Trust in Numbers is Lake Heartbeat's inaugural bow at Service, one of a very precious few labels responsible for a sort of Swedish pop renaissance in the past few years. But unlike labelmates the Embassy or the Tough Alliance, Lake Heartbeat has little to no predilection for the quirky or slightly obtuse-- boasting a set of cleanly cultivated songs that employ a definitive celestial theme, their debut is a delicate reminder of how easy it is to still appreciate this brand of wistfully earnest pop romanticism. If it weren't for Dan Lissvik (one-half of the Balearic duo Studio)-- whose production lends a stardusted quality to the music that's so well honed it often upstages the actual songwriting-- Numbers would likely fail to register as full and melodic as it is here in finished form. By submerging these stately singer-songwriter sketches in shimmeringly ethereal sonic environments, the record takes on an authentically transportive quality that joyously maps a strange and unfamiliar world where prom night was not only fun and meaningful, but the student council actually managed to pull-off the "Midsummer Night's Dream" theme.
In Stockholm, Sweden, where the duo-- former Brainpool frontman Janne Kask on vocal and electronics duty and guitarist Kallå Kåks-- is based, they're approaching that time of year where the city will be subjugated to 17 hours of darkness a day. And though there's certainly nothing dark about Lake Heartbeat, it makes perfect sense-- in Stockholm, at least-- to sit down with Numbers right now. Perhaps doomed to be lazily tagged as "summery" in some respects (the word itself is sung at least half a dozen times), this is a record that operates quite oppositely as perfectly suited for star-gazing: While the bulk of the lyrical content is steeped in love's cause and effect (heartbreak and longing, specifically), it's impossible to ignore the cosmic inclinations that afford this album much of its chilled, intoxicating whimsy. Almost everything is coated in dream-drenched twinkles, moonlit synth bursts, and loose gossamer guitar work, bolstered by playfully low-key beat programming and Kask's breathy, frost-bitten vocals. Reminiscence of a former love on "Blue Planet" finds Kask recalling lights in the sky and a promise that's now "a thousand miles away"-- much like with the rest of Numbers, its heart remains in orbit no matter how landlocked the owner may be.
So it goes without saying that it's a little schmaltzy. Songs with more oomph tend to fare better: "Pipedream" has a polite anthemic quality to it, affording the peppy yacht-rock template some substance; "Build the Wall Up" nicks Spandau Ballet's "True" for a sparklingly airy lovers-only mid-tempo waltz. Wisely, the more patient numbers-- like the diluted-M83 appeal of "Between Dreams" or the irrepressibly comely "Southbound"-- feature wonderfully balanced female backing vocals that add melodic shape to Kask's verging-on-the-creepy hushed tone. When left to handle long stretches of verse on his own, like on the tepid mostly-acoustic closer "Let It Die", the absence of all that fanciful hypnotic resonance renders things downright hammy. But the big starry-eyed moments win out with each repeated listen, even if songs like "Mars By Night" share more in common with a John Mayer deep-cut than anything this side of Jens Lekman. There's either a fun 1960s pop twist ("Golden Chain") or a guardedly erotic soft-rock jam ("Between Dreams", "Southbound") to move onto, sublimely woven into the fabric of this big, swirling dreamscape. For the most part: pretty far-out.
