Porn Sword Tobacco's delicate new album reminds me of flexi-discs that once came stuck on the front of music papers, containing excerpts from a band's forthcoming album. Similarly, it succeeds in creating an intrigue disproportionate to its miserly length.
Porn Sword Tobacco is Sweden's Henrik Jonsson. If sound were food, Jonsson would be using manipulated sibilation, piano, guitar, organ, and bass to create a gorgeous smorgasbord in nouvelle-cuisine-sized portions. On "Tools For Trains," a dainty chime echoes like a distant John Henry hammering steel into stone. With a rush of train left over from the opener, a few gossamer-light and highly-amplified guitar plucks, a woman's voice saying something indecipherable, and a molten indeterminate whir, "Den Rosa Sporten" creates sublime sounds which evaporate before the word "wow" can be uttered.
In contrast, "Giftwrap Yourself, Slowly" could not end soon enough. Perhaps it is the introduction of migrating hip-hop beats or maybe that this boiler-plate monotony lasted longer than the two preceding gems. Either way, for me, the ubiquitous boombox cracked the iceberg mood. With the pedestrian thankfully behind us, "Copyright The Universe" eases into a hiss-filled world wobbling with unsteady organ and increasingly rapid heartbeat percussion. Next, "Ljus, Den Yttersta Gåvan" briefly descends into a lush envelope of wah-wah-esque sound that would defy a thermometer; is it hot or cold?. The piece has an emotional plunge while giving off the surreal flavor of what might be termed chamber-funk. "Cubical Fever" updates a nonchalant Latin sensibility; if the track had a chorus, it would be "We are flying down to Rio – on our flight simulators here in our office in Gothenburg."
The creeping crackles and beeps of the aptly titled "Do The Astrowaltz" seem to shift the location to an outer space occupied by vagabond musicians. There is no singing on New Exclusive Olympic Heights, but the tracks with non-English titles are such stunning liquid explorations of sound that they almost emulate the fluidity of the human voice. "En Hyllning Till Cyckeln" is the most overtly analog piece, where swollen piano phrases stand out from delicate hiss."Comme-Il-Faut (6 ÅR)" drips away in a flash with its bass-heavy finale on the verge of promising more. "Pappa! Min Kärlek Är Gravid" is a weirdly grandiose music box that is pretty to the extent of being repellant, but non-Swedish speakers can have fun imagining what the title might mean. My current guess is: Father! My trousers are swollen.
A contrasting levity to all the pensive beauty is, I suppose, meant to come from the ludicrous chatter of "My Lovely Wife Becky," but a mention of artist Peter Max set my teeth on edge. The 53 seconds of "Hierarkisk Symmetri Och Romantik" leave a similar residue to what The Dead Texan strew effortlessly in their wake. If instruments can breathe, then this is how their breathing sounds. Listening to this track, I was engulfed by a feeling of instant nostalgia and puzzlement. "U.S. Saloon Props 41/59" is an engaging piece of drone and subtle quasi-twang which transmits more than a trace of Badalamenti, as if Twin Peaks were set in Karlskrona. Again, my only gripe here is that at two minutes it is far too short. Finally, "Vingar Av Svärd" closes the album with many of its best elements in a coherent, swelling blend which Harold Budd could be proud of.
There is an economy and simplicity at work worthy of the name Porn Sword Tobacco which, apparently, refers to the name of a shop at the edge of some forest in Jonsson's home country that sells exactly those three products. (I can only wonder what will happen if a new owner replaces the smokes with cheese.) Engrossed in these translucent and fascinating tracks, I realized that even short experiences can have a profound impact. It might be a mistake to wish that New Exclusive Olympic Heights were three times as long. Maybe its fleeting nature is ingeniously designed to assist in its memorability.
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