While there certainly is some twee funk surrounding Dag fĂ¶r Dag, the brother-sister duo manage to achieve genuine emotional power on â€śBoo,â€ť even on tunes that threaten to become precious and annoying. They know how to restrain their obvious desire to go for the easy artsy; instead they allow a line to linger, a vocal to echo, a line to move on to another without trying to use sustain as proof of importance.
They know that the simplicity of the tunes can speak more volumes than the urge to overstate. Clearly, in other hands, â€śSilence is the Verbâ€ť and â€śTraffic Jamâ€ť would be awful in lesser hands, retro arrogant pop only a McLaren could love. Equally true is that songs like â€śSeven Storiesâ€ť and â€śBoxed in Pineâ€ť are claustrophobic, understated but raw gems, the vocals of both Parthemore and Donald Snavely trusting their music enough to carry the power as much as the vocals. And while â€śThe Leather of Your Bootsâ€ť and â€śCame in Like a Knifeâ€ť donâ€™t reach the erotic menace intended, â€śI Am The Assassinâ€ť and â€śRing Me, Elsieâ€ť DO.
Dag fĂ¶r Dag so teeter on the verge of wasting our time with tired atmospheric clichĂ©s, that each tangent away from that and into sexy, gritty honest pop-rock is more a revelation than a relief. â€śBooâ€ť is as brilliant as it thinks it is, but only in the many moments in which Dag fĂ¶r Dag donâ€™t think, but act, on their best instincts.