Ramshackle Swedish folk, medieval jam sessions, home-spun hymns recorded straight to tape, and albums named after revolutionary communist bands: The world of Gustaf Dicksson’s musical project Blod may seem unbearably esoteric. But a little context helps; Dicksson is a spiritual descendant of Swedish Progg movement of the 1960s and ’70s—not to be confused with prog rock, it was a left-wing, anti-commercial music movement that encompassed a wide range of styles, from psych-rock bands to nationally beloved singer-songwriters. Blod is indebted to the mossier, more experimental ends of the movement, including bands like Träd, Gräs & Stenar. This is the anti-capitalist, DIY heritage which Discreet Music—the record store and label run by Dicksson—is keeping alive.
Blod’s latest record, Förlorarnas Natt, or “Night of the Losers,” scans more immediately as ’70s pastiche. It’s a film score-style album without an actual film to accompany it—though it faithfully recreates the form, sequenced with leitmotifs, themes, and reprises. As concepts go for Dicksson, this isn’t too outré; his album Ondskans Frö (“Seed of Evil”) was billed as the soundtrack to the last day on earth, and its resemblance to the soundtracks of mystics Popol Vuh felt intentionally cinematic. But Förlorarnas Natt evokes a time when low-budget flicks were given lush scores by Italian composers like Piero Umiliani and Riz Ortolani, who mixed easy listening and funky instrumentation with uncomplicated melodies you could whistle back after hearing once.
Film music for films that don’t exist is a curious niche within a niche, most famously explored by Discreet Music namesake Brian Eno on his series Music for Films and More Music for Films. While Eno left it to the listener to envision the films his eerie soundscapes could accompany, Förlorarnas Natt is less opaque—the title would fit any canonical teen film from Superbad to Ghost World. But Dicksson’s instrumentation firmly places it in the ’70s: simple soft rock and upbeat country jigs, with Rhodes keys and vintage Korg synthesisers adding a sepia-toned filter. Förlorarnas Natt feels plucked from the world of Roy Andersson’s 1970s classic A Swedish Love Story, revered for how composer Björn Isfält’s tender score communicated the longing and uncertainty of being a teenager; here, Dicksson’s characteristically unshowy guitars, simple bass lines, and shaggy drumming convey these same naive emotions.
On Förlorarnas Natt, we follow our protagonist, Jenny, on a night where the fabric of adolescence begins to fray. As per film score convention, the song titles are named after their accompanying scenes. The breezy vignette “Förberedelse För Fest” (“Preparation for Party”) captures the sparkly but fleeting excitement of the start of the night; we can imagine the track set to a montage of the girls decanting liquor from their parents’ cabinet while getting dolled up. “Halvägs Till Himlen” (“Halfway to Heaven”) marks another seminal moment: the dreamy swirl of synths and low-pass filter mimicking the out-of-body experience of inebriation, or perhaps the swoon of spotting love interest Benny and his perfectly feathered hair across the room—or maybe a heady combination of both. But reality hits in the inevitable “Minnesluckor” (“Memory Gaps”) which trudges along, a descending melody repeating over and over and over. It’s the moment when you come to, standing outside someone’s house heartbroken, nauseous, and missing the stuffed animal you swore you had outgrown.
In lieu of visuals, Dicksson’s melodies carry the brunt of storytelling, and at times strain under the pressure—giddy refrains slide into solemnity with help of a minor chord change perhaps once too often. The album’s highlights are found in the subtleties, such as “Mamma & Pappa,” which works as a standalone, gauzy mood piece, or when the music offers insights visuals couldn’t—like how the fragile synth reprises of Jenny and Benny’s songs feel like getting a glimpse of their character’s true, uncertain selves. Roger Ebert once said cinema is “a machine that generates empathy”; Förlorarnas Natt offers a reminder that music can often do much of the legwork.
