The record announces its intentions immediately: this is music for grown-ups, steeped in the lush arrangements and melodic complexity of Steely Dan's golden era, yet possessing an emotional transparency that Walter Becker and Donald Fagen would have buried under seventeen layers of ironic detachment. Where those influences might suggest cynicism, 7Sven offers something increasingly rare – sincerity without sentimentality, introspection without navel-gazing.

The philosophical framework borrowed from Seneca – that life isn't short, we simply squander it – provides more than mere conceptual scaffolding. It permeates the album's DNA, manifesting in songs that feel simultaneously contemplative and urgently alive. The title track distills this tension beautifully, posing questions that sound deceptively simple yet cut to the existential quick: what would you do if truly free? How would you spend your final hours? It's the sort of orchestral ballad that demands to be heard on vinyl, preferably with a decent Scotch and the phone switched off.

"Anorexic Mind" proves particularly arresting – a shimmering, hypnotic meditation that captures psychological paralysis with remarkable sonic precision. The production here is exquisite: ghostly percussion, layered guitars that seem to hover rather than strike, and piano work that feels like watching light refract through water. It's the sound of standing on the precipice, that suspended moment before commitment when every possibility remains open. The track manages to be both deeply personal and cinematically vast, a delicate balancing act that lesser artists would bungle.

Then there's "Routine," which tackles political disillusionment without descending into polemic or protest-song cliché. The track bristles with barely contained frustration, its rock-inflected urgency contrasting sharply with the album's prevailing smoothness. It's a necessary disruption, a reminder that philosophical contemplation doesn't occur in a vacuum but amid the grinding machinery of modern existence.

What elevates *But Live It* beyond mere retro pastiche is 7Sven's melodic sensibility – the man can write a hook that lodges in your consciousness without resorting to obvious tricks. The songs unfold with the patience of someone who trusts their material, allowing arrangements to breathe and develop organically. From the movement-themed "Sunset Train" to the audacious inclusion of a Sinatra cover ("Angel Eyes"), the album maintains its cohesive aesthetic while allowing each track its own character.

The production throughout strikes that elusive balance between warmth and clarity, evoking analogue-era richness without sounding deliberately antiquated. These are songs that benefit from repeat listens, revealing new details and subtle touches that reward attention – a quality increasingly scarce in an age of algorithmic consumption.

Is there perhaps a slight danger in 7Sven's chosen aesthetic? One could argue that looking backward risks irrelevance, that such sophisticated craft belongs to another era. But that criticism feels churlish when confronted with music this assured, this beautifully realized. *But Live It* makes a compelling case that certain musical values – craftsmanship, melodic sophistication, lyrical substance – never actually go out of style; they merely fall out of fashion.

In an industry obsessed with youth and novelty, 7Sven has created something genuinely countercultural: an album that asks you to slow down, pay attention, and consider how you're actually living. It's gorgeous, thoughtful, and utterly unfashionable. Which is precisely what makes it essential.