Abandon

There seems to be a club for everything these days; Two Door Cinemas, Bombay Bicycles, Tokyo Police, New Young Ponies, Black Rebel Motorcycles etc. etc. but one blip-happy Swedish/Irish duo have formed the most head-scratching crew of all. Vocalist, guitarist and sampling maestro Justin Commins describes the Krinkle of the moniker as “a mental phantom that stops people from fulfilling their potential,” presumably referring to the little voice inside your head that constantly pokes fun at your foibles and tells you that whatever you’re working on is a steaming pile of donkey shit. Commins, along with Swedish multi-instrumentalist Elina Bergman, have set their hearts on vanquishing this demon in a bid to reach a point of pure, unclouded musical Utopia. No pressure, then.
Clocking in at 33 chirpy minutes, there’s a lot to like on Abandon. All the obligatory quirky hipster instruments are here (you know the ones; glock, melodica, chime bars and so on until your tour van looks like the inside of your nephew’s toy box) but the beats, for the most part, are simple, thus avoiding an ungodly electronic mess. Much like success story of the year, the XX, the male vocal has power and soul, while the female voice is sedated and whimsical.
Quivering ballad ‘Handwritten Novel’ is a highlight, as is fuzzy cosmic aria ‘59’. ‘This Is Winter’ is something entirely different, a gorgeous plodding wonder, brimming with lush, jerky beats. Elsewhere, the sinister moodtronica takes a poppier shape and, with the exception of robotic disco track ‘Moon’, these songs lack the drama of the mellower tunes.
Yup - ironically, Kill Krinkle Club are at their most affecting when they’re in a mood of ambient despair, as on the dreamy closer ‘Sleepy Song’, when the melancholia takes over and the duo are sighing away at the peak of their gloomy self-indulgence. It seems Mr. Krinkle is still very much at large.
Key Track: ‘Handwritten Novel’