In the seven years since Silent Shout, the Knife's mythology has grown to the point where the Swedish duo seem like something other than a band. "Band" implies people banging on things widely agreed upon as instruments and making things that most people would recognize as "music"-- this feels like an inadequately pedestrian way to describe what Karin Dreijer Andersson and Olof Dreijer are. Perhaps even more so in their absence, the Knife have come to seem like a vibe, an ethic, a dark, not-entirely-scientifically-understood phenomena; other bands are to the Knife what matter is to anti-matter. When new artists say they've been influenced by the Knife-- and it's a claim countless have made in the past few years-- they are at this point referencing not just a specific sound but an entire way of being in our information-glutted world: a desire to retain a tightly controlled, precisely evocative sense of mystery and mastery over their image. Even in the wake of such pollutants as international success, ubiquitous acclaim, and frequent imitation, the Knife have found a way to keep their name meaning something remarkably unique and pure.
