In college, I frequently visited a French music site called La Blogotheque. The site had a segment called Takeaway Shows, which were videos of independent artists performing stripped down arrangements of their songs.

This project led me to discover a number of my favorite artists, such as Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, Lykke Li, and Swedish chamber pop maestro Loney Dear.

Armed with only an acoustic guitar and a few impromptu background singers, Emil Svanängen led the videographers through a spellbinding arrangement of “Saturday Waits.” His cheery songwriting and lilting tenor immediately caught my attention, and I queued up his Sub Pop debut on Ruckus (who remembers Ruckus?)

A few moments into opener “Sinister in a State of Hope,” it was clear just how stripped the Takeaway Show was. The song opens with a drone of synths and a gentle acoustic guitar, blossoming with a chorus of woodwinds, strings, and percussion.

And to my great delight, the rest of the record was just as lush. Orchestral flourishes and blipping synths run alongside one another, augmenting Loney Dear’s gleeful acoustic guitar and achingly earnest lyrics. And honestly, the songwriting doesn’t really need the help. These songs would be just as charming without the full arrangements that accompany them.

If there is a criticism to be made here, it’s that the record is a little too precious. All of the lyrics are filled with the full sentiment of his emotion, presented without nuance or irony. It’s childish in a way: simple, naively romantic, and a bit foolhardy.

But that same childishness is where the record gets much of its appeal. It’s an invitation to shed the cynicism that so often creeps into our lives. An invitation to feel the bits of our hearts that we’ve closed off for fear of looking foolish or being wrong or stumbling a bit.

It’s an invitation into jubilance, and Loney, noir is the soundtrack.