The Concretes

No relation to The Walls, ‘The Concretes’ may not be the greatest ever name for a pop band but, thankfully, this eight-strong Stockholm outfit are utilising other kinds of grey matter as well. Organs, bells, guitars, drums, saxophones, trumpets, violins, violas, mandolins and glockenspiels are all mixed up beautifully by producer Jari Haapalainen on this musically intelligent, and decidedly offbeat, eponymous debut.
The band are already huge in Sweden, and it’s easy to understand why. There’s an overall mood of wintry melancholy, but it’s not without its joyous moments and bursts of sonic sunshine. This is a happy-sad record, but not a suicidal one. It’s difficult to pigeonhole them, as no two songs are quite the same. Most of the album sounds eerily familiar, though, like the soundtrack to some obscure 1960’s European art flick. Or the last David Kitt album, come to think of it.
Naturally enough, there’s some Swedish humour and indie quirkiness going on. They seem to have a bit of a Diana Ross obsession. One song is actually titled ‘Diana Ross’ - and features sharp military drumming and a superb wailing sax (presumably it’s set in Heathrow Airport). ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’ turns out not to be the expected cover though, but a deliciously quirky spaced-out pop adventure. I’m sure there are other in-jokes as well, if you can be bothered looking.
Singer Victoria Bergsman’s highly distinctive voice alternates between a Nico-ish twenty-Gitanes-a-day husky growl and little-au-pair-lost kookiness. At times her accent is so heavy you almost suspect she’s putting it on. She sings conspiratorially, like she’s whispering in your ear. Which is nice.
With a sound as unique and original as this, The Concretes certainly won’t be everybody’s cup of tea, but if you’re a fan of cockeyed waltzes, broken-hearted ballads and wonderfully warm and uplifting pop melodies, then you won’t be wasting your money. And I’ll skip the joke about cementing your relationship with them. . .