Sweden has found a niche for itself as the backroom of modern pop. Its production teams provide the engineers for global Top 40 sounds; in men like Jens Lekman and Johan Agebjörn it produces theorists of pop classicism; and its own top-sellers, like Robyn and now Lykke Li, are welcomed into collections which otherwise carefully sidestep the commercial. So it's not wholly surprising that Youth Novels, Li's first full-length album, has the air of the workshop about it. The careful, spartan production-- by Bjorn Yttling of Peter Björn and John-- asks listeners to do more work than most pop records allow for. At its frequent best, the record manages to sketch out widescreen hit songs with a remarkable economy of means. At its more occasional worst, the tracks feel frustratingly underthought.
The foundation for the successful songs tends to be voice and bass: the bass thick with reverb, the voice cute and close-up. Around this Yttrling-- who co-writes all the tracks-- places other instruments: splashes of piano or woodblock, petite guitar phrases, keyboard buzzes. The trick-- and they pull it off over and over again-- is to bring all the elements together on the chorus for a big hooky payoff. Of course for this to work they need strong choruses-- "I'm Good, I'm Gone", "Let It Fall", "Hanging High", and others provide them. Standout "Dance Dance Dance" has one of the stickiest refrains on the album, and one of the most audacious instrumental builds-- close-mic'ed bass, tippy-tappy percussion, and then suddenly a cheeky sax nudging its way into the track and scrapping puppyishly around its edges. If you don't smile at that, Lykke Li is probably not for you.
With so many surprises in the arrangements, you might overlook what a strength Li herself is, how well she unifies Youth Novels' scattershot imagination. It's easy to dismiss her style as overly cutesy-- the babytalk chorus on first single "Little Bit", for instance-- and her fragility can seem annoyingly affected. But don't be fooled-- she's in total command of the songs, and her breathy fuzziness fits the wireframe aesthetic better than a fuller voice would. There are also hints that Li would be as happy with a richer sound-- on the beautiful "My" she's rolled and washed by cymbal, string, and echo and lets them envelop her without erasing her.
Not all experiments work though, and when realizing ideas is less important than having them you're entering a slightly dangerous area. Li gives you fair warning that she'll do what she wants-- opener "Melodies and Desires" is ornamentally lovely but you won't linger long on its spoken-word philosophies. Even so, when her judgement fails to match her talent it can be painful going. Electro trudge "Complaint Department" in particular is dreary and grating enough to risk throwing your faith in the whole project off-beam: It doesn't help that Li can't remotely bring the venom the song needs. Thankfully she follows it with "Breaking It Up", one of her most vigorous and likeable tracks, whose blend of multi-tracked squawks and wandering synthesisers make for one of the album's most joyful moments.
Chart music today is often so gloriously maximal that reproducing any of its thrills on limited means can seem an impossible task. By paying attention to detail, Yttling and Li's prove that doesn't have to be the case. But even more impressive is the way their intimate, playful miniatures capture the daring and novelty of modern pop, as well as its hooks.
