Yahoo! Music Album Review

Released on 14/08/06
Label: Wichita Records

Ah, Sweden, land of the blond and the beautiful, the healthy and wealthy and - given its size - the greatest pop nation on Earth. Little surprise, then, that "Writer's Block" - the third album by Stockholm trio Peter, Bjorn and John, and the first to be properly released in the UK - shares the brazen pop melodies, playfulness and literate intelligence of countrymen The Cardigans, The Concretes and The Hives.

Disappointingly, "Writer's Block" never quite reaches the peaks of those three, with the notable exception of lead single "Young Folks". This joyously breezy, bass propelled confection, which somehow makes whistling sound charming, has quite deservedly lodged itself onto airplay lists as one of the singles of the year. Elsewhere, unfortunately, despite an abundance of ideas and the trio's obvious good taste, the album doesn't quite cohere.

Everything starts off well with widescreen epic "Objects Of My Affection", all martial drums, stately guitars and a delightfully intimate vocal by Peter Moren that promises much. "Young Folks" follows, before the album begins to get into messier territory. "Amsterdam" is undeniably catchy, but its production - squelching trip hop percussion, timpani, booming vocal, doomy synths - is cloying and cluttered.

Elsewhere the band try on different styles like a Chelsea girl in the grip of a fashion crisis, whether on the Merseybeat pastiche of "Let's Call It Off", the atmospheric, Morricone lament "Roll The Credits" or the slow-burning, shoegazing "Up Against The Wall". And while this playful experimentation means you could never accuse "Writer's Block" of sameyness, it does leave the listener wondering if the trio have a real voice of their own.

There are other highlights, notably the hazily psychedelic "Start To Melt", which boasts the kind of dreamy guitar drone that suggests more than a passing intimacy with Slowdive. And the fuzzy bass and languid vocals of "The Chills" are dreamily evocative. But there are also a couple of notable bores, in the shape of "Paris 2004"'s paper-thin strum-along and the whining indie-pop of "Poor Cow", a conspicuously poor choice of closer given its drab melodies and dispirited mood.

"Writer's Block" is accomplished rather than astounding, interesting rather than inviting. Like a nice cup of tea you don't need it in your life, but it's pleasant enough if you like that sort of thing.

    by Jaime Gill