The Swedes just keep getting it right. Indie-pop outfit the Deer Tracks is no exception with its mad alchemy of sounds that waver between orchestral sweeps, stirring strings and heavy dubstep. Hailing from Gävle, Sweden, singer Elin Lindfors and her musical counterpart David Lehnberg make up the electronic duo and together embrace a kitchen-sink approach to performing their rich sonic soundscapes. The synth-filled jams off of The Archer Trilogy Pt. 3, the final installment of their three-part debut, shake up the intimate, garage-like space of Pianos, leaving it with an air of electronic mist.
 
Adorned in white, Lindfors is angelic and a heavenly contrast to the three bandmates behind her. Head to toe in black, they seem to disappear into the backdrop, until Lehnberg lets out all his inner rage, with chronic head-banging and a slamming of the keyboard. It’s appropriate then that “Divine Light” starts the set; the groovy, electronic track sees Lindfors smacking a tambourine and playing a saw between her thighs. The makeshift violin—bow and saw—creates rousing ricochets above her reverb-heavy vocals: “Round it goes, round we fall.” As Lehnberg screams, Lindfors’s ghostly body seems to be lost in a trance.
 

 
Falling somewhere between Frou Frou, the Knife and Pink Floyd, Deer Tracks’ music is the doe-eyed stuff of fables. “Ram Ram” has a playful innocence and an adventurous spirit that sees interludes of skittering ambient drift mixed up with an über-catchy melody and Lindfors’s quirky rasp. “We are the happy people with invisible ropes around our necks,” she sings. Songs like “W” gently thump with a steady beat below lush, billowing harmonies. Lehnberg picks up the tambourine and then breaks out in an utterly controlled, faultless keyboard instrumental.
 
The candied chorus on “Lazarus” gives it the essence of a love song, while the cymbal-heavy “Explodion” is like a warped children’s game as Lenhberg chuckles, “Ha ha ha ha” repeatedly then ends the track with a thrashing keyboard part. “The Archer” is packed with all the bells and whistles—melody, pulsating beats, clapping—and bursts with adrenalin. Lenhberg asks, “Can we play some more?” The eerie album closer “The Ghost Hour” then ends the set, but even amidst all the gothic brooding Lindfors smiles cheekily.