation.

This is a record to enjoy rather than to fall in love with – despite the fact that Bech’s vocals are probably more palatable on the slower efforts it is the more upbeat songs that leave a lasting impression – but with repeated listens Bech’s lyrics and voice, whether tender and self-revealing or supercilious, just increase in charm, and the proximity of the whole affair to silliness just adds to the fun and makes Giske’s musical achievement in reigning it all in all the more impressive. This is posturing electro-pop of the highest order, and, contrary to expectation, you’re not a snob if you like it, you’re a snob if you don’t.

8.0/10

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2010