Thanks to Andreas Ottosson for the following email, in which he translates the Sonic Magazine review:
I happened to notice that the Sonic review of your new album (by Johan Jacobsson) had been published online, so I decided to translate it for you. English is, as you may guess, not my first language, so I apologize for any awkward mistakes you may encounter while reading. It turned out ok, though. Enjoy.
***
A London suburb, the end of November, 2003.
Inside the walls of the house the afterparty was in full swing; frisky feet tracing dance moves over soiled carpets, fair voices being heard in the draft from the horrible insulation.
On the small bridge outside stood Stefan and I, with my slurry speech and drunken swaying back and forth providing the entertainment while he finished a menthol cigarette.
– Sushan amashing evening, Eckshn Baker [Action Biker] did susha bluddy aMEYzn show…
Then, suddenly, there was a tiny disruption. The door behind our backs flew open, and an amazingly well-dressed man went past us, mumbling something partly inaudible about wine while disappearing into the gray dawn, our eyes fixed on him in silence the whole time.
Not until then were we able to speak again. An unanimous sigh; “oh, Dickon”.
Lo-fi and DIY aesthetics had almost completely killed the idol worship of my childhood. The unreal artists suddenly became flesh and blood and, well, if they could, so could I. The relationship turned from one of worship to friendship. All was well.
But, as I said, almost. Now and then I return to the giggling fanboy I once was, while contemplating covering my bedroom walls in glossy posters.
Such a “now” occurs whenever London-based Dickon Edwards – singer, songwriter, lyricist and guitarist of Fosca – passes me by or puts out a new record. Dickon, you see, is a Pop Star. He writes remarkably intelligent lyrics concerning relationships, the feeling of being somewhat apart from it all, and philosophy, his melodies spring forth from a decidedly british tradition of assimilation – Roxy Music here, Postcard there, Duran Duran here, northern soul there, Whigfield here, pick the best and make it your own – and he is just generally incredibly handsome and luscious from every conceivable point and angle.
An example on a pedestal… And now more than ever since Swedish label But Is It Art put out a couple of Fosca records in close succession! Considering the fact that Fosca’s discography consisted of two full-length albums in nine years as a band (»On Earth to Make the Numbers Up«, 2001 and »Diary of an Antibody«, 2004), this means a heart attack. »In Concert« – a live recording of the bands gig at the Rip it Up festival in Varmlandsbro last summer – perhaps isn’t essential artistically speaking, but since it is, still, Fosca, you should download it from butisitart.org anyway.
The newly released studio album »The Painted Side of the Rocket«, however, is truly a triumph in all possible aspects. Steady drums beating, synthesizers beeping beautifully and electrically, guitars glimmering seductively and Dickon crooning away couplets such as »but darling won’t you come down from the cross?/’Cause someone else here needs the wood« in the weak yet powerful fashion he knows so well.
A welcome return, still in shape and very recognisable.
– So, you think he’s coming back?
– No. Let’s go inside.The fag tossed into the bushes, shoes scraping over the doormat, we went back inside, greeted by friends and acquaintances.
– We met Dickon, I proclaimed happily.
– Of course, he was here, they replied.
“You don’t understand anything”, I thought with a sulk. “I met Dickon, and someday I will brag about it in an album review.”
8/10
Original online here:
http://sonicmagazine.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=2053&Itemid=85
To which I can only reply, tack så mycket.
