‘Warm Night’ makes no mention whatsoever of bells ending, drunken stand-offs over who won the portable sewing kit in the Christmas cracker, or of starving African children. It is not, in any way whatsoever, a seasonal song.
Yet why, then, does it fill us – us, who chuckle gamely at frostbitten hobos and piss on small children’s snowmen – with the kind of yuletide warmth that it normally takes
three bottles of sherry and a family argument to achieve? Perhaps the answer lies in ‘Warm Night’’s woozy, half-awake waltz (the most criminally underused of all the tempos, time-signature fans)? Or maybe it’s in Victoria Bergsman’s cooed vocals, barely audible beneath the swirl of general sonic loveliness? Whatever it is, it’s yet more proof that the stock of Swedish indie hasn’t been this high since The Wannadies finally announced that they had stopped making records. Forget Band Aid – by the time you read this, it’ll have shifted more units than Ikea anyway – and get this instead.
Barry Nicolson
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