There is something intimate at the heart of Mt. Kili’s songs, something hushed and whispered, as if they were never meant to be played to anyone other than the closest friends and members of his own family. Perhaps a clue as to what drives Rick Sichta’s music is found in the title of his previous album, Ten Songs for my Girls, for Now and Later.
But there is also a lovely contradiction at work here: as personal as these songs feel, as understated and reserved as they are, they are often worldly in their scale and scope, inspired by experiences gathered while backpacking through China and Tibet, and particularly by his trek to Mt. Everest. A humble sound made in response to some of the most majestic and inspiring sites on earth.
“Dont’ Start a War” immediatly reminds me of the likes of Damien Rice, that ability to do so much with so little, how space is as integral to chord and voice and beat, how in those deft spaces between, all manner of additional atmospheres are allowed to pool and percolate, atmospheres that become more than the sum of the musical parts.
There is also an elemental thread running through, from “The Rain Song’s” pitter-patter, finger-picked guitar, and approaching storm-cloud sonics to “The Weather Report’s” chiming resonance. It is something also found in the gorgeous violins and happy-go-lucky whistle-infused ode to travel…metaphorical or otherwise… “The Road Isn’t as Long as It Seems.” The album is rounded off with a reminder to be patient, that good things come to those who wait, in the delicate form of “All in Good Time.”
While indie-folk kids try to reinvent the form, folktronic pioneers push boundaries, and acoustic popsters try to convince us they are part of that genre, Mt. Kili and Rick Sichta are happy to revel in the simplicity of song and, in doing so, speak volumes while hardly seeming to try at all.
