Review Summary: Stalled out
Lykke Li is something of a chameleon in the pop world, a quality that has proven to be a double-edged sword for her. On one hand, her unwillingness to stay static has ensured that every record of hers will show a new facet of her sound; on the other hand, it’s hard to get a grasp on what that “sound” is. Obviously pop is the main basis of her work, but what is her signature or stamp on the genre? It’s difficult to tell, especially when much of her career trajectory has been dedicated to following the trends of each release cycle:
Youth Novels capitalized on late 2000s dance-pop,
I Never Learn came off the heels of the early/mid-2010s indie pop movement, and 2018’s
So Sad So Sexy was clearly influenced by the trap music that was being released at the time. That’s not to say that Li is a bad artist by any means - in fact,
I Never Learn was a lovely dream pop record despite its derivative moments. But now, in the year of our lord 2022, what else does Li have to offer? Where else can she take her music? Well, if
Eyeye is any indication, it appears as though she’s opted to go in a more introspective, lowkey direction this time around. It serves as another stylistic swerve, granted, but I can’t say I hated the decision to take this route; after all, one of the best aspects of Li’s work has been her ability to look inward to thoroughly explore her pain and catharsis. If anything,
Eyeye is taking that concept and taking it even further.
Unfortunately, this approach also comes with several setbacks. What made
I Never Learn stand out is that its gorgeously layered and dreamlike music often belied the heartbreak in the lyrics; with all of those interesting instrumentals stripped away, you’re left with a much more monotonous experience. “Carousel” is one of the biggest examples of this issue: the tune starts off with bouncy synths, pleasant acoustic guitar backing, and lovely vocal harmonies, creating a nice musical base to develop from. But then it hits you… about two minutes have already passed, and the song has gone absolutely nowhere. There’s no climax, and seemingly no concrete direction from which to propel the song out of its incessant repetition. That right there is the biggest problem with
Eyeye: all too often, it just operates at a dull hum and rarely deviates from its limited artistic vision. For instance, “5D” gives the illusion that it will go somewhere interesting when the drums enter the picture halfway through; however, the rest of the instruments - as well as Li’s vocals - seem to disagree. So instead, we get a boring bridge in which the languid singing starts blending in with the glistening synth mush beneath it. And what’s astonishing is that the overall approach taken on this record even makes the more
compelling musical ideas completely unmemorable. Take the murky guitar tone at the beginning of “You Don’t Go Away” for example; it’s beautifully melancholic and downcast, but Li’s overproduced vocals almost instantly ruin the mood. Combine that with a predictable and bland pop chorus, and you have a tune that stalls before it can ever flourish. And really, that last part sums up
Eyeye in a nutshell: it stalls before it can flourish. The whole thing is very
pretty in a nebulous way, but that doesn’t make any of the songwriting compelling; there’s only so much dreamy reverb you can slather on the production before it all gets old. Here’s hoping that Lykke Li can convey her brooding and melancholic thoughts in a more interesting way next time around.
