Review Summary: Dream pop done right.
I still remember how hot was the day and how the rain kept hitting heavily against the metallic roof of my home. Another monotonous summer afternoon was reaching its end and I was staring at blank walls, consumed by boredom, when this album started playing.
I still remember the way the sounds surrounded everything, blurring the edges of the furniture, chillingly drifting me away from the world and into a pleasantly dreamy atmosphere.
But what I remember the most, what has remained ingrained in my brain for the six years that have gone by since this beautiful record was released, is how utterly bittersweet it made me feel. What was that sudden sorrow that was growing in my chest? What was this devilish thing that was being released out of the headphones and into my ears, creating this great big empty hole inside of me? It completely took a hold of me, without notice. It lifted me, soaring above my average summer holiday afternoon, and leaving me alone in unfathomed territories. After the almost 35 minutes that the records lasts, all I could do was ponder in awe about why I was having such an intense emotional experience. I never got the answer, though.
Musically, The Radio Dept. are characterized by using a combination of electronic elements mixed with traditional instrumentation, in order to create layered compositions. It is easy to tell that every note in each song occupies the right place and that there are hardly any additions that feel forced or out of place in Clinging To A Scheme. The guitar parts are a stand out, providing the harmonies that the album needs to flow swiftly, intertwining with piano chords and delicate synthetizers along the way. The drums are mostly electronic and the mix was made in order for them to be up front, serving as openers for most of the tracks.
Vocally, the album could be criticized for its monotony. Johan Ducanson's voice is filtered using always the same effects, and he sings in every song the exact same way, without emphasizing anything. However, while it may cause some people to feel apathy towards the singer, I think it works when thinking of the record as a whole. Some singers are capable of conveying emotion by stretching notes or adding dramatic touches to their performances, almost as if they were actors, and if you isolate the vocals from the instruments, you can still picture what the singer intended to convey. This is not the case with Ducanson, as he simply lends his voice to the music, and lets it do whatever it wants with it. It can resonate with sadness, regret, longing, love, despair or even hope, depending on the context. His lyrics do not intend to be grandiose either. He keeps things uncomplicated and doesn't rely on metaphors or strong imagery, although when he repeatedly sings “One look at you and heaven's on fire”, it is hard not to believe there must be some hidden poetry inside of him.
Whenever I recommend this record, I am afraid that I might me selling it for much more than what it actually is. Until I remember what I wrote in the first few paragraphs and convince myself that maybe, just maybe, I am not even beginning to do it justice.
