Kings of Convenience - Declaration of Dependance
Feels as if Paul Simon and Arthur Garfunkel grew up in Scandinavia in the late 70's, had hard but graceful lives, and fell in love with all things acoustic, and the state of being beautifully broken. This album is joyful and full of life, with vocals that, like S&G, perfectly compliment each other.
The stories these two tell are of vulnerability, of lack of connection with others and the world around, of loss, homesickness and how fast lives goes; of "freedom and its owner". The sound is resonant yet simple, with soft instrumental and vocal echoes that expand the soundstage.
The lyrics are nostalgic and seem have a fondness for the "old-fashioned", often mentioning old records and tapes, and past loves - often the two are one and the same; a vehicle for one beautiful tenor. They often refer either directly or indirectly to the importance of depth, friendship with self and the abandonment of superficiality - "feeling the comfort of eyes is your sole intention/we all want to be understood unconditionally" (Peacetime Resistance)
These two men; Erlend Øye and Eirik Glambek Bøe, seem like young sages, with beautiful song titles like "Power of Not Knowing" and "Scars on Land".
Jacaszek - Treny
You are old. You are weak. You are quiet, and you are bitter.
You've become trapped in the old church you used to attend in your childhood – A spectre without a face is there with you. It is not evil, but nor is it benevolent. You feel uncomfortably close to pain you've been avoiding for years.
The thing informs you via dimly lit pictures on a crackling projector that by avoiding your pain, you've been dooming your future, represented by the broken lines on the screen. Your anguish at this truth is reflected in the notes of the cello, informing the ghost desperately that you still feel it, that you want to feel it, that you want to solve it. You realize that you have been subjecting your old age to the vacuum of resentment; ignoring the present for dreams of the past. Your quality of life has been as disregarded as this old room.
The shade is apathetic and unemotional. It stares pallidly through the dust and noise, and you wonder fearfully and angrily why it has come at all. All hope seems lost.
A voice comes gradually from somewhere in the room, the cautious love of its tongue wrapping around near-words, singing your anguish into existence. You understand sadly that it is your spirit, and that it wishes for you to understand death. Death, it cries, is the door you have been quietly knocking on for countless years.
You embrace this spirit, and life falls out of you – but not fast enough to stop the faint smile forming on the corner of your lips.
Deceptikon - Lost Subject
You are a teenager living in a dying city, high on antidepressants. The world seems to crumble easily and slowly, and you have realized pointlessly that the same thing is happening inside you.
You consider leaning against the wall of the city block and staring at passerby, but instead lie down and stare at the sun. A man passes by muttering about time, and you hear a beat boxer start his routine.
Suddenly, you recognize that objects in the environment have a unique time, and that rhythm expresses this. You jump up, shocked, and all turns to dance: people are all dancing whether they know it or not, all is rhythm. You delight in this realization by laughing out loud. A person walking past you laughs suddenly also, and you grab their hand in eagerness to share in their understanding; they slap you away, fear in their eyes, and run.
Angry and hurt, you begin to sway. Forcefully, purposefully. Your tired mind resorts to somatic reasoning in its attempt to understand this new concept of time, life and movement. You wonder stupidly if certain people's rhythms are "cut"; if they cannot dance due to a misunderstanding of life. You feel yourself reaching new levels of understanding yourself; the light of the sun seems to reach down into your eyes, placing in them stars. The day turns to night, and you collapse. Your body is taken away, tearlessly, shortly thereafter.
The world crumbles, and in its disintegration, begins to dance.