Are ABBA still hogging the sash for Swedish pop excellence? Might be time to slip the threadbare old thing off while they’re snoozing and let five flighty girls with heartbeats you could probably dance to (if they’d only let you close enough) take it out for a spin. Those Dancing Days may not be on a direct course to have a West End musical or cheesy chick-flick commercialise their legend in 25 years time, they don’t even have the top 10 especially in their sights (not in this parallel universe anyway), but perfection still hounds this album like an obsessed fan, even if it ducks and sheepishly hides behind the bins every time you spin round to catch them in the act. The sweetest flush of harmonies, in spades, swerve playfully but invariably get pinned down in most instances with the aid of a riotous welter of drums executed in no-frills Mo Tucker style. When they really hit gold – possibly accidentally as it feels so effortless – on ‘Hitten’, ‘Run Run’ and ‘Spaceherosuits’ they sound like The Pipettes messing up Bananarama’s hair and taking production directives from Phil Spector via secret codes in his televised murder trail. What we essentially have again and again, but especially in those tunes (and playful ska-spiked near theme tune ‘Those Dancing Days’ too), are 60’s girl groups like The Ronettes, The Shirelles, The Shangri-Las (you know the ones) stripped of their make-up, dancing in front of their mirror with a hair-brush and a very minor hint of impurity, inferred but never expressed. Well, if they’re wearing the sash they kind of have to keep that part of the pretence up. Good job say we.
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