Alright, let’s dive into this gem of an album—Pajunköyttä Rakastun Liian Helposti by Marketta Joutsi. Released way back in 1960 in Finland, it’s one of those records that feels like stepping into a time machine. The mix of pop and jazz with schlager and easy listening vibes gives it this warm, nostalgic charm. And yeah, you can tell it’s from another era, but man, does it still hit the spot?
The album was put out by Blue Master, and big props to Pentti Lasanen for arranging and conducting—it’s got this polished yet laid-back feel, like sipping coffee on a Sunday morning. The orchestra? Smooth as butter. Lyricist Saukki deserves a shout too; they managed to pen some lines that stick with you long after the needle lifts off the record.
Now, let me break down two tracks that really stood out to me:
First up is Pajunköyttä (Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool). Oh man, this tune just oozes swagger. It’s catchy as heck, and Marketta’s voice has this playful confidence that makes you wanna grab your partner and spin ‘em around the room. I dunno what “pajunköyttä” means exactly (Google Translate failed me), but who cares when the melody’s this fun? There’s something about how the brass section swells behind her vocals—it’s like they’re egging her on, saying, “Go ahead, girl, own it!” You won’t forget this track anytime soon.
Then there’s Rakastun Liian Helposti (I Fall In Love Too Easily), which flips the mood completely. This one hits different—it’s softer, more introspective. Marketta sings like she’s spilling her heart out over tea with an old friend. The lyrics are relatable AF, even if you don’t speak Finnish. Like, haven’t we all fallen hard for someone we probably shouldn’t have? The strings here are so delicate, almost like they’re tiptoeing around your emotions. Honestly, this song kinda sneaks up on you. One minute you’re tapping your foot, the next you’re staring wistfully out the window thinking about past mistakes.
What strikes me most about this album is how timeless it feels despite being nearly 70 years old. Sure, the production screams ‘60s, but the themes—love, vulnerability, joy—they’re universal. Plus, listening to it now feels kinda rebellious, like rediscovering something everyone forgot about but shouldn’t have.
Oh, and here’s the kicker: while writing this review, I realized I’ve been mispronouncing “Pajunköyttä” the whole time. Turns out it doesn’t mean “pineapple pizza,” which is honestly disappointing because that would’ve been hilarious. Guess I’ll never know unless someone clues me in. Anyway, give this album a spin—it’s worth every bit of nostalgia.
