Produced by the inconceivably gifted Tobias Fröberg (responsible for the lavish orchestration that gushes throughout) and backed by a slew of influential artists from that ethereal land that hangs over central Europe, Brun's latest work is a painstakingly crafted, achingly heartbreaking affair, and one that ought to witness her pick up accolades outside of her native Nordic region. From the first organ warble of These Days to the final top-end plink of Undertow, It All Starts With One offers a truly special, indeed arresting listen: lyrical abstraction meets Feist-like vocal deftness on its initial moments, while Words is veritably dripping in the sort of desperate despondency that used to relentlessly waft from Rough Trade's Neal's Yard basement. A gentle, yet rousing duet with José Gonzáles provides the record's third highlight in as many tracks, a subtly rhythmic rumble swelling powerfully, before unpredictably crumbling into a particularly crestfallen chorus.
Fröberg and Brun tied down two drummers for the LP, and they finally come to the fore on the sensational Do You Remember, and with Per Eklund having battered taut skins for Lykke Li previously, it's the track that most resembles the eternally enthralling Swedish pop polymath. First Aid Kit provide choral (if somewhat tribal) backing vox and although it may be superficially ecstatic, it's an ecstasy tinged with melancholy, the odd minor chord spasmodically struck. Then, as it segues into the minimal What's Happening With You And Him, the record swerves into full emotional swing, its mood in a state of constantly agitated, flustered flux. Lifeline sounds akin to Fat Segal's Skins Theme Tune on tranquilisers, fired by Eva Cassidy-like vulnerability; One rattles to the tune of macabre Broadway spectacular; and Oh Love sounds like a lost Fleetwood Mac classic. However it somehow remains entirely coherent throughout, stitched together with Fröberg's nimble string work. The brooding The Light From One is, lyrically, intensely impassioned, Brun spectrally chirruping: "I'm in your room / We've been here for weeks now / your windows are paintings / with nothing beyond." Her grasp of the English language evidently firm, she's afforded ample space for musical manoeuvre and while it may often be sparse, it's persistently, tenaciously stirring. Not merely a great LP but also one of great variation, its finale is mutedly grand, Undertow perhaps this year's most both harrowing and poignant listen. Were the synchronised patter of the footsteps of the love of your life and a lifelong friend tottering off into the distance incarnated in song, it surely couldn't sound this gut-wrenching.
