There is something quietly radical about a band that refuses to polish away its humanity. On ‘You On Repeat,’ the Swedish duo Fort Not (Robert Carlsson and Fredrik Söderström) lean into imperfection as a form of intimacy. Recorded over a sweltering summer weekend in a barn near Sweden’s west coast with Philip Gates, David Hansson, Stefan Strömberg, and Joakim Björnberg, the album feels sun-warped and immediate, as if the tape itself absorbed heat from the wooden beams and salt air. Released via Meritorio Records, it’s a record that values melodic instinct over posturing, instinct over spectacle.
The opening track, “Ragdoll,” sets the tone with guitars that chime and fray at the edges, Carlsson’s voice hovering between vulnerability and defiance. There’s a looseness to the rhythm section, Strömberg’s bass nudging against Björnberg’s drums, that suggests a band playing in the same room, feeding off glances and small smiles. The song unfolds like a confession scribbled in the margins of a notebook, casual yet cutting.
“Still Do Drugs” follows with a bittersweet lilt, its melody deceptively buoyant. Söderström’s songwriting has always had a way of smuggling ache inside a pop structure, and here the chorus blooms with disarming directness. Gates’ guitar lines spiral around the vocal, occasionally distorted, occasionally crystalline, as though undecided between nostalgia and regret. On “Beverly Hills Kills,” Fort Not flirt with satire without sacrificing empathy. The guitars buzz with a garage-pop energy reminiscent of their DIY forebears, but the song never collapses into caricature. Instead, it balances cynicism with an undercurrent of longing, as if fame itself were a mirage glimpsed through heat shimmer.
“Careless Love” slows the pulse. The arrangement is spare, almost fragile, allowing Hansson’s production to shine in its restraint. He also handled mastering, and his touch throughout the album is notable for what it refuses to smooth over. There’s air between the instruments, a sense of room. The track’s melody lingers like a half-remembered promise.
“Dream,” co-written by Söderström and Gates, introduces a subtle shift in perspective. It’s more abstract, its lyrics elliptical yet emotionally lucid. The band stretches out here, the guitars weaving in gentle counterpoint while the rhythm section holds steady. It feels like an inward gaze, the sound of a thought turning over itself late at night.
“My Mind Is Off” snaps back with wiry urgency. The chorus lands with a hook that feels both offhand and meticulously crafted, embodying the album’s central paradox: these songs sound tossed off, yet their construction reveals careful attention. Björnberg’s drumming is particularly sharp, giving the track a restless propulsion.
With “Gymnast,” Fort Not play with rhythm in a way that mirrors the title. The melody bends and twists, Carlsson’s vocal phrasing agile and slightly mischievous. There’s humor here, but also tenderness. The band never mocks its own sentimentality; instead, it frames it as something resilient. “Stationary” offers one of the album’s most affecting moments. The title suggests stasis, but the music subtly swells and recedes, as if wrestling with the desire to move forward while rooted in place. Gates’ guitar shimmers softly, and Strömberg’s bass provides a grounding warmth that anchors the song’s introspection.
“Waiting For The Sun” carries a gentle optimism without veering into naivety. Its melody glows, understated yet persistent. The barn-room recording becomes almost palpable here—the faint sense of space around the drums, the way the guitars blend rather than dominate. It’s a song about anticipation that never demands resolution. “Heaven To Me” distills the album’s emotional core. There’s a sweetness in the chord progression that recalls classic pop craftsmanship, but Fort Not filter it through their lo-fi sensibility. The result is devotional without being grandiose, intimate without being insular.
“My Favorite Rum” reintroduces a playful edge. The lyrics wink at escapism, yet the melody suggests that even indulgence carries a shadow. The band’s chemistry is especially evident here; you can sense the ease between players, the shared understanding that keeps the track buoyant. Finally, “Stop” closes the album with understated finality. Rather than exploding outward, it tightens inward, as if drawing a circle around the themes that have echoed throughout: repetition, memory, the persistence of feeling. The refrain feels less like a command and more like a plea, unresolved in the most human way.
Throughout ‘You On Repeat,’ every element feels collaborative. Carlsson and Söderström’s songwriting remains the nucleus, but Gates’ expressive guitar work, Strömberg’s steady bass, Björnberg’s intuitive drumming, and Hansson’s production shape the album’s character just as profoundly. There’s no hierarchy here, only a shared belief in melody and mood. Long whispered about as a hidden treasure within Sweden’s indie landscape, Fort Not emerge with this release not as a band chasing validation but as one confident in its voice. ‘You On Repeat’ does not shout to be heard. It hums, it confides, it circles back on itself. And in that repetition, it finds something quietly enduring.
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