Album Review: Robyn - Body Talk Pt. 1

It’s been five years since Robyn first released her self-titled record (her fourth, officially) – it was an immediate hit in Scandinavia, and eventually, through two years of touring and blog chatter, it wowed the rest of Europe, including the UK, before finally even finding moderate success over in America. This story will be familiar to anyone who’s taken a passing interest in the Swedish singer over the past few years – the album’s steady rise is reflected in the message of her songs, and their themes of independence, determination, and also doubt, were tied up in Robyn’s decision to buy herself out of her major label record contract and go it alone.

If her eventual success was a vindication of both her choices and songwriting ability, it was also something of a surprise. Robyn was a record full of quirks – a Teddybears cover, rapping, The Knife, songs about sexism, robot boys but also, crucially, heartbreak. At the centre of the record were her two best songs – ‘Be Mine’ and ‘With Every Heartbeat’ – which helped her cross over. There was a sense that while these songs drew many people in, not everyone stuck around for her more idiosyncractic moments.

Body Talk Pt. 1, at only half an hour in length and the first of three records Robyn hopes to release in 2010, cuts down on the number of songs but, thankfully, lacks none of her intelligence. It’s a record of sharp stylistic left turns that still manages to be ‘pop’. It’s almost as if Robyn is showing that she can have it both ways – just like last time, she has an album of refreshingly unique material for the diehards, and a couple of killer hit singles waiting for everyone else.

The big singles then: ‘Fembot’ is the child of ‘Konichiwa Bitches’ and ‘Who’s That Girl?’ from her last record – it combines a singsong chorus and melody that invite repeated listens with the kind of lyrics in the verses that reward repeated listens. In ‘Fembot’, Robyn’s a career woman, a 21^st century Stepford Wife, a ‘scientifically-advanced hot mama’, and a man-hunter (when in ‘slut mode’) – it could sound heavy-handed, but it's pulled off effortlessly, with buckets of humour. In ‘Cry When You Get Older’ meanwhile, she sounds a lot like The Long Blondes’ Kate Jackson on their first record or Camera Obscura’s Tracey-Anne Campbell – it’s all first time heartbreak, nostalgia and boredom, told through the eyes of someone who’s known a few break-ups in their time.

‘Dancing On My Own’ is probably the record’s pinnacle – it combines Robyn’s two main concerns (heartbreak and dancing) in epic fashion, and the song comes off as a bit like a cross between ‘How Soon Is Now?’ and Donna Summer. It’s an instant classic and endlessly replayable – the heady synths contrasting with the rather more down-to-earth lyrics (‘stilettos and broken bottles’ – we’ve all been in clubs like that).

Dancing recurs as a theme throughout Body Talk Pt. 1 in fact, usually as a means of escape. The Diplo-produced ‘Dancehall Queen’ recalls Ace Of Base as much as it does the producer’s more obscure reference points, but it actually works. Royksopp assist with the eery, hard-nosed ‘None Of Dem’. Opener ‘Don’t Fucking Tell Me What To Do’ gestures towards minimal techno, yet another touchstone in her patchwork of loved and accumulated influences, as Robyn rolls off a list of things that are dragging her down – ‘My drinking is killing me/My smoking is killing me/…My manager’s killing me’. Don’t catch her on a bad day.

Robyn delivers on Body Talk Pt. 1 then, effortlessly walking the line between pure pop accessibility and actually being innovative and intelligent. If she’s got another two records like this up her sleeve, she’ll be inescapable for the rest of the year, and even in a post-Gaga pop landscape she still sticks out as an utterly unique, independent prospect – so don’t fucking tell her what to do.