For about a week now, I have been watching this music video directed by Johan Renck on a veritable loop, taking breaks to eat (well, I can and have eaten while watching the video, but I have to get up to get the food to bring it back to my computer), sleep, wait tables, defecate, and write this blog:
The video features the song “Pass This On,” from the 2006 album Deep Cuts by Swedish band The Knife. In addition to getting me interested in electronic music, which I’d pretty much written off since a couple of psychotropic years in high school (during which glow sticks were a big part of my life), The Knife is of particular interest to me because of their tendency to overcome gender by either overtly playing with it or by disguising it. Made up of sister and brother team Karin Dreijer Andersson and Olof Dreijer, The Knife, which is (temporarily?) disbanded, is one male, one female and the epitome of androgyny. They are gods in Europe. And while interviews with them don’t reflect this entirely, it’s important to remember that it’s their real world personas that are being interviewed, Karin and Olof. When they are performing, though, they wear masks or makeup and baggy custodian jumpsuits, so telling which is which is impossible unless you pay attention to what they are doing. They are purposefully androgynous as The Knife.
Here’s a photo of them masked:
And unmasked, but playing with the stereotypical genders of gymnast and gymnastics coach:
Music videos seem to be a different animal for serious Electronica in Europe than the childishly pyrotechnic-ed or freshman-film-student staid monstrosities we see here [For a totally unrelated laugh, watch Mariah Carey try to make eggs and sausage in this retardation]. Very rarely do The Knife appear in their own videos, often employing cutting edge animation instead, and when they do appear, it is even rarer that they are seen as the performers.
In the “Pass This On” video Rickard Engfors, a Swedish drag queen, performs in what looks like the Swedish version of a Knights of Columbus for a reluctant audience. Engfors is slim, tall and, dare I say, sexy. I’d say you’re lying if you aren’t at least a little turned on by Engfors in this video, no matter what your sexual orientation is. After numerous viewings, I’ve determined that Engfors is just downright magnetic, and because you know he’s a man dressed as a woman, the resulting effect is both provocative and arousing. Drag queens are usually perceived in American pop culture to be over-the-top. The art of drag is one based on careful impersonation, and the aped women are often larger-than-life themselves: divas, actresses, first ladies, etc. So seeing a drag performance that has the essential and meticulous self-awareness required to pull it off, but then utilizes that self-awareness for subtlety is not only refreshing, it also allows for appreciation of what otherwise might have been seen as garish by those who don’t get that sort of thing. Engfors is an irresistible siren here, and if you don’t believe me, just look at how all the guys want to dance with her.
Can you spot Karin in the video? How about Olof? Karin is sitting down in the audience, wide eyed, and Olof is the kid in the blue jacket who dances with the “singer.” They are on lookers, rapt by this gender-bending performance, when in reality they created the song. It gets even more interesting when the lyrics come into play. The words “I’m in love with your brother,” are repeated throughout the song. Considering that Karin and Olof are siblings adds another level of interest to the video and could provide insight into the inspiration for the song. I have no idea what Olof Dreijer’s sexual orientation is, but I’m sure he’s fielded amorous fans of both sexes—considering the long-standing relationship between electronic music and gay culture—and Karin may have been forced to field them for him as well.
Whatever the motivation, The Knife represents a deep gender equality; as siblings, the Dreijers most likely never had to handle anything sexual with each other, so that element of power-play is not part of their equation. And in her solo project to be released in a couple of weeks (it's been out digitally for a few months), which was recorded under the moniker Fever Ray, Karin Dreijer completely subverts what would be expected from a female songwriter. She’s following the likes of Bjork in her complex compositions and singularity. On the eponymous album, she treats her voice as an instrument on track after track, distorting its pitch to the depths of the octave pool, rendering her gender obsolete. She often sounds like some giant, multi-throated salamander crooning from its deep, murky lair, especially in this song. And none of the songs on this album, mind you, are about love or relationships, a subject matter that even Bjork cannot avoid. Instead, Karin focuses on more complex themes, like the nature of artistic inspiration or taking life by the balls.
