Jens Lekman does not have a girlfriend. This seems to be an injustice on par with the Sony rootkit fiasco and the cancellation of "Arrested Development". Lekman is charming. He writes orchestral pop songs that swoon like silent movie damsels in distress. He rhymes "chili" with "chilly." The Swedish singer/songwriter hasn't been in a relationship for four years. Blaming the music business for his non-existent love life, he recently threatened to quit releasing records to become a telemarketer.
Somebody hook this guy up with Nerve Personals quick-- we need to keep him around. Oh You're So Silent Jens, his new collection of previously released singles and B-sides, is a marvel of pure songcraft. Clichés unravel, traditional structures break down and build back up again, unpretentious witticisms sparkle. And then there are the sonics of the thing: lo-fi Phil Spector room dividers of sound, unexpected samples, and Lekman's rich, cavernous monotone.
Lekman is often compared to Stephin Merritt (deadpan delivery, debt to Tin Pan Alley), Morrissey (melodrama, dry humor), Jonathan Richman (naiveté, simple language), and Belle and Sebastian (flowery arrangements, twee sensibility). All of these comparisons are dead on, and Lekman is worthy of the kind of slobbering devotion slathered on these artists. Granted, his 2004 debut album, When I Said I Wanted to Be Your Dog, was a tentative first step, relying too heavily on unadulterated cheese-- but Oh You're So Silent Jens is cheese, chocolate, strawberries, and something tangy to wash it down with.
Take "Maple Leaves", two versions of which bookend the disc. An exploration of the difficulties of communication between men and women, it glides on pillowy strings, tearjerker harp flourishes, stately tympani, girl-group backing oohs, and celebratory wedding bells. He gets away with groan-worthy lines like, "If you don't take my hand/ I'll lose my mind completely/ Madness will finally defeat me," not just on the strength of a strong melody and keen production sense, but by following it with one of the album's great signature lyrical twists: "She said it was all make believe/ But I thought she said maple leaves." Lekman winks through his tears. "And when she talked about a fall/ I thought she talked about Mark E. Smith."
A diligent student of American and UK indie pop, Lekman knows exactly where he fits in the world-historical timeline, and he splatters his influences all over his songs. "Maple Leaves" borrows from the lush source material for the Avalanches' "Since I Left You". The fantastic "Black Cab" wallows luxuriously in loneliness ("You don't know anything/ So don't ask me any questions/ Just turn the music up/ And keep your mouth shut") and samples both Belle and Sebastian and the Left Banke. On "F-word", Lekman ties a piece of Arab Strap's "Kate Moss" to stray cats pleading outside his Gothenburg window. "Pocketful of Money" is a spare symphony of finger snaps, pithy piano and bass melodies, and Lekman's pledge to spend a month's salary on a girl he just met who turns his legs to spaghetti-- but then Calvin Johnson's deeply intoned "I'll come running with a heart on fire," snagged from Beat Happening's "Gravedigger Blues", crashes in unexpectedly. This off-key intrusion has the potential to be a deal-breaker, but Lekman instead turns it into a lovely counterpoint to his own soaring echo of the phrase.
Like all love affairs, Oh You're So Silent Jens isn't perfect. The tracks from last year's Rocky Dennis concept EP are a mushy mess, and the plodding, doleful solo piano ballad "Sky Phenomenon" is only saved by two brilliant lines: "At this time of year/ It's like someone spilled a beer/ All over the atmosphere," and, "But I would not be accepted/ 'Cause I can't dance the funky chicken." Lekman's faithful cover of Television Personalities' "Someone to Share My Life With" ("that someone could be you") is the kind of thing that makes women roll their eyes and hop onto the back of a motorcycle driven by Tommy Lee.
Which brings us back to the true source of Lekman's girl problems. It isn't the industry's fault that he can't find true love-- if anything, the kind of exposure his music has brought should be more effective than the best personal ad. But then, maybe his lack of a girlfriend isn't such a tragedy. As much as us ladies might fantasize about being saviors to wounded butterflies like Lekman, the reality of actually sharing a life with a guy whose desperation is so public is fairly unappealing. Who really wants a song like "Julie" (appearing here in jubilant, hollow-drummed remix form) written about her, even if it contains the couplet, "Oh Julie, meet me by the vending machine/ Oh Julie, I'm gonna buy you a wedding ring"? And does Lekman truly desire a nice, boring, healthy relationship? If he found The One and lived happily ever after, he wouldn't have anything to write about.
