Karl Larsson - Pale asMilk

Fri 28th Oct, 2005 in Music Reviews

Pale as Milk is the first solo side-project of Karl Larson, erstwhile of photogenic pop gang Last Days Of April (and blimey – doesn’t that name get you reaching for your eyeliner and poetry journal). Last Days Of April have fashioned a successful series of albums with portentous-sounding yet ultimately meaningless titles such as Angel Youth and Ascend to the Stars. Now singer/song writer Karl Larsson has found time to explore his more contemplative and wistful imaginings.

Apparently, the music is intended as an exploration of his more personal preferences and desires. On the evidence contained – it would seem his preference and desire is to record one song in nine subtle variations.

The songs are so aimless and bland that they seem to slide past consciousness. Many times I had to check whether I had set my disc player to repeat. Pale as Milk would be an ideal record to spin in one of those neon-swamped fashion stores. One could have the disc playing on into infinity – and none would complain of repetition, as one song slips off your memory as the next one arrives. Accompanied by the occasional feeling of déjà vu – the music blends into its surroundings like off-white into beige.

The Scandinavians seem to get a hard time of things when it comes to the rest of the world’s appreciation of their culture. We’ve had brilliant and tormented writers such as Strindberg, giants of cinema such as Bergman and awesome compositions of Greig and Sibelius.

Yet they are constantly disparaged as promulgators of naivety, awkward common-sense and formless yet charming drudgery.

However, as Pale as Milk adequately attests – such an insult is not unfounded. The sounds are indeed pale – but a paleness that conjures up anaemia and cauliflower. Similar to an eating binge consisting solely of marshmallow – the artificial sweetness and rubbery texture soon has you gagging. I had to immediately play some Agoraphobic Nosebleed to get the Strawberry Shortcake aftertaste out of my craw.

Mr Larsson’s’ lyrics – thus speaks his press release – “display a simplicity and straightforwardness that puts the focus and tone on a resolute – but never hopeless – insight of the world, and the love between people.”

Of course. 

You could, however, be forgiven for thinking them a worthless collection of cliché, platitude and non-sequitur.

I realise that English is not Mr Larsson’s first language – but if you choose to express yourself in another tongue, it takes more than a rhyming dictionary and a print-out of the week’s text-messages. At times it sounds like a musical phrase-book:

I guess you dig a bit too deep
And there are things I want to keep
For myself
So I head toward the door
Without telling you what for.

Such inspired rhymes allow the music of Karl Larsson to soar above even such lyrical heights as Ashlee Simpson’s “You make me wanna LaLa/ Lalah Lalaha” (I surmise her lyricist is one of the happiest men whom ever received a royalty cheque).

Delicate and charming pop-music can be done well; fellow countrymen Kings Of Convenience have shown that you can make sweet and beautiful tunes sacrificing neither wit nor pathos. But this sort of naïve confectionary is only a few steps ahead of Muzak. As the music industry continues to bloat and malform – and art is increasingly delegated to committees, fulfilling goals set by market research, it’s hard to hard to feel sympathetic to music which achieves less emotional impact than fat-free vanilla ice-cream.