Finally, a veteran Swedish singer-songwriter venturing into tropical — no, come back…
[Video][Website]
[5.45]
Josh Love: Lekman has been a worthy heir to Stephin Merritt for some time, and this song merits the highest praise such a protege could receive — it wouldn’t be out of place on 69 Love Songs. A light pop touch softens the landing of a song about steering directly into the sensations and memories that cause us the most bittersweet pain. The idea of inviting the scent of a lost love may sound perverse, but Jens perfectly nails the rationale — “at least it was real.”
[8]
Alfred Soto: Jens Lekman going tropical house does not warm my ankles, and I think he should be strangled for the steel drum, but his eternal dolor has required settings less rarefied for a while. When he hesitates about confronting his beloved about banalities, the rhythms give him a foot up the ass and place maracas in his hands.
[7]
Iain Mew: This reminds me of my favourite Vampire Weekend song “Horchata,” another song whose singer lists flavours and senses before being ambushed by forgotten feelings. The steel drum party chorus has the same kind of overwhelming emotion, though Jens Lekman successfully juggles even more. He fits in the exact way the senses set off memories and feelings, then captures the complications of remembering good things gone. There’s also the joy in the way he sings the words “pink pepper,” topped off with a brilliant callback where the string melody gestures towards “Sipping on the Sweet Nectar,” a song about enjoying the good times that you’re going to look back on when they’re over.
[9]
Claire Biddles: The way memory becomes more vivid as the tropical flourishes enter the song is neat, as is the specific and relatable identification of “the anticipation before I kiss someone.” But the preciousness of Jens Lekman’s lyrics and delivery puts my teeth on edge, and my low tolerance for twee means that this is something I appreciate hypothetically rather than actively enjoy.
[4]
Lilly Gray: The promise made by the bass and steel drums in the first few seconds of this song is immediately broken by his voice, which is disembodied, barely musical and, frankly, boring.
[1]
Micha Cavaseno: I understand that the steel pans and tropicalia are invoked in the way that the perfume reminds Lekman of his memories, but the brightness and the vibrant quality are far too harsh a contrast with his reflective melancholia. Anyone who can make “sandalwood” convincingly inspire romantic musings deserves a fair shake, but it’s an ill fit of good ideas.
[4]
Katherine St Asaph: Statistically speaking, she probably wore Daisy or Flowerbomb. Judging by the lyric, illustrated via screamingly “tropical” arrangement, it’s probably something cheap and unsubtle picked up in a resort shop. Someone like Jay-Jay Johanson might have leaned into the melodrama more; Jens Lekman at his peak would have leaned into the details, or at least rewritten the subtext-free chorus. Instead, we’ve got a slightly more observed version of Dido’s “Sand in My Shoes.”
[4]
Jessica Doyle: Admittedly, sandalwood and lavender and lemon ginger all together might be a touch much, but in that spirit, I request a mashup of this with Teen Top’s “No More Perfume on You.” If nothing else, it’ll get rid of the light bells that blanket most of the song with sickly sweetness, like Jack Johnson with less conviction. Jens Lekman needs a little exuberantly amoral infidelity in his life, I think. Do you think the video extras would agree with me? They look a little bored. You think they’d prefer a party instead? I’ll provide the packing peanuts.
[2]
Cédric Le Merrer: Jens Lekman is so obviously the guy you want to bring home to your parents. His specialty is rejoicing in the mundane, so you know he’ll compliment the food and take an interest in the tchotchkes. He’ll be able to list the components of your mum’s potpourri just by the smell. And most of all, however bittersweet the experience for him, he’ll sound like he’s having fun.
[8]
Rebecca A. Gowns: Fresh top notes of citrus and bergamot, warm heart note of geranium, base note of (what else?) sandalwood. Ephemeral, but so refreshing you’ll want to keep spritzing it on anyway, like most of Lekman’s previous work.
[8]
Will Adams: The chorus is the only thing that matters: gaudy-tropico in the vein of Todd Terje while also being an unwitting tribute to one of the best remixes ever made is fine by me. The rest is drab, muted fragrance.
[5]