Caricias

Slovenian singer-songwriter Katja Šulc’s career began in 2008 with a homage to Mila Kačič, a poet celebrated in her homeland, unknown elsewhere. For the past five years she has developed an interest in the less obvious margins of Mexican literature and music. The fascinating result is Caricias (Caresses), an original conflation of old and new, acoustic and electronic, highbrow and lo-fi. The title-track, and first single, is a poem written by Mexican artist Luna Nikol, delivered breathily against a simple, repeating sequence on Šulc’s ukulele. ‘Nuu ti Biaani’ (There is a Light) is based on a poem written by indigenous poet Irma Pineda. Sung in Zapotec, the language of the ‘cloud people,’ it has a sweet melody, the vocals veering between motherly whisper and shamanic chant. ‘Macochi Pitentzin’ (Sleep, My Little Child), is a minimalistic cover of a traditional Mexican lullaby in Nahuatl, referencing – as only a Mexican lullaby could – the Day of the Dead. You get the drift: this is fieldwork turned into contemporary, experimental folk song.

The most interesting songs, or parts of songs, are where Šulc’s voice and assorted instruments – charango, guiro, synths, percussion – conspire to create a kind of hypnotic, ethereal pulse. She is almost thrilling when she abandons the merely lyrical and explores pure sound. A standout track is ‘Sombra Que Besa’ (Shadow That Kisses), on which layered vocals suggest nothing so much as a buzzing bee, and yet her intensity and the effects bring to this a charged, erotic quality. Caricias is fascinating, not fitting into any neat genres or boxes, and never boring or merely foot-tapping. Šulc’s Spanish is excellent, but wobbles slightly when she overstresses and her Slovenian interferes; she is best when sighing, whispering, moaning and panting. Aren’t we all?