Sondre Lerche

He's proved over six albums that he's adept at writing a tune that's catchy without being superficial. He spends a little too much time here doing that, which is why Sondre Lerche, while not a bad record, plays like a safe one.

Lerche's pretty falsetto around an unexpectedly funky beat before blossoming into a harmonious choral chant that evokes the kind of hard-won joy depicted at the end of movies, where people with tear-stained but smiling faces sway back and forth with their arms around each other.

Now a dependably intriguing wordsmith, he still shows no shortage of unusually intelligent quirks.

This eponymous release is as flavorless as its moniker-in spite of the notable piano, string, and accordion flourishes, the rest of the mostly subdued bunch isn't all that memorable, with the possible exception of the closer, "When The River," which gets its laid-back groove on and ends up making a pretty impressive showing with dramatic synths, echo-y vocals, and jangly guitar.

All in all, the album feels like the slightest bit bloodless, the older, wiser Lerche a little less than the yearning teenager we once knew.

In the end, the comfort if a Sondre Lerche album is what also makes it forgettable. [May 2011, p.79