Komeda

The Genius of… (Minty Fresh)
by Nik Rainey

I think I’ve got this Swedish Invasion thing figured out. You know what I’m talking about – the fact that the indie-ground is buzzing ’bout folks with double “s”s in their surnames. It’s a Scandinavian scam. Scamdinavian. Oh, not to say the music isn’t good. The Cardigans’ Life is one of my faves of the year thus far, their new album is said to be even better, and this Komeda disc is likely to be spinning in my aural rotisserie for some time, but therein lies the crux of the problem. Y’see, with our national attentions (and many of our bombers) focused on the Saddamites and their turbaned ilk, and country-sized peptic ulcers being formed over our own domestic malaise, we have been sufficiently weakened for a sneak attack by these seemingly benevolent marks with good bone structure and a language like a spoken-word poetry record played backwards. First, they lull us into a false sense of security with a retro-tinged pop sound that seems innocent enough, but is insidiously laced with a hypnotic undertow that Franz Mesmer would call “manipulative,” and whose addictive qualities are more insidious than a snow shovel full of crank. This way, you keep coming back. Second, they sing all their lyrics in English (the only Swedish words I’ve heard in a pop song lately – maybe ever – are on a Robyn Hitchcock record. Is he trying to warn us?), giving it that “cute” awkward thing that we monolingual Americans just love. This way they can get away with sentiments like “we will fuh-fuh-fuh-fall into the love” while whispering conspiratorial asides to each other in their native tongue without our knowledge. Third, they get their women to sing most of them, either in honey-sweet tones or in a calm deadpan. Coupled with a vaguely post-modern sound and cover pics where the band is seen on a computer monitor, critics can fall back on easy Stereolab comparisons. The only thing critics like more than Stereolab is not having to think too carefully when writing their reviews. This way they convince the music fans who want to seem cool (Ace of Base already having seduced the rest of the mainstream – see? The plan is starting to take focus) to buy all the Swede-rock records they can find. Soon, weakened and vulnerable from the Swedish musical massage, we will lie helpless as they march in and infiltrate our nation. Within five years we’ll all be in internment camps eating meatballs and watching The Seventh Seal over and over again. I warn you all to be vigilant and resist the Beast from the North. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done listening to The Genius of Komeda a couple more times and filling out the paperwork to have my name changed to Ingmar.