The Cardigans: Long Gone Before Daylight

When the independent label Minty Fresh released The Cardigans' second album, Life, in the U.S. in 1996, most pegged the Swedes' sound as giddy sunshine pop with a drop of irony—an assessment seemingly borne out by the band's mostly bright major-label debut, 1996's First Band On The Moon, with its infectious, danceable hit "Lovefool." But The Cardigans' first album, Emmerdale (at the time unavailable domestically), was a darker record in sound and subject matter, and when the icy, occasionally abrasive Gran Turismo followed in 1998, American listeners who thought the group was all about sugary music and chirpy sentiment took a pass.

After a four-year hiatus filled with solo projects and rumors of dissolution, The Cardigans returned in 2003 with the country-rock-leaning Long Gone Before Daylight, now available in America. Fans who enjoyed The Cardigans' evolution toward the challenging art-disco of Gran Turismo will likely be disappointed by Daylight, which at least superficially sounds like the kind of easygoing roots-lite better associated with Sheryl Crow or Bonnie Raitt. And fans who liked The Cardigans when the band was singing lovesick pop songs might not want to follow it as far as "And Then You Kissed Me," a slow-building six-minute ballad about a woman who looks forward to being beaten up by her boyfriend.

That leaves the fans for whom The Cardigans' virtues have always been bound up in Peter Svensson's supple guitar, with its elaborate webs of twang, and Nina Persson's witty, confessional lyrics. Those are qualities that transcend genre, suited to arresting rock songs like Long Gone Before Daylight's sweet-rolling "You're The Storm" and crackling "A Good Horse" as much as to frenzied neo-lounge like First Band On The Moon's "Your New Cuckoo." The only real difference between the punchy new track "For What It's Worth" and "Lovefool" is that the former sounds less synthetic.

Of course, the artificial tinge was part of The Cardigans' appeal in the '90s, and when the band saddles itself with a bland song—as on about a third of Long Gone Before Daylight—the lack of production gimmickry makes it even blander. Or maybe it's just a case of reputation and expectation working against otherwise-sound material. The name on the label shouldn't prevent people from enjoying a song as dreamy and subtle as "Couldn't Care Less," which bubbles along quietly, turning a message of defiance into one of resignation.