The Cardigans – Life – Review

The Cardigans

Life (Minty Fresh)

by Nik Rainey

Brutal.
Pounding.
Vicious.
Unforgiving.
Cathartic.

None of these describe The Cardigans‘ U.S. debut, Life. Yet, after a tough toil in the skreek trenches, when you’ve sampled every acrid vocal, scalding guitar molestation, and homoerotic atrocity-photo sleeve illustration in the book, these swingin’ Swedes make a nice palate-cleansing áperitif. Oh, I can hear you scuzz-rock (im)purists chuckling into your Cannibal Corpse commemorative air-sickness bags, but I’m telling you, this stuff has its uses. Sometimes you need a group whose members have names like Bengt, Magnus and Lars-Olof. Sometimes you need a lead songstress crooning about garden parties, taking bubble baths, and driving Daddy’s car to the moon, all in a voice that can rightfully be described as “childlike” without making you wanna shove jagged Legos down her throat like Julianna “I Use My Cheeks To Store Food For The Winter” Hatfield, or that twee little froot loop in Frente! Sometimes you need a band that plays frothy, organ-happy, neo-’60s bop-pop without betraying a condescending “ironic” smirk. And sometimes, you definitely need a band that does a version of “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” that’d put Ozzy off his bats. (Remember, you can’t spell “Black Sabbath” without “abba.”) The Cardigans are an unfettered delight, as warm and comforting as the sweater from whence they got their name, and as sweet as Nina Persson’s snow-bunny smile on the cover. So whenever you I’m-too-punky-for-my-spikes types wanna let down your mohawks and get happy, you’d be well advised to choose Life.