While seemingly gentle and sweet, you get the sense that the people in Faye songs aren't going to be broken, possibly ever. They sure do take their lumps and they're treated poorly, like all of us are at times, but there's something about them that's going to keep them always hanging on, for better or for worse. It's something like loyalty, but it's more than that.
The group from Stockholm, Sweden, led by Faye (or Fanny Hamlin) and filled out by Johan Cederberg and Victor Holmberg, is a maker of torchy ballads that ooze like beeswax and hit like punches from the hands of a heavyweight banger. Happiness appears to get dented, molested, but Faye insists occasionally that she's not taking it, that she refuses to let herself get down. Even when her body fails a bit - a result of heartbreak, or some undue stress - she just goes on with whatever she would have been doing otherwise. "My heart goes way too slow/It beats for you no more," she sings as she doesn't allow flies in her ointment.
She recognizes the strains and the rubs, but she does everything she can to smooth out the ripples, to throw a compress on as soon after the accident as possible to quell the swelling as much as she can. She gets low at times. She gets lower at other times, but she keeps those times and the high times on the same chain, all of the events that brought her to them as pendants or charms that she can feel hitting her breastbone, that she can caress with her fingers. She gets fucked up by her fevers, but she seems capable of giving fevers herself, so it evens itself out. She sings, "It's times like these I wish I knew what you were thinking bout me/But either way, I'm still here/Can feel it growing inside of me/The cold breeze/Last place that you saw me," and we're sure that she's whole, but still hurting nicely.