It had to
happen eventually. For a
generation of musicians that has now grown up with the sounds of world music, a
truly global pop music was just a matter of time. And for the trio Pacifika, “eventually” means now. The trio’s debut album, 2008’s Asuncion, introduced
their artful blend of indie rock, bossa nova, Afropop, and dub production. With the new Supermagique, Pacifika
have refined that sound – a multilingual, listener-friendly music that marries
languid Latin rhythms to a deep dance groove, and offers a high-gloss sheen
with some surprisingly sharp edges.
Pacifika’s
global fusion works precisely because it is not
a fusion. There is no sense of
trying to blend one thing with another; this is the work of three musicians,
coming from Peruvian, North American, and Barbadian families, for whom rock,
Latin, Caribbean, hip hop, and jazz are all part of a single international
musical language – a kind of musical Esperanto. Singer Silvana Kane is from Peru; guitarist Adam Popowitz is
from Canada; bassist Toby Peter grew up in Barbados. Using the Pacific city of Vancouver as a base, they have set
out to create music that reflects their shared interests in Western pop and the
traditions of South America, West Africa, and the Far East.
“Supermagique
was put together in the same way that Asuncion came about,” says Toby,
“with the three of us jamming in the studio. What has happened is that we have grown more comfortable as
a unit; we have now toured together; we have been inspired by other
artists together – hence the 'magique' in Supermagique.” The album’s title track is a good case
in point. Silvana’s overdubbed
vocals in the intro prove to be a sleight of hand, as perpetual-motion drums
and electric guitar and keyboards kick in. Some Brazilian percussion adds
color to lyrics sung in both French and Spanish. The result is simply irresistible.
The
album’s opener, “Close To Everything,” is the sort of breezy pop that would be
perfect for a hot summer night, and “Le Matin,” cool and unhurried, just the
thing for the next morning. The
fact that one is sung in English and the other in French is almost an
afterthought. In fact, as Silvana
points out, the choice of language is actually driven by the songs
themselves. “I feel out the melody
and allow it to take shape phonetically,” she explains; “the stories
create themselves,
as do the characters in them.”
The song “Chocolate”
suggested not one but two languages – Spanish and English –and the track itself
has a bit of a harder edge, with elements of hip hop and dub production. If you’ve ever wondered what MIA would
sound like if she were Cuban instead of Sri Lankan, “Chocolate” has the
answer. “Ana Maria,” sung in
Spanish, tells a very different sort of tale. It begins as a ballad for Silvana’s voice and Adam’s
acoustic guitar, but then expands into a catchy midtempo groove. A
further twist appears in the eerie conclusion, which sounds like a sample of medieval
singing, although as Adam reveals, “that's Silvana’s voice (many of them
actually) as the howling desert wind, in a melancholy plea for Ana Maria.”
This is
part of the attraction in Pacifika’s music: as soon as you think you’ve got
them pegged, the trio finds a way to surprise. Perhaps the biggest surprise on Supermagique is the
group’s cover of “25 or 6 to 4,” by Chicago. Pacifika dispenses with Chicago’s iconic bassline in favor
of softly sung, multi-tracked vocals – a striking effect that is quite the opposite
of the brassy original. Adam recalls that the album was essentially done when
the group was asked if they’d be interested in looking at Chicago’s
songbook. “We decided to try one
over the weekend. We felt “25 or 6 to 4” was the song we were most connected to
lyrically and musically... we loved the process of taking a classic song
and giving it our own spin.” When
the Pacifika version was sent back to the song’s original writers, the love
came full circle. Calls were made,
and the album was actually delayed so that this version of the song could be
included.
Even
before the late addition, though, Supermagique had some unexpected
moments. The ambient hum of
“Perlas,” with its wisps of Japanese shakuhachi
(bamboo flute), for example, or the distant wails of electric guitar in the
background of “Little Me,” a ballad that floats on a bed of acoustic guitar and
electronic marimba (which in turn sounds like a West African balofon). And then there’s “The Mariner,” a stunning English-language
song that is sung in a level just above a whisper, with a string arrangement
done in collaboration with cellist Christina Zaenker. “The song has a drunken, sinking
feeling,” Silvana says, “and she captured it beautifully.”
It seems
just a matter of time before some enterprising television music supervisor
discovers “Story” – a richly emotional but low-key song that offers an
English-language, cello-inflected chamber pop in the style of the Shins or Belle
& Sebastian, with perhaps a touch of Joanna Newsom. It is the kind of musical gem that has
quickly come to characterize Pacifika’s albums.
Pacifika, according to Silvana, “is simply the
Latin way of saying ‘peaceful’ in the feminine, except that we changed the
'c' to a 'k'.” That is a subtle
spelling change, but an appropriate one for this multilingual band: their name is not English, not Spanish,
but somehow international. And
Pacifika’s Supermagique is the next step in the evolution of the global musical
language of the 21st century.