Jens Lekman
Life will see you now

Initially, it was called Rocky Dennis, like the boy afflicted with lionitis brought to the cinema by Eric Stoltz, alongside mom Cher who did nothing but hit on men and love this poor kid beyond belief.

The first demos from the Swedish singer-songwriter are a descriptive snapshot of some scenes from the film: the campsite where Rocky explains colors to the blind girl, who, however, is rich while Rocky doesn’t have a dime and hangs around with rough bikers with good hearts.

Jens Lekman’s first album enchanted me. It was sweet and crackling, pure low-fi: “Oh, you're so silent, Jens”.

And surely he was silent, Jens. A young introverted and tender soul like a plush toy, bullied at school by metalhead classmates because he listened to Morrissey. And how you can hear Morrissey in his voice, in his manner, in his intentions.

Years later, I find Lekman among the yellow seats of a cinema with a kalimba in hand while performing “A little lost” by Arthur Russell. When I was listening to his debut works, so homemade and filled with syrupy melancholy, I wagered a few coins on the future of this guy.

Seriously, he was already in the Secretly Canadian stable, not going around risto-pizzas doing Michael Bolton covers with floppy disks in a Gem keyboard. Yet, in that indie chaos of the early ’00s, as many as you listened to, as many you would forget. I even bet a little on Tom McRae, bought a Turin Brakes CD: I don't always get it right. And deep down, the new course of Jens Lekman, now adult and well-produced, without those six-track Fostex crackles, didn’t thrill me as much anymore: he had lost much of his charm.

Last year on social media, he carried out a fairly ambitious “Postcard” project with a song per day; I don’t know how it ended (one of them is on this record), because a song by Jens Lekman a day and bring on the benzodiazepines before you even notice.

Anyway, this year he released “Life will see you now” and, charts in hand, the album is still among the most appreciated. It’s talked about, extensively and positively.

The impression is that Jens, after several bouts of mood disorder, like crying because a ladybug doesn’t fly well and other hypersensitive spikes that might resemble those funny comic strips featuring Sad Morrissey, has decided to go the psychiatrist and medication route and now, with serotonin restored, tries to captivate his audience with cheerful and delightful ballads, at times tropical-dance, also enlisting great collaborations, like Tracey Thorn in “Hotwire the ferris wheel.”

The stories told in the album are very worthwhile, even in format: a narrative of contemporary alienation of the “late” generation, among TV series, nostalgic memories, friends to console, sweet and pure love limerence. I like his way of writing: he has a descriptive poetry that has always distinguished him; it’s a bit like getting a call from a friend who has to tell you something, while you’re arguing with a feisty lady over the last sole on the fish counter. Ready to listen, this literature in music, at times introspective, at times “I want to be happy even if I’m not,” can be enjoyable, even if at some point you think back to the metalheads who used to beat him up and you kind of get them too.