As far back as their 2010 debut album, The Big Black and Blue, First Aid Kit distinguished themselves not only with their singing voices but with their shared songwriting voice. Klara and Johanna Söderberg emerged from YouTube, where they were discovered singing Fleet Foxes songs, and quickly revealed a handy facility for penning folk and country tunes that sounded old in their sounds but new in their sentiments. As teenagers, the sisters had absorbed generations of influences, and now that they’re both in their twenties, they’ve sharpened that sensibility with each new album. “Emmylou,” from 2012’s The Lion’s Roar—a starry-eyed rumination on the lure of Gram, Johnny, and the women who sang with them—is particularly emblematic of their philosophy. Persuasive even in its overly romanticized glow, it’s a country song about why they love country songs.
Ruins, their fourth album, continues that twangy trajectory with songs like the elegant honky-tonk number “Postcard” and “Distant Star,” which shows off rougher-hewn harmonies. Both add new twists to the duo’s sound, refining rather than redefining First Aid Kit. Elsewhere, the Söderberg sisters push further. “Hem of Her Dress” is a dramatic departure—a mash note to Neutral Milk Hotel complete with caterwauled vocals and quavering brass. It might come across live, with a crowd singing along, but on record it can’t escape the shadow of its obvious influence. “Fireworks,” on the other hand, is a genuinely affecting torch song, grounded in early rock and old soul rhythms. The guitar arpeggios sound like Buddy Holly, the rhythm section like “Earth Angel,” and the sisters sing with a new fortitude and clarity. (The video, meanwhile, foregoes their usual Laurel Canyon caftans for ’80s prom dresses and some great big hair.)
After working in Omaha with Mike Mogis on The Lion’s Roar and 2014’s Stay Gold, the Söderbergs ventured further west to Portland, Oregon, to record with producer Tucker Martine (Decemberists, case/lang/veirs). Their aesthetics ought to be an ideal marriage: Martine is known for bringing a shimmery sound to contemporary Americana without rendering it slick or reverent. He helps them move fluidly between styles and sounds, even corralling a loose group of backing musicians that includes McKenzie Smith of Midlake and Peter Buck (perhaps returning the favor after First Aid Kit recorded a sharp cover of R.E.M.’s “Walk Unafraid” for the 2014 film Wild). In doing so, however, Martine buffs away some of their eccentricities. Songs like “To Live a Life” and the title track skate by with no real spark and no real demand on your attention.
That’s due as much to the singers as to the producer. Musically adventurous as they are, Klara and Johanna can rely too much on platitude and convention when it comes to lyrics. “It’s a Shame” picks over the bones of a dead relationship, but realizes there’s “no point in wasting sorrow on things that won’t be here tomorrow.” First Aid Kit have always had a fatalist streak, which adds gravity to most songs—they like to point out the dark cloud attached to every silver lining. That makes “Nothing Has to Be True” a beautifully open-ended closer, but it also makes the coda of opener “Rebel Heart” feel a bit heavy-handed. “Nothing matters,” they sing bitterly, “all is futile.” That statement is so blunt, so general that it almost sounds like self-parody: a minor crisis rendered melodramatically.
But only almost. That qualifier is appropriate because it’s Klara and Johanna singing those lines. Their voices complement each other so naturally and so gracefully that it’s easy to forget how much craft there is in these songs, and how much ingenuity they put into their vocals: the way each sings wordlessly on “Fireworks” to reinforce the melancholy of the other’s lead vocals, the way they both roughen up their voices on “Distant Star,” the way they stretch out vowels like taffy on “It’s a Shame.” Theirs are active harmonies—not merely decorative, but always doing something intriguing, pointing to the breadth of styles on the album. The most impressive thing about Ruins is how they make every style under their vintage-store belts feel like an extension of the same history, the same creative urge, their same tastes.
