If you were to listen to any album from José González, it might surprise you to know that the artist’s first musical outing was in a hardcore punk group called Back Against the Wall. However, despite sharing virtually no sonic similarities, understanding the ethos of this movement provides some context for the construction of his new record.

The appeal of the genre lies in its transgressive nature, forgoing any commercial appeal and constructing pieces that not only shake the soul but speak to it, with lyrics that challenge the status quo. While bands operating within this wheelhouse have been around since the late 1970s, Sweden experienced a boom in the hardcore punk scene around the 1990s, notably with groups like Anti Cimex and Refused, the latter known for a fiercely political identity rooted in socialism and straight-edge values.

Herein lies the foundation for Against The Dying Light — an album where González marries the cozy warmth of folk music with the very things that are keeping us from feeling safe.

“A Perfect Storm” functions as a rousing opener, a call to become aware of the collective power we all hold to change the world. It also calls out the desperation to assert an opinion in the age of misinformation: “No time for the masses to be informed … just win the race, a race to lose control.” It speaks to the drive we have to stand behind something, even when that something is misrepresented or fabricated, and insists that this energy should be channeled into a “perfect storm” against the true downfalls of our society. It signposts everything that follows.

The harmony of warmth and urgency is exemplified within “Etyd,” a song whose title translates from Swedish as “etude,” or “study.” Ironically, the song explores willful naivety; we can turn our backs on what is happening and accept it, but within this lack of awareness lies a lack of growth. With a soft voice and relaxed guitar, González understands the desire to remain oblivious but gently encourages us to wake up without shaking us awake.

The title track is similarly gentle in its call to action, opening with affirming lyrics like “Accept who you have become” and “Embrace who we could be.” These words land with added weight after “Etyd,” having already been made aware of the meaninglessness of willful ignorance. Now we are confronted with the beauty inside all of us and the power we hold before being called to disparage the vices that prevent us from seeing it: “Kill the calls that feed the hate.” True change requires us to change ourselves, and while this message could easily feel heavy-handed, the gentle delivery and sparse instrumentation keep it from seeming so.

“For Every Dusk” carries this awareness into a meditation on conflict. González implores us to recognize meaningless disputes for what they are, acting as an antidote to the doomscrolling age we live in. Identifying these situations and stepping back from them is a practice we should all engage in, especially when media is contorted and heightened to manipulate us emotionally. Saving that energy for issues with real implications for our existence is the quiet argument here. As the song winds to a close, we are reminded that “for every dusk, there is a dawn,” a beautiful note to end on.

“Sheet” is perhaps the most direct track on the album, but the sparse lyrics and sweet strings, accompanied by claps in the background, keep it from feeling preachy. Where “For Every Dusk” asks us to step away from trivial conflict, “Sheet” addresses the stubbornness that digs in when those conflicts are self-informed.

The directness of these two tracks gives way to a brief, sweet excursion in “Pajarito,” a song González wrote in Spanish for his children. The whistling and the lyric “Time to time you’ll look back to see how far we’ve gone” paint an encouraging tale of perseverance. A beautiful message lives in its simplicity, a lovely diversion in the tracklist.

In contrast, “Losing Game (Sick)” laments the moments we take steps back. “Step back and see how we are all caught up in a lose-lose” is a warning to recognize our own shortcomings, whether born of complacency or forces outside our control. It reads as the most foreboding track on the album, but having absorbed the emotional armor of “Pajarito,” you may feel ready to face what’s being sung about. The shift is a distinctive roller coaster, from the patient instrumentals of the former into the quickening strings and rapid percussion of the latter.

“Ay Querida,” translating to “Oh darling,” lays down a stunning bed of strings in perhaps the album’s most raw instrumental moment, almost a balm for the soul after “Losing Game (Sick).” As González sings, “Oh darling, oh what a life you got,” it becomes a moment of pause to sit with everything so far and look ahead. It feels like an older sibling to “Pajarito.”

The next two songs, “U / Rawls Slöja” and “Gymnasten,” form another narrative pairing. The former is a sprawling condemnation of societal transgressions against multiple women. González retains a poetic touch throughout, forming sharp imagery for each struggle created at the hands of oppression: “Became a dilemma for the city police, the body was cremated in a hurry.” It is at once damning and deeply tender. As he calls into question the inherent bias within social systems and governments, the instrumentation remains uncomplicated, lightly guiding the listener through each angle of the story. The track is raw and quietly devastating when broken down lyrically, a perfect illustration of the urgency and poeticism González has honed across decades of songwriting. It ends on an uplifting note that bleeds into the following song as we hear of a woman leaping from a trampoline “up into the sky.”

“Gymnasten” follows this woman as “she glides forward!” The quickening strings shift to a more hopeful register, creating a powerful shedding of the restrictions and transgressions from the previous track. González describes her movements with the energy of an Olympian commentator, letting us properly visualize her liberation. It is an evocative two-track narrative.

“Just a Rock” and “You & We” form another two-hander, though without the same fully formed narrative arc. “Just a Rock” is a song of encouragement, urging us to leave states of malaise and recognize the beauty in ourselves and each other. Toward the end, González grows insistent, the refrain of “Can’t you see you and me?” rising with conviction. “You & We” carries this collective call into something more intimate, a singular expression of comfort guarded by González’s warmth. “Believe me when I say that I wish you well.” Light bells pepper the sonic landscape as his vocals wrap us up, nudging us away from our sedentary natures. A final reminder to never indulge in certainty.

“Joy (Can’t Help but Sing)” closes the album with a return to its themes, alongside a personification of the world we are being called to save. A house is described with bones; fields outside harbor our names. Our planet is not a backdrop but a participant, holding collective memories and pains sung about throughout. As the world takes human form, González touches on the power of music to keep us conscious and connected. “We’re still conscious souls who can’t help but sing.” It is a statement in direct communication with his hardcore punk roots, a reminder that the power of music to speak on political topics is not confined to any one genre — a full-circle moment and a fitting one.

From everything described here, Against The Dying Light may seem like a daunting listen, particularly in an age where new rock bottoms keep being discovered. But González wants us to face these uncertain times with his hand on our shoulder. The confident vocal performances and instrumentation serve songs that light a fire in the soul and widen the eyes. There is a certainty to the entire album, a quiet conviction that things will work out once we recognize the collective power we hold. A little sentimental? Sure. But we could all use a little of that right now.

9/10