Snoh Aalegra rewinds to the quiet storm on Legendary Love

The sounds of the 1980s have arguably played out this phenomenon more than those of any other period, especially in R&B, where drum machines, synths, and those signature electric piano tones keep resurfacing. Legendary Love, the fourth album from Swedish–Iranian artist Snoh Aalegra, is the latest example of this ongoing revival and captures it remarkably well.

Written over two and a half years and inspired by a relationship that never fully materialised, Legendary Love takes its stylistic nods as seriously as it does romantic devotion; the synths, drum machines, and guitars were all recorded on gear from the decade. Where her previous work steered R&B toward the aesthetics of so-called neo-soul, here she shifts toward the grown-up polish of sophisti-pop.

"Run Free" opens the album in perfect keeping with its concept. Aalegra's voice is so laden with reverb it sounds like a late-night FM broadcast from forty years back. "I Love You" is the album's high point, with Nile Rodgers' guitar and Raphael Saadiq's bass giving the track a groove that moves between Sade and Afrobeat, while "Karma" highlights the versatility of the vocals, from velvety lows to her feather-light falsetto. Aalegra's voice steals the show again on the Babyface co-write "Timeless", phrasing with the lightness typical of young R&B singers, over a rhythm track by No I.D. that gives the song a contemporary frame.

For all its retro styling, Legendary Love's best moments are those that break away from the past with a little more conviction. "This That", for instance, owes more to Blood Orange's neo-soul than to any '80s template, while "Repair", produced by Daniel Caesar, is spacious and contemplative.

In the album's second half though, nostalgia becomes something of a formula. "Warmest Shade of Blue" largely succeeds as an unabashed '80s sound that still feels contemporary, but "Just Friends" sounds a bit too much like a Whitney Houston or Janet Jackson ballad, albeit with a touch of The Weeknd. Despite carrying Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis's DNA, "Nothing Compares" comes across as pretty standard made-for-radio R&B, while the title track leans so heavily on mid-'80s Sade that it borders on imitation, but ultimately lacks the smoothness of the British band's soulful jazz.

"Supernova", the album's only foray into synth-funk, provides a welcome jolt between "Nothing Compares" and "Legendary Love", but leaves me wondering what other funky gems might have emerged had she explored this direction further. "Greatest of All Time" restores the magic at the final hurdle, providing a fitting conclusion. Its classic late-night R&B aura – a ballad in 3/4 time backed by a choir that swells in the background – is a reminder that Legendary Love works best when its vintage textures blend with Aalegra's voice and reinforce her entry into the sophisti-pop canon.

But when reverence turns into something approaching mere reproduction, the songs slide regrettably into pastiche. Overall, though, Legendary Love is a potent enough statement on devotion, laying bare Aalegra's obsessions and melancholy without restraint, just as feelings ought to be.