Through assorted projects and roles, Johan Angergård of the Legends, Club 8, and Acid House Kings-- not to mention the head of Labrador Records-- has built a cottage industry out of mining fragile, lovely corners of pop's past. His newest endeavor, the synth-pop duo Pallers, has really hit the nail on the head. Joined by longtime friend Henrik Mårtensson, the group's debut album, The Sea of Memories, couldn't be more aptly titled-- these two wistful romantics are drowning in it. Not only is Pallers' music exquisitely beholden to the 1980s, the duo's songs are also lyrically obsessed with gazing backwards. In their melancholic Scandinavian way, Pallers find a way to ache about every kind of reminiscence. They can conjure up an old mistake or missed opportunity and wallow in regret, yet just as easily fixate on a moment of bliss from the past and then mourn the fact that it's gone. Even as a wonderful thing is in the process of happening, the seed of its loss seems to be lurking just beneath the surface.
Fortunately, Pallers know the right kind of musical accompaniment to make all of these retrospective bum trips feel beautifully poignant rather than drearily whiny. Taking ample pages from New Order's playbook, the duo sculpts soundscapes that are sufficiently moody to suit their sad-eyed lyrics, yet feature enough insistent beats and squirming synths to maintain a brisk, sometimes even heart-rushing pace. The album's second track, "Humdrum", sets this template, wedding nimble synths to plangent guitars, while the whispered lovesick vocals rue the fact that "You're in my head/ Not my bed." The congruently titled pair "Come Rain, Come Sunshine" and "Years Go, Days Pass" maintains this delicately percolating momentum, complete with the sort of terminally sighing lyrics that wonder, "If we had the chance to do it over again would we let it be?" or opine, "Hearts are cold in the rain." Better still is "The Kiss", a naked, lovestruck declaration heralded by the refrain, "If it wasn't a kiss/ Then I don't know what it was."
Admittedly, the album's moves are exceedingly well-worn, yet like fellow 21st century synth-poppers Junior Boys, Pallers' precise craftsmanship means they're also able to elicit many of the same deeply affecting moods and sensations as their forbears. To their credit, Pallers also hit on a way to diversify their portfolio-- namely by turning over "Wicked" to guest vocalist Elise Zalbo. Not only does the song break up the duo's lovely but same-y mooning, it also works as a canny, self-aware rebuke to some of the rehashing and ruminating that precedes it. Bright and lively, ready to embrace the possibilities of what lies ahead, Zalbo forcefully declares, "I don't care about this pain tonight."
