Recorded in LA; sounds like smog…

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[6.78]

Jonathan Bradley: The Raveonettes were birthed into a niche — shoegaze guitars, gated drums — but they’ve never mined it so gorgeously as they do here. This is a marvellous and wistful wisp of a song, as much Sarah Records as it is Jesus And Mary Chain, and no worse for its similarity to either. It plays its dream pop cards expertly: an ingratiating tendril of a guitar line and fatalistic miserablism delivered with just enough sunshine (“you are always there to remind me/love fades if you’re never around me”). Few hurts ache so right.
[8]

Edward Okulicz: Having become a fan with Whip It On, I’ve stayed one because even as they’ve diverted and grown beyond just being garage rock for people who’d take either the ’60s or the ’90s over the ’70s, the songs are as good as ever. “The Enemy” is a plaintive swoon, and its little guitar motifs remind me of either The Sundays or “Linger” depending on which is the bigger compliment. There must have been the temptation to throw some stately strings over this and I’m sure glad The Raveonettes have better tricks up their sleeves than that.
[8]

Jonathan Bogart: The reason I stopped listening to the Raveonettes in 2005 was that I couldn’t stand Sune writing these great girl-group melodies and then singing them himself instead of giving them to Sharin. I’m not necessarily going to start listening to the Raveonettes again — a lot more has changed in the last seven years than just that — but I’m glad to hear those silvery tones over blissed-out scuzz again.
[7]

Patrick St. Michel: It sounds like fuzzy indie-pop made for lazy afternoons spent staring off into the distance, the perfect background music for zoning out. The Raveonettes, though, are far too sneaky to just release something that simple, and the lyrics to “The Enemy” conceal feelings far less blissful than the music. “Wishing for the days that we first met and we moved out/to places where we could die” isn’t particularly upbeat, and the chorus finds the narrator labeling herself “the enemy.”  It sounds pretty enough to play on loop, but hides enough to pull you in for more.
[8]

Alfred Soto: Dream pop programmed for college radio stations bored of Beach House but aware that the next retro slot will play Cocteau Twins.
[5]

Katherine St Asaph: Do I like Camera Obscura enough to listen to “Always Something There to Remind Me” in their style? Apparently.
[7]

Brad Shoup: Oh, awesome, it’s that Blueboy revival I was promised.
[5]

Anthony Easton: Unsentimenal words in a sentimental track have a certain amount of power, but the juxtaposition between music and text just doesn’t work for me here — though the music itself is genuinely pretty, in a kind of glittery way.
[5]

Will Adams: It takes a few listens for “The Enemy” to sink in. Coming off the tidal wave of noise on Raven in the Grave, it floats on the surface, unassuming and stately. The final thirty seconds are the key, though, pulling you in as the kick drum doubles in pace, the cymbals finally awaken, and the declaration “I’m the enemy” transforms from a feeling to a reality.
[8]