Frida Hyvonen
Issue #30
Until Death Comes (Secretly Canadian)
By John Everhart
Published: December 1st, 2006 | 12:00am
Frida Hyvönen’s debut is deceptively simple at its surface, with a threadbare recording aesthetic initially shielding the depth of emotions percolating beneath. Spare piano passages abound, usually accompanied by nothing more than Hyvönen’s etched-in-black vocals. But repeated listens reveal the idiosyncrasies and poignancy at the heart of these superb songs, as Hyvönen conjures the grand catharsis of Patti Smith, the stark confessions of Joni Mitchell, and the steadfast song craft of Carole King.
While the subject matter is often somber, levity is found in the ebullient rave-up “Come Another Night,” burning brightly like Love circa Forever Changes with a sprightly trumpet cutting through the baroque pop mélange like a ray of sunshine; the lithe roller-rink melodies of “Djuna!” make the forlorn lament “And we’ll celebrate our love until death comes” seem like a revelry.
It’s in the brooding moments that Hyvönen truly plays with divine fire here. “Once I Was a Serene Teenaged Child” brazenly recounts an early sexual encounter, striking a raw nerve with a Todd Solondz level of depravity, evoking both compassion and contrition as Hyvönen croons, “I don’t want your body so close and dismembered / But the feeling of power was intoxicating.”
On the closing chamber ballad “Straight Thin Line,” Hyvönen yearns to “Escape my shape / Become vibration.” It’s a plea for transcendence, recalling in its muted desperation the Velvets’ “Candy Says” resigned admission of “hating my body and all that it requires in this world.” An unsettling and sad sentiment, but also strangely comforting in Hyvönen’s twisted and beautiful world, one of many conundrums never reconciled on this beguiling record.
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