Kelly Blair Bauman – Gomorrah

contributor: St. Even

Kelly Bauman’s “Gomorrah” is fluidly cohesive, subtly unpredictable. Recurring sonic themes– jangling arpeggios rolling beneath foreboding pedal steel; his and her voice uniquely, intuitively, intermittently in unison, harmony; the warmth of multiple microphones magnifying the strumming, picking— buoys each earnest account (of surreal occasions, daily rebirth). However, each unexpected turn— feedback suddenly tearing through “Back and Forth” like a painter crawling out of his canvas; the late 60’s British Bubblegum of “I Saw Stars” stuck somehow serendipitously on same said canvas (otherwise striped with the unmistakable oils of americana); the eerie atonality of “Grace” so lush, splashed with cymbals and splayed with strings, yet still, somehow, bleak as the album’s salty namesake— are ironically what really tie these ten tracks together.

When an album truly embodies an artist’s migration up the Pacific Coast– the deceptive unpredictability of those endless stretches of grey beach suddenly bursting into untamable terrain– comparisons are as inevitable as one’s wanting to recount their own time traveling that route. However, for whatever reason (and I’m hoping you’ll agree), the Pacific Coast tends to defy adequate description. It’s more a mix of feelings where words inevitably feel wasted in attempts to decipher. That to say, I’d be doing you a disservice to delay your trip any longer.