Oslo (and also Bergen) has the advantage of assimilating musicians from outside towns into a small, yet loosely connected scene. Meaning — everybody eventually find themselves at least one degree separated from everybody else, and with the diversity of bars and scenes it’s not difficult to draw the line as to which particular subculture you choose to be involved with. Part of the mediocrity I’ve observed in the Norwegian music scene is precisely because of the nature of it being small, and bands who may play well and write solidly recorded songs aren’t necessarily pushing the envelope in any way, or are just revivals of old styles (e.g. “screamo with black shirts white ties” or “insular female singersongwriter with a slightly alternative edge” — yet everyone is so closely related to each other, whether by work (bars, music, booking, writers, producers) or friends, that I see a lot of stuff gets more easily digested from that basic fact that they “know the person”, or it gets big in waves, or trends, like the way NME flaunts what’s “hot” and suddenly they are playing the big Carling venue tours & Reading & Leeds & that who is circuit, blah blah blah.

A few independent Norwegian labels and artists on the peripheral or outside really have nothing to do with any scene except for what they’ve made themselves, following more of the 90’s DIY American ideals. Most of the musicians, and not too dissimilar from original black metal bands, totally and utterly don’t FIT in the Norwegian “mainstream”, ie. flaunted in national press, radio, advertising. I Was A King did at once fit into this category, as its brainchild Frode Strømstad has been involved with indie-independent music for a while, with affinities to all that is lo-fi, folk, twee, cushy, noisy, etc. But with their recent Dagbladet explosion, who gave IWAK the most coveted sixer, claiming no Norwegian or international artist could really top them in 2009, well — you really hope it is that damn good.

What the press does is to often associate new bands with the genealogy of bands in their own milieu, so it’s no surprise that in the UK for example, IWAK would be referenced with that torturous term “shoegazer”, (with their counterparts Serena Maneesh already taking some of that slack), and nods to My Bloody Valentine, Jesus and Mary Chain, Creation Records, etc. I’m guessing once Pitchfork takes ahold of this we’re going to hear something about the Elephant 6 collective, Dinosaur Jr., even that early nineties Tooth & Nail. And while their “s/t” is a mature, complete album, it’s no surprise that Norwegian papers find it mind-blowing, because simply, there is no context whatsoever, or history for these kinds of bands. But I’m sorry to say, radical this just ain’t.

Yet I’ve been preaching a 90’s revival since my nostalgia for flannel and VHS, and on this record, one of the opening songs “Step Aside” happily reminds me of a potential intro if “Reality Bites” ever became a TV series — muted Big Muff gimmicks like a throwback to Seattle 1991, sitting around dope-smoking and getting lost in dreamy, melodic vocals atop layers of buttery guitars and clumsy-cute firsttake sounding tweaks and tinkerings. Not the worst choice for the innocent escapist but again, “Golden Years” almost sounds like a direct lift of that signature Loveless riff, and tunes like “A Name That Hurts to Say”  and “Hard Luck Bad News” sound like poorly executed fillers. I’ll also be cursed if I hear one more goddamned song about California.

On the other hand, I  would say the strongest track is, “Extra Number”, which is more reminiscent of the (Californian) Beach Boys’ dark naivety in IWAK’s perhaps stronger previous record “Losing Something Good for Something Different”, and the most indicative songs being, “Breathe” or “It’s All You”. It begins with poignant piano intro and rolls neatly into their whimsical, feel-good verse chorus pop recipe. But then again, the girl-guy vocals leaving you all transcendent (strangely enough, Raveonettes‘ 2003 “Chain Gain of Love” was on in the background at the cafe, with uncanny similarities) and tremolo induced choruses just seem like a tired form which, although coming from a genuine source, unfortunately doesn’t add up to its merchandising. What it lacks in guts frankly makes me feel unoverwhelmed by what Lester Bangs says fuzz oughta do, that is, inspire you with bits of unarguable affirmation.

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