The Knife continues its 20th anniversary celebration as the duo of Karin and Olof Dreijer revisit Deep Cuts, a Trojan horse of a pop record that dreamt of a revolution. The Knife sought to imbue Deep Cuts with allusions to their socialist political ideals via the democratization of art. The duo conceived calypso-tinged electronic pop and used it to rail against ingrained structural entities such as the police state, toxic masculinity, and domestic abuse. It was a spoonful of auditory sugar to help offset the bitterness of a dark reality. Deep Cuts offered a chance for people to dance while confronting a troubled world. Karin and Olof are also offering new insight into their catalog in reverse chronological order. The snippet below is from an August chat the pair had with journalist Ruth Saxelby about Deep Cuts and its radical underpinnings. THE KNIFE ON DEEP CUTS Deep Cuts is the 2003 album that lives up to The Knife’s name. A seething dissection of the status quo dressed up in the most delicious of hooks; a Trojan Horse of a pop record that dreamt of a revolution. Olof: I liked the idea of packaging socialist and feminist ideas in a pop format because I believe that strategy. I don’t think it’s a great idea doing experimental music that only the elite understand. Karin: Making Deep Cuts, yes, we had quite a clear idea. It was trying to make something more modern. We decided to use plugins and programs that were cheap or for free. On their second studio album, The Knife’s storytelling is sharp enough to draw blood. Everything is fair game for the chopping board: an abusive relationship, the patriarchy, heteronormativity, the police state. There is confidence and clarity in the album’s skewering of oppressive structures, but also admissions of severe anxiety. To survive modern day society is to dance between public and private selves; to push against conventionality and somehow still find space to heal. Satire is the stone to The Knife’s blade on Deep Cuts, but it’s their earworm melodies that really did damage. Their sonic arsenal included serrated synths aplenty and lots of steel drums. Karin: Yeah, we kind of liked steel drums. Olof: Electronic plastic fake ones. The album’s biggest hits — Heartbeats, Pass This On, and You Take My Breath Away — spliced their singalong choruses with an urgent queer sexuality: I don’t like the straight way, informs the latter. To date, their dalliances with pop’s primary currency, the music video, had circled more DIY forms. But they took a chance on something more polished for Pass This On’s intriguing tale of infatuation. Karin: Yeah, it’s a fun little play. I remember the video shooting. It was the summer of 2003. I was very into [Pedro] Almodóvar movies, and his film High Heels has a drag person singing a song. I saw this Swedish performer, Rickard Engfors, and I thought it would be amazing if he could sing this song. Olof: Johan [Renck, the director] came to us and asked if he could do a video. We were a bit hesitant in the beginning. Karin: But then we said, ‘We have this idea with this Almodóvar film, if you want to do something like that.’ Olof: We hadn’t done an expensive video production before, and he came with those resources and experiences. I would say that he added a lot to this idea that gave the video a really interesting context. Karin: He came up with the setting and all the other people in it. Olof is there and I am there in the background. I still think it’s a very beautiful piece.
