“Who are your musical influences?”
Ah, the all too common interview question that always trickles its way into discussions and reviews, eventually leading to boring comparisons that snowball into internet mud-slinging. Thank god for a project like Carta, whose self-proclaimed influences include dead crustaceans, rusty nails, and girls on trains. While those may not hint at the exact sound this once bedroom-project elicits, two names also included on the above-referenced list of influences -- Anna Kavan and Atom Egoyan -- will at least clarify what atmosphere the band creates. Not exactly household names, a little research reveals the deceased British author (Kavan) and the enigmatic filmmaker (Egoyan) share two common traits that also characterize The Glass Bottom Boat: isolation and alienation.
Spearheaded by Kyle Monday, who gathered together a collective of musicians to translate his dreams into audible fragments, Carta swells with a plush, yet almost claustrophobic sound that wraps its ghostly fingers around the listeners, tugging at their apprehensions. Not entirely frozen, the soundtrack streams occasional rays of light that tease the listeners and encourage them to simply lay back and give themselves up to the current of sound dripping from the headphones.
The initial track, “Kavan,” after the obvious influence, lays the groundwork for an album built on quiet, ambient guitar loops with subtle, brass infusion and eclectic solo string-work. The song focuses on slow, repetitive patterns that seem entirely delicate on their own, but grow confident over its course, slowly reeling listeners in without permission. It’s like walking in a soft drizzle that slowly transforms into a major rainstorm. You never notice the weather change, but realize upon returning home that you’re soaking wet.
Gently morphing into a subtle, jazzy mood on “South Circular” and “Larva,” the guitar lines remain the focal point, while percussion makes its first appearance, albeit firmly in the background. The loops remain, but there’s a shift in temper here, both tracks arching their backs like a lazy Sunday morning, welcoming warmth through the bedroom window. The drums tin up on “Larva,” and a quiet guitar and string duo smooth out any rough edges left by the prior tracks. Like an invisible anchor on the eyelids, “Burning Bridges” and “Simultane” are massive in their approach to quietness; bleached out percussion tumbles in the background while a somber orchestra dressed in black free their sound like a runaway kite. An odd, but overwhelmingly enjoyable combination of depth and joy, the track leaves your body with a humble impression of happiness.
This sensation carries over into the following two songs, before being eclipsed by the final and standalone title track. Reverting back to Kavan and Egoyan, the album up to this point plays like a collection of eclectic, short stories, each with their distinct personality that quietly guard an underlying and unifying theme. The songs are completely listenable on their own, alienated from each other, but it’s not until final 12 minute track is experienced that things really click together. Almost as if the entire album was a red herring, the last piece introduces haunting female vocals that illustrate what exactly it was that laid in the silence between each prior track, effectively yanking the curtain back to reveal the big picture. The crowd of listeners gasps with newfound clarity, “AHHH… now it makes sense!” and goes back to listen to the whole thing again - this time with a newfound appreciation for the skillfully crafted work of Carta.
And in a sense, that’s really what makes Carta and The Glass Bottom Boat something to behold. The music itself is not overly complex or complicated and will not peel your eyelids back with ferocity, but rather, like a plot-twisting film or novel identifiable by its lush characters, the album offers a whirlpool of listening experiences over time, each one laced with the promise of a new discovery.
-Jonathan Brooks