There has always been a sonic contradiction at the heart of Elea Calvet’s music, an attraction built of opposites, an unusual juxtaposition of sounds, and her latest single, “Seasons,” is a fantastic example of what I’m talking about.
One of the sparser songs on an already sparse album, “Seasons,” is effectively one voice and one guitar playing fractured melodies. But it is the contrast between these two musical forces that makes her music so evocative. The terrible beauty of her voice and the heartache that drips from the song is somehow at odds with the raw, broken, and abrasive chords that provide the platform for her. And it is in trying to reconcile those unreconcilable sounds that she finds her unique sound.
Such an understated sound allows for her music’s important, hidden factor to do its work. Space. Space allows for atmospheres and anticipations to pool and percolate in the void between those fractious and fractured chords and the pauses between the words. Space is the unseen third element, a sort of negative space that is positively overpowering.
“Seasons” is many things: haunting, shadowed, raw, poignant, devastatingly beautiful. It is proof that you don’t need to add layer upon layer of texture and instrumentation, melody, and motif to create an impression. It is proof that mood and conviction are powerful tools, and it is proof that the old adage is true: less is indeed more.
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