Dryvetyme Onlyne

Loney Dear
Dear John
Polyvinyl; 2009

I’ve moaned and whined about the death and/or dearth of quality pop music before, but, admittedly, it’s really not the most original critique in the world. Many other outlets, whether international print media or music websites with much higher traffic than mine, have put forth the same criticism before, but the result is the same: something is severely lacking amongst the presupposed progenitors of pop. Why else do music sites rave and cheer with wild abandon (to the point of annoying over-saturation) any time an act appears on the scene who is able to craft a beautiful, blissful tune that’s destined to get lodged in ears and brains around the globe? We want pretty music with a heart and a brain – it shouldn’t be too much to ask.

It is exactly this kind of music that Emil Svanängen has been creating since 2003 under the moniker of Loney Dear – songs that don’t scrimp on the instrumentation or on the deeply emotional lyrics. On his most recent release, Dear John, Svanängen finds himself putting Loney Dear to rest, but he has chosen to end the group’s five-record run with something akin to a wary optimism over his traditional despair. The eleven-song album walks many of the sweetly weary paths Loney Dear has strolled before, but there appears to be a greater purpose at hand, a looking outward or forward that can’t be ignored.

One would expect for a singer-songwriter of Svanängen’s stature to produce a conclusion that’s a bit insular and full of quiet resolve, but instead, Dear John combines the grey clouds of a stormy night with the blue skies of a bright mountain morning. For every peek of yellow sun on the horizon, Svanängen counters with dark edges and gritted teeth, creating a welcome contrast that wasn’t present on 2007’s Loney, Noir. The arrangement of instruments on this record plays a large part in the establishment of the atmosphere: multiple layers of strings, horns, woodwinds, percussion, and keys are deftly woven together with a symphonic grace. Yet, it is Svanängen’s achingly thin tenor that carries song after song, delivering his haunting words on love, loss, and life with a strength and clarity, allowing his voice to crack only when absolutely necessary. He is no depressed emo sad sack.

What makes the album so superb in my ears is how Loney Dear has managed to present a record that openly declares, “Sure, goodbyes are sad, but they can also be a chance for growth, another step in the journey that is life.” For every track like “Harsh Words,” “Distant,” or “Harm” that’s reminiscent of a troubled dream, there are songs like “Airport Surroundings,” “Under A Silent Sea,” or “Dear John” that project a sensation of waking from that uneasy sleep into a new day. There is a delicate tension that runs throughout this record, a dichotomy between calming and building that evokes images of the band settling in for the night in a sleepy European inn and then arising in the morning to a bright morning full of expectation. Loney Dear might be going to sleep, but I am excited to hear what manner of excellent pop music Svanängen and crew will have for the world at daybreak. Dear John is both a gorgeous lullaby and a welcome sunrise.