Few names carry as much identity-defining weight as Armand Jakobsson: a Malmö-born Swede transplanted to Barcelona, he baptized, almost as a joke, an entire genre—that lo-fi house of the mid-2010s made of tape hiss and slowed-down tempos. The label landed on him before he'd even fully grasped what he was doing, and he's lived with it ever since. "If This Is It", his third album and second for Ninja Tune, is the record that closes that circle: he began it the very same week his previous album "Mirrors" came out in 2021, letting it mature for five years between tours, digging up demos from the hard drive and polishing them to exhaustion. The stated concept is acceptance—enjoying the present instead of mourning the past—and in a way it's also a means of setting aside that very same lo-fi house he invented, as melancholic as a vaporwave track anchored to a four-on-the-floor kick.
Sonically, the signature here is a melodic, crystalline UK garage, with trance-tinged veins and a string of guests filling a cauldron that's not particularly flavourful. Blending radio-ready euphoria with interchangeable ideas, the artist builds synth-pop swerves and Balearic hooks, ballads inspired by road trips and syncopated beats riding ear-catching lines. It somewhat recalls the latest Lust For Youth, but with more emotional verve, layering lunar synthwave over summery rhythms. What gives him away, though, is precisely the polish. In searching for a new direction and reaching for stylistic maturity, Jakobsson smooths away all the roughness: the dirty grain gives way to a showroom sheen, to vocal manipulations we've already heard, and thematic progressions that have been circulating in clubs since time immemorial.
Combining uplifting elements with sugar in abundance gives the impression of a depth and emotional fragility more declared than actually felt. The packaging is impeccable, like a YouTube tutorial that flawlessly explains how to build that powerful bassline—but which, once you understand the mechanism, doesn't make you want to try it yourself. The twelve tracks glide by with too much politeness, weighed down by too much interchangeable material, the kind that convinces more through technical skill than inspiration. After five years of gestation you'd expect a leap, a tear in the fabric; instead what arrives is a grown-up, tidy record that files down every edge and, in doing so, forgets why anyone fell in love with that sound in the first place.
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01/07/2026
This article is an English translation of the original Italian text by Alessandro Giustiniano, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.