Album Review – EYEYE x Lykke Li ★ ★ ★ ½

While some believe that Sweden’s most valuable commodity might be machinery or vehicles, its greatest export might actually be that of pop music. From mold-breaking supergroups and iconic producers like ABBA and Max Martin, to more recent global breakthroughs such as Robyn, Tove Lo, and Icona Pop, it’s clear that the Nordic nation has a precise approach to crafting ear worms that borders on the surgical. Although many of the tunes that have the greatest crossover appeal in the United States are bright and bombastic, Sweden is no stranger to demure songs that pull your heart into your throat. And for the past 14 years, the latest Scandinavian patron saint of the lovesick has been indie singer-songwriter Lykke Li. Her new album, EYEYE (pronounced “eye”) sees the songstress abandoning the hip hop beats and heavy production that colored her previous record, so sad, so sexy, and revisiting even earlier references in her own audial history. Co-produced by long-time collaborator Björn Yttling, and conceived with specific cinematic visuals in mind, this most recent offering is less sexy, more sad, and paints mourning the way Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel. Grief is a wound that runs red, begins to suture itself as it scabs over carob, fades to an indigo bruise, and then bursts open once again. Li’s alchemy exists in her unflinching nature and willingness to peel back the layers that might be best left alone.

“NO HOTEL”, sees our lovelorn guide as the heroine in any number of romantic films coasting away from a saccharine ending. She sings “There’s no hotel, no cigarettes/And you’re still in love with someone else” before waiting a beat to continue, “’Cause in the back of my mind/I’m in the back of your car/So now, baby, rewind/Take me back, oh”. Any hope for fantasy is almost immediately dispelled by a begrudging situational awareness. Like pressing snooze after the alarm’s sounded, pleading for another five minutes in a dream world that’s already been ruptured by your awakening. In a similar vein, “ü&I” features Li crooning over muted piano keys as she processes conflicted feelings about the close of a relationship. In one world, the love is facing reality as it breathes its last exhale. But in the other, the camera shifts to a Cupid who is much kinder, while she asserts, “The movie is you and I”.

This delicate dance is a common thread throughout Li’s career. There’s a wistfulness that persists, with the artist faltering between moments of total surrender to an illusion and moments when she acknowledges that all she holds is an echo. Although cohesive as a body of work, each song maintains a certain conceptual integrity that allows them to stand alone as vignettes. “YOU DON’T GO AWAY” is Li fixated on ritual, questioning a lover who seems to float above her pain while she’s trapped in a spiral of suffering. “5D” reckons with the idea that sometimes true love is sequestered to the silver screen. And “HIGHWAY TO YOUR HEART” searches for answers from a union that seems determined to deny. There’s plenty of mythology for listeners to sink their teeth into, but this is carefully paired with instances where Li has yelled “Cut!”, only to break the fourth wall. “HAPPY HURTS” addresses a co-director partner who’s gone back on his word, and Li comes to terms with it all, confessing, “Unwrite the last scene/Erase my memory/Still got your other woman/That’s not what you said you wanted”.

The one misstep might be found on the beginning portion of “CAROUSEL”, which fails to continue riding the sophisticated lyrical wave so artfully crafted during the first four tracks. But the meditative instrumental, looping in ways that mimic the shape of its title, sets up the second half of the album to succeed. The compositions are mindful in their capacity to accomplish more than just the ornamental, serving as paintbrushes for the artist’s melancholy. The strokes are broad and, sometimes, seemingly aimless, but by the time you take a step back you’re able to see Li’s masterpiece just as she intended. It returns your gaze, refusing to blink as colors run like tears, leaving itself open to enough interpretation for the sacredness of your own experiences. Still, the pensive palette can’t help but wheedle out some of those more sobering recollections, and in those does Li allow you to reap the harvest of loss.

Standout Tracks: “NO HOTEL”, “5D”, “ü&I”