Hold the front page. Perennial purveyors of electronica 'potential' from 'Frisco, Lemonade find their groove with this, their third album. Avoiding any laboured puns about the effervescence confidence brings, Lemonade sparkle with a beguiling melancholy across Diver's 44 minutes and 50 seconds. Misery loves company, and when it sounds like this, it gets it.
The record is a Trojan horse that languidly unwraps itself from the air raid siren announcing Infinite Style to the diminuendo shimmer as Lemonade disappear in the rear view mirror on Softkiss. Press play and before you know it you're in a warm cocoon, helpless. Make no mistake, there is a potent chemical quality on Diver that will surprise and disarm.
Themes, then: unrequited yearning, and lots of it – for a lover, for another time, for something better. The muted Balearic house on Whitecaps is mainstream dance as heard from the cold pavement by the person who didn't get into the club. While the lyrics always hold your ear, it's probably the flattest point – but how do you follow something as poignant as Eye Drops without a little crunch in the gear change? “Called a friend/Haven't heard from him in a while/He's got a child /It makes me feel sad”.
Diver is a sinuous, warm, complex record, and one that's comfortable as the lone traveller in its sonic landscape. If you don't think you'll like it, you probably wont. If you're curious, give it your time. You'll cry, you'll dance, you'll hit repeat.
