by Jamie Kiffel
Strip your clothing, close the blinds. Chilled, naked, and alone, apply headphones. Plug in Ultralash. Prepare to hear yourself revealed.
Bare bones personal, basic and raw, this sound comes from the inside: The insides of neuroses, the insides of instruments (music box chimes, buzzing kazoos’ wax paper, fingers skidding on guitar strings), the insides of heads.
You’ll recognize sensations from sweaty, grainy conversations had at parties that end at sunrise, from thoughts that stained your half-wakened dreams, from cloudy-day contemplations on park benches, alone.
These feelings pool up from the satisfyingly lo-fi feeling that this CD was produced at someone’s kitchen table. In fact, the disc was written and produced by singer Karry Walker (with understated help from producer Roger Moutenot).
You’d expect to hear this kind of sound playing in a warehouse heaped with cast-off calico skirts, jackets, and dishes; something that doubles as a performance space for unpaid actors; melancholy-sentimental. And broken-down honest.
This is a rare kind of beauty, cradled in plainness.
(74 The Arcade Nashville, TN 37219)