In his review of Leyla McCalla’s 2022 release for KLOF Mag, Thomas Blake stated, “There are moments of pain all over Breaking The Thermometer.” In a coincidental piece of verbal synchronicity, Leyla herself says of her latest release, Sun Without The Heat, “I found myself exploring the pain and tension of transformation through some of my earliest musical influences”. The listener could be forgiven, then, for assuming that the album might be somewhat downbeat, one replete with the ache of suffering, misery and torment. In reality, however, whilst the music does indeed take in the sadness and sorrow associated with the normality of life, both personal and collective, it is far from all being gloom and despair, with Leyla balancing the darker moments with light, incorporating fun, exuberant and celebratory sounds.
A brief biographical background helps set the context for much of the work on this current album. Leyla was born in New York to emigrant Haitian parents. Her father was, for eight years, the Executive Director of the National Coalition for Haitian Rights, whilst her mother, whose father ran a New York-based socialist newspaper, founded an anti-domestic violence, human rights organisation.
Having spent two years living in Accra, Ghana, Leyla studied cello and chamber music at New York University before moving to New Orleans, her current home, developing her musical acumen by playing on the streets of the French Quarter. Having won a Grammy with The Carolina Chocolate Drops, she was a founding member of Our Native Daughters alongside Rhiannon Giddens, Amythyst Kiah and Allison Russell and has also toured with her trio, which included her Canadian husband, Daniel Tremblay, and her Leyla McCalla Quartet. She is currently also the Artist in Residence at the University of Richmond.
All of the songs on Sun Without The Heat, bar one, were written by Leyla. Maryam Qudus, who has also worked with Alanis Morrissette and Kronos Quartet, recorded the album at Dockside Studios on the banks of the Vermillion River in Maurice, Louisiana, over a nine-day period in June 2023.
In addition to Leyla’s vocals, banjo, cello and guitars, she is joined by regular bandmates Shaw Myers on drums & percussion, Pete Olynciw on electric bass & piano, and Nahum Zdybel on guitars on what is described as a deeply collaborative session, and the energy, tightness and collectiveness heard throughout the album must surely be attributable in no small part to this long-standing working partnership. Louis Michot (Lost Bayou Ramblers) contributes fiddle on Towers, and Maryam also pitches in with synthesisers, organs and backing vocals, as well as mixing the album.
Sun Without The Heat is a wonderful confection of melodies and rhythms, including Afrobeat, American blues and folk, Brazilian Tropicalismo (a Brazilian cultural movement that began in 1968 that musically merges Brazilian and African rhythms with Western psychedelia and pop rock) and even Ethiopian modalities. The title of the album alludes to a speech written by abolitionist, reformer and statesman Frederick Douglass, the first African American nominated for Vice President of the US and later United States’s minister resident and consul-general to the Republic of Haiti whose freedom from slavery was bought by British supporters during a trip here in 1846 and is a poignant, well-chosen description of what is needed to move from darkness to light, one of the central themes running through the album.
From the off, Open the Road, somewhat appropriately, takes the listener on a rather trippy musical journey in a song in which Leyla alludes to the fact that connections with our ancestors, in particular using their guidance to open roads and vistas before us, can be of great help. Opening woozy electric guitar notes, followed by drums high in the mix and more esoteric guitar effects, are accompanied by Leyla’s dreamy vocal delivery. There are beautiful dynamics throughout the song, and the closing multi-tracked vocals meander off along the road into the ether, with the final lyrics, “I can see, I can see… Open the road, Carry me home”, bringing a resolution to the opening verse’s “I’m trying to find me”.
A study of marine mammals off the coast of South Carolina, in a book called Undrowned by Alexis Pauline Gumbs, is the inspiration for Scaled to Survive, a song which explores being born and the connection between parents, particularly mothers, and their children. The claves and repetitive, wonky, slightly distorted guitar pattern, along with the vocal delivery, imbue a Cuban/Caribbean feel, and the treated cello sounds are both fascinating and innovative, echoing the aquatic background to the song. The video accompanying the song is very much a fun affair, which also features her three children.
Take Me Away is a beautiful offering. Thematically, the song was written in reply to “God is Change”, a quote from the late science fiction author Octavia E. Butler, and is written from the perspective of an angel who can see into the future. Musically, the song originated from a banjo riff, played to emulate a ngoni, which, following a suggestion from Maryam, was then speeded up. Undoubtedly, the sound made famous by the likes of Bassekou Kouyaté can be discerned. Still, to these ears, there is definitely more of an oriental feel, suggesting a Chinese sanxian having undergone the speed change. What cannot be questioned, however, is the power of the frenetic rhythms from the percussion and bass which follow. Then, with a sudden change in emphasis, at about two minutes into the song, ethereal synth sounds, think Tontos Expanding Head Band, with the most beguiling vocal break leading into the final “Make me an angel, Take me away to that far away place”, and an echoey, spiritual, incorporeal ending.
In a track that muses upon the difference between love and relationships, So I’ll Go, with its initial gentle, off-kilter psychy guitar effects, develops into a more bluesy piece as the jazz-infused vocals stake their claim. Again, the use of multi-tracked vocals is most effective in this eloquent song.
Tree is a fascinating and intriguing song, both musically and in terms of its theme. In this fable, a woman who doubts that she can be loved turns herself into a tree as she looks over the Mediterranean Sea and, in a state of limbo, reflects on whether she will cope with the sea’s current. Musically, the track is stunningly unique, with its variations in styles, dynamics, tempos and other features changing in breathtaking ways. The slower tempo and sparse opening vocals, which are akin to a smouldering James Bond theme, build to an authentic 1960s yé-yé section, albeit with English lyrics, and just as you are getting comfortable with that, there is a brief Spanish guitar interlude, and vocals are dispensed with. Nothing prepares the listener for the change, which comes around halfway through the track. A blistering guitar solo, replete with overdrive and fuzz effects, is accompanied by booming bass notes and jazz-style drums, building in Frank Zappa-like intensity and power. Whilst this may suggest a cacophonous sound, there is great value in taking time to unpick this sound montage and the industrious, complex work going on. Again, there is an official video to accompany Tree here.
In total contrast, Sun Without the Heat, the title track, gives ample evidence that Lelya is equally adept at creating high-quality, minimal, stripped-back songs, too. Relying solely on gentle acoustic guitar and vocals, the song has the catchiest of melodies. As outlined above, Frederick Douglass, quoted in a book by Susan Raffo read by Leyla, inspired the song. Specifically, his words on the abolition of slavery and the battle to create a more equitable society,
“You want the crops without the plow, You want the rain without the thunder, You want the ocean without the roar of its waters,” which in turn spawned Leyla’s adjunct, “can’t have the sun without the heat.”
Leyla’s vocal prowess is captured perfectly on this superb cameo of a track.
The subdued, eerie opening of The Tower explodes into a rhythmic convulsion, creating a very refined, disco-tinged dancefloor filler. Another top-drawer guitar solo soars into the ether. Precise, driving percussion abounds, and swirling organ notes bring the song, whose subject matter is, as Leyla explains, “Love that is true, has nothing to prove.”
Love, as a theme, features in the following track too, Love We Had, the only track in this collection not composed by Leyla. Her interpretation of the song written by Ethiopian activist Ali Muhammad Birra is another winner. A dramatic, electric opening, a hybrid Bangles/Malcolm McClaren perhaps, opens the doors to an up-tempo, poppy piece, with a compulsive melody and rhythm, classy guitar breaks, creating another and joyous sound on a song she describes thus: “This song serves as an African Diasporic declaration of sonic freedom in the face of all that has kept us apart from one another”.
A return to a gentler, spartan, unadorned piece follows with the penultimate song, Give Yourself a Break, which Leyla wrote, imagining what her late brother would have written to her and her children. If you’re looking for a top-drawer modern-day lullaby, look no further, with the sounds from Leyla’s cello almost defying belief.
Leyla rings the musical changes once more on the final track, I Want to Believe, opening the song with piano. Situated within the blues mould, the introduction of her dolorous, resonant cello and spelling-binding vocals are recorded with crystal clear clarity. It is a sublime song that would not have been out of place sung at marches during the 1960s Civil Rights era.
Sun Without The Heat is a consummate, original album that is Janus-like in its ability to communicate both sorrow and joy. Its shifting moods, musical styles, and influences make for a beautifully varied and rewarding listen.
Sun Without Heat is released on 12th April 2024 via Anti.
Order/Stream Sun Without Heat: https://leylamccalla.ffm.to/swth