Folk band broadcasts the upside of ‘Dependence’

Before talking about what the Kings of Convenience’s new album Declaration of Dependence is, let’s clarify what it isn’t: experimental or innovative. That’s not to say that it’s a boring, irrelevant album — in fact, the track list flows brilliantly, which is more than some other modern albums can say — but if you’re expecting to be shocked and awe-stricken, you will be disappointed.

For everyone else, you’re in luck.

Kings of Convenience, from Bergen, Norway, is comprised of Erlend Øye and Eirik Bøe. The duo has received critical acclaim for its specific brand of quiet, intricate folk music, and Dependence continues to deliver. Here, the band skillfully weaves songs with a common thread: the trials and tribulations of love. Even if the subject material isn’t exactly new, its willingness to sing about bare emotions without pretense or irony is refreshing.

Kings of Convenience channels its inner Simon and Garfunkel, revamping the famous folk team with modern indie sensibilities. It makes for solidly written, poetic music, but it lacks experimentation or innovation in recording technique or songwriting. The result snares the listener with calm, catchy melodies, but fails to expand on it.

There isn’t much to be hidden, lyrically speaking. The duo sings straightforwardly without seeming corny, which, these days, seems to be a gift.

She’ll be gone soon/You can have me for yourself, the two croon in harmony on the album opener “24-25,” But do give, just give me today/Or you will just scare me away. Lyrics like this prove Dependence is not a political rant or a swaggering monologue, but rather a moving look at the experience of romance.

Although songs about love could lead to a minefield of musical clichés, Dependence is somehow able to navigate this warzone without much ado, primarily because the songs don’t disintegrate into anthems of loneliness, á la Dashboard Confessional. Instead, Øye and Bøe merely seem to reflect on observations made through experience. The lyrics avoid stereotypical heartache and that makes up for the safe sounds that accompany them.

Admittedly, there is a formula in place. All the songs feature delicately intricate instrumental melodies and harmonized vocals. The songs seem indistinguishable from one another at first, which might turn some people off. With patience, the tunes become unique entities.

“Mrs. Cold,” for instance, takes inspiration from Brazilian bossa nova with a jaunty double bass groove while “Boat Behind” combines wistful poetry with a melody delivered via viola. And then there are songs, such as “Rule My World” and “Freedom and Its Owner,” that are executed with the traditional dual attack of intertwined acoustic guitars.

In this age of over-processed, overbearing music, maybe their lack of experimentation is appropriate. Kings of Convenience doesn’t lose sight of what’s important about songwriting in the first place and instead proves that songs can be great not only because of what they are, but also because of what they’re not.