Klima Klima by: Adam Davy Tue:28-Aug-07 Label: Peacefrog Year: 2007 WB rating 62 out of 100

If an angel fell to Earth in 2007, saw the horrid state of the world’s painfully inadequate human relationships first-hand, and drew on unique angelic powers to lament the whole turgid cacophony, then I imagine the result would bear more than a passing resemblance to the mesmerizing self-titled debut LP from classically-trained, French indie songstress Angele David-Guillou (known to you and I as Klima).

On its most immediately accessible level, Klima seems to be an album that requires little effort to enjoy, with its wafting soundscapes steeped in an ethereal splendour. As such, it’s easy to appreciate that as bewitching and wholly convincing as Klima’s music is, she could be singing about the utter and total annihilation of the entire universe, and you would inevitably find yourself swaying along dreamily in full support. Hers is the sweetly haunting voice that penetrates your soul, plucks at it in such a way as to emphasise your own painfully vulnerable fragility, lingering in your thoughts long after the album proper has reached its inevitable conclusion.

But if some pleasing aesthetics were all it had going for it, then as a collection of tracks, Klima would quite feasibly be one of those albums that fades into the background before too long, and, as a musical document, struggles to leave any form of enduring impression on the listener. Fortunately however, there is more to this album than a cursory glance may at suggest. Intriguingly, the ostensible innocence of David-Guillou’s music does in fact serve as a vehicle for something with more depth, cleverly masking a scathing analysis of the pain and heartache of human interaction. In essence therefore, the real beauty of the music on Klima is that whilst it is characteristically deliberate and unhurried, what propels it is these piercingly explorative lyrical musings.

From the start, the album lifts off into the ether, wafting, and launching the listener on a sweetly melancholic journey. It all kicks off with ‘City’, where Klima immediately burdens you with her considerable disillusionment, wrapped in the layers of her gloriously minimalistic musical stylings. As she sings, “Tears always in the city/And they never seem to leave me alone” there is a real sense of heartbreak, effectively introducing us to the stark and fragile emotionality that pervades Klima. However, ‘City’ is undoubtedly Klima’s darkest offering, so although it serves as a striking introduction, it is not necessarily a telling indication of what to expect of the album as a whole. 

Far more indicative of the album’s mood and tone is ‘Flourescent Stars’, which seemingly drifts gently up to the heavens themselves, as Klima counts the stars at home alone, floating as it were in a state of sparkling twilight. ‘You Make Me Laugh’ then offers a much needed moment of uplift. Layered in the gentle influences of xylophone and light orchestral touches, it is an immediately pleasant experience, channelling an atmospheric, feminine mystique that seems innocent, brutally honest and steeped in the majesty of our lived experiences. Here, David-Guillou extols the virtues of a potentially brighter existence, singing “And if we feel sad and low/Well we could just drink it away/ And sing the songs that we like/Out loud to the roaring waves”. And whilst it may seem that this is just the kind of optimistic whimsy that could easily come across as irritatingly naïve, it is surprisingly endearing, dressed as it is in such mesmerising earnest charm and belief.

The xylophone makes a welcome return on ‘Her Love is Happy’, a tinkling, tiptoeing exploration of the virtues of breaking up, and perhaps more than any other song on the record, its layered resonance creates an intriguingly otherworldly ambience. An even more sublime multi-layered vocal is called upon in ‘Never Ending’. Backed by an electronic drum beat reminiscent of Bjork circa 1997, David-Guillou contemplates the very meaning of our existence as she chimes, “What is the aim of this all/You’re asking /The weight is too heavy for you/Kiss the air and walk with the trees/And tell me how light the truth is” all the while accompanied by an arrangement that soars to yet more orchestral heights. 

This is followed by ‘Lady of the Lake’ which shows Klima at her most alluring. A stilted orchestral masterpiece, the track explores the tragedy of teen suicide with such poignancy that when David-Guillou sings “It’s not the end of the world/There’s always a second chance” you can not help but hang onto every word and feel galvanized by her determined optimism.

But from these lofty heights, it is perhaps to be expected that the final tracks on Klima might fade gradually towards the album’s conclusion, and this is indeed the case. Unfortunately, the closing tracks do not live up to the standards set on the first two thirds of the album. On the whole, they lack the musical distinctiveness and burning emotional core of earlier offerings. But despite this, perseverance and attentiveness still prove rewarding, as ‘Your Game is Over’ and ‘The Damage is Done’, whilst by no means the most interesting songs on the album, successfully sustain Klima’s angelic dreamscape with enough conviction to serve as an appropriate conclusion to the wistful, yet pragmatic beauty and sadness that characterize this worthwhile debut LP.

Curious, and often engrossing, Klima is overall an interesting album that is far from perfect, yet nevertheless deserves some attention for its engaging blend of sorrowful lyricism and beautifully wistful musical compositions.