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Calika, "Small Talk Kills Me"
Simon Kealoha's Calika project brings a fresh perspective to bedroom vibe electronica. Fractured and reconstructed though it may be, Small Talk Kills Me is a record composed of songs more than experiments and that's a welcome change of pace.
Audiobulb
While I enjoy some deconstructed instrumentalism on occasion, Calika drives home how the approach of beating up and making up sounds can work in an emotionally relevant way when everything is put together with care. Small Talk Kills Me is full of the kind of sonic detours and lapses into exploration that many artists make entire records out of, but those excursions are always roped in by structures and melodies. Knowing the difference between following a divergent path through a composition with a purpose and simply noodling is something that a lot of artists working with this sort of sound set never manage. Luckily, Kealoha is able to balance his need to experiment with his impulse to communicate here, and it pays off well.
"Jolly Kclit" starts off with some glitchy rambling that made me wonder if this album was going to chase its tail for an hour, but by the 35 second mark there's a stuttering beat, bass melody, and fragments of looped sound that build nicely into an emotional chorus. Guitar punctuates the mix, but this hardly sounds like the live-recorded sort of "folk music with a laptop" approach. I imagine that every sound that's been recorded here has been run through the digital ringer to make it sit in Calika's kaleidoscopic mix of song and noise.
The album's quieter moments recall experiments in field recording, but they too maintain a melody that drives them forward, keeping them from hanging around like so much wallpaper. "Quarter Smile" builds on some looped guitar and backwards melodies and a simple electronic beat that creates a perfect mood. There's even a Joanna Newsom reference in one of the song titles, which doesn't seem totally out of place even in a landscape of click-pop beats.
All of this reminds me of the album's title, Small Talk Kills Me, and as someone who resembles that title in every way, I find in this record the kind of thing I'll put on when I'm at home alone, not really seeking out any company other than a collection of comfortable songs. Small talk, like so many conventions of social interaction can deaden the spirit, and Kealoha realizes that being alone with your thoughts or a good record isn't necessarily isolationist posturing. This record plays like a knowing tip of the cap to all of the other bedroom knob twiddlers and 6-string strummers and bookish quiet types who'd just as soon interact via proxy than get together for drinks. We're all out here, Calika, and we hear you just fine, we just may not be seeing you out at the pub any time soon.
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