I've always had a fondness for Scandinavia, ever since I was a child and used to flip through the world atlas for fun, discovering places that seemed distant and magical to me. A journey on paper, turning page after page, where those places up north were always a planned stop. After all, whether the journey is physical or mental, that's all that matters, right? Okay, let's leave Céline aside. Let's randomly take Sweden. The scene in Umeå, the sound from Göteborg, or even Stockholm—cities that need no further introduction when it comes to unearthing artists dedicated to certain off-beat sounds. Lately, there's a very dense undergrowth, full of small realities trying to emerge, creating quite a hub for Swedish punk. Or better yet, the one with emotional ambitions that matches the screamo identity, though tonight I'm tempted to play the geek and use skramz. It's no coincidence that European pillars of the genre, the Suis La Lune, come from here, now back on track after years of hiatus. Meanwhile, others haven't stopped and quite a few interesting names have flourished. This time it's the turn of the Shirokuma. Now, I don't know about you, but the first thing I do when I discover a band I haven't heard of is to slightly stalk (just slightly, I emphasize) for some information on the mighty World Wide Web. It wasn't easy for them. For one, searching their moniker brings up news of a Japanese anime featuring a polar bear running an ice cream shop. And partly because if I wanted to find out where they're from, which is Söderhamn, the Sacred Google would reply with IKEA's living room chair collection. Damn it. It could be quite the product placement if trillions of people listened to Shirokuma. Anyway, I'm not here to talk about furnishings and design, but about "Sun Won't Set" released in May of last year by Dog Knights, an independent label based in Brighton that consistently manages to bring out more than a few intriguing bands. Like Shizune, our very own Italian band with their debut "Le Voyageur Imprudent", but that's another story. The album is a bomb anyway, you should get it. Just like this one here.

Even though the sun lingers to rise or just doesn't want to make an appearance among threatening clouds, Shirokuma's music is not as dark and desperate as one might think. We know, the genre's standards are what they are, you can't escape them even if you want to. The coordinates can't shift too much, not because it's impossible to experiment, but if you want to talk about screamo, the prerogative of a well-hidden suffering that tumultuously gathers more and more strength to then unleash in a wave that even Kelly Slater in his prime would find hard to ride is a must. These Swedish lads do not betray the tradition, but melody plays a decisive role. And beware, when I talk about melody for once I don’t mean post-rock influences that stretch compositions over compositions, with lengths appearing redundant and sickly sweet. Here, you're dealing with only nine tracks, of which one is an instrumental outro consisting of sweet arpeggios that slowly try to soar into the air, only to fade into the shadow. The rest is a play of balances, a true chiaroscuro where our guys embroider a jagged aggressiveness capable of intertwining with brighter moments, tasked with dissipating doubts and fears. There’s a will to find their own path, to walk it with stubbornness, and to give new life to the deeper moments of the platter. Which are certainly not lacking, but from the depths of a cold ocean, one gazes towards feeble sunbeams and against all odds tries to ascend. Slowly and impetuously, to avoid suffocating, aided by the energy of which "Sun Won't Set" overflows.

It’s the triumph of an imaginary world where the atmosphere you breathe can be plucked from a random Friedrich painting. You're carried away by emotions that swiftly shift from resignation to hope, with the latter prevailing among the stop'n'go that break every fragility. Shirokuma are always there pressing on with a significant peculiarity, showered with an inspiration that leads them to subtle piano passages, melancholic sing-alongs, and structures that begin their path quietly to then resolutely shape climaxes of great impact. The rhythms climb and fall into the void in a blink of an eye seeking new directions to follow. It seems that these guys have found their personal formula to awaken from the numbness of a frigid hibernation and dive into spring waters for a liberating swim. Ultimately, the winning card is knowing how to give a soul to each of the compositions present here. There are clear intentions; they don’t shoot their cartridges randomly like newborn Liam Neeson hoping to hit the right note. Oh, I'm telling you, it’s been a while since I listened to a new entry in the screamo world with such satisfaction. The groove left by Suis La Lune must have taught these kids quite a lesson, no doubt about it, and if these are the beginnings, the future could only be brighter.


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