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First Aid Kit review – the sisters twang it out for each other, with rare power

Johanna, left, and Klara Soderberg of First Aid Kit.
Authenticity and dedication … Johanna, left, and Klara Soderberg of First Aid Kit. Photograph: Tim Mosenfelder/Getty Images

‘This one’s a fuckin’ banger!” a gruff voice hollers from the belly of the Academy’s sold-out hall. Scandinavian sisters First Aid Kit just introduced new song Fireworks and its swooning, 50s-inspired waltz through unpursued dreams is, admittedly, far from a party starter. But such is the showmanship of Johanna and Klara Söderberg. The sisters are professional people-pleasers, swigging Irn-Bru and chatting Six Nations scores in between an otherwise tightly rehearsed, slick show.

The folk-pop duo’s fourth album, Ruins, is ostensibly a break-up album. In the four years since their last LP, Klara broke up with her partner, moved back to Stockholm and reunited with Johanna. On grandiose opener Rebel Heart, Klara sings with a clenched jaw about the bad habits that a heart can still desire. And later, on To Live a Life, she stands solitary in the spotlight. “I’m alone now,” she shares, frankly and with an aura of real pain.

Pastoral illustrations of empty, dusty highways are the backdrop, and the duo’s Scandi-southern twang, which has been derided as a gimmick, is at full volume. Still, even tracks that veer close to cliche, such as the boozy campfire ballad Hem of Her Dress, feel authentic by virtue of First Aid Kit’s obvious dedication to them. The whimsy long associated with the band is fading fast: there is new muscle behind the recent single It’s a Shame, and last year’s furious You Are the Problem Here sees Klara spit “I hope you fucking suffer” with relish. Renditions of older songs – Lion’s Roar, Wolf – sound, too, as if they’re growing weightier in line with the Söderbergs’ ambitions.

The evening makes it plain that Ruins is also a romance. The sisters’ astonishing harmonies transform these songs of hurt into acts of solidarity. For Emmylou, a fan favourite and tribute to the Söderbergs’ beloved country musicians, a short film plays out on the screen behind them. Sepia-tinged, it documents their sisterhood. As they sing for the room it’s clear that really, they’re singing for each other. Unprompted, the Academy swells as two thousand voices join them on the chorus. There’s rare power in a performance this heartfelt.