Jens Lekman is an odd hero, a sardonic, deceptively laid back singer whose habit of revealing the mundaneness of heartache with a joke is simultaneously piercing and apathetic. His self-mocking style has gotten him substantial radio play in his native Sweden, and his latest release, I Know What Love Isn’t, is the third in a family of lovely pop albums that have heft and staying power.
Lekman’s smooth, narrative monotone is often compared to the Magnetic Fields, and it’s an over-valid, almost compunctory comparison. If you respond positively to the stab of lyrics about love’s subtle cruelty sung over a delightful and inventive pop composition, Jens Lekman is the best. Every song has some sort of gut-punch and moments of wonderful lightness that run parallel to each other. Lekman is great for a casual, jazzy jaunt, a funny journey through his stream of consciousness and charming tenderness. On other songs, he lets the depth of his lyrics loose and finally inhabits the quiet, slow-moving world of prolonged heartbreak he always seems so close to mentioning. His observant acceptance makes it harder to endure.
I Know What Love Isn’t taps into the despair hidden in Lekman’s lyrics more than his previous two albums, just tipping the scales from dark joy to bright sadness. He remains optimistic, but he is getting older. “You don’t get over a broken heart/ You just learn to carry it gracefully,†he sings, as if he were talking about the weather.
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