Cibelle
The Shine Of Dried Electric Leaves

THE REVIEW

BRILLIANT GREEN GRASS.
It opens with a song by Tom Waits, the second album from this fresh, ever-changing voice coming from Brazil.
And how green, dewy, and crystal-clear with delicate sounds is the green grass of “Green Grass” in Cibelle's version.
First illuminated by the spotlight on the scene of “São Paulo Confessions”, Suba's album that I'm told is excellent but I have not yet had the pleasure to listen to, the young lady returns in 2006 after a solo debut, which seemed to have showcased her undeniable qualities, generating curiosity and expectations.

A FLASH IN A... VARIABLE SKY
But for those who, like me, almost ignored her existence, “The Shine of Dried Electric Leaves” represents what is called a bolt out of the blue.
A serene but variable sky, like the moods it holds and then pours out in this kaleidoscopic work. In the meticulous arrangements and the spectrum of colors unfolded, in the variety of sources it draws from and the names it involves, in the chameleonic attitude it demonstrates in both its composition and execution phases.
Cibelle modulates her voice, in English and Portuguese, with elegant flexibility, but she also plays the guitar, composes or revamps (releasing convincing and fascinating transformations) songs by Waits, Veloso, Tom Jobim, Ari Moraes.
She enlists collaborators such as fellow countrymen Apollo Nove, the Englishman Mike Lindsay, the French Yann Arnaud and Spleen, involving Devendra Banhart in a delightful, lazy but amused reinterpretation of Veloso's “London London”, with its crackling tail of the “mishmash” of voices and interferences.

EAR TO THE KALEIDOSCOPE.
Now, if I tell you that, by placing your ear to the sonic kaleidoscope (already somewhat declared by the cover) you find colored fragments of various forms and substances (shards of jazz, undulating bossa nova movements, particles of gentle electronics, crumbs of dreamy folk, dreamy shreds of tropical psychedelia) you'll think: “a unicorn, right?”
Right. We're almost fed up with so much eclecticism, saturated with patchworks without substance.

So let's do this: select track 7 (strange, but I often listen to track 7 first and it somehow reveals something to me about the album) and listen to what little Cibelle does in “Mad Man Song”, with what she chooses to use: her voice and some objects that produce sound, for example, teaspoons and cups.
At the end of this little exercise in style for voices (with featured Spleen) and tinklings, wait for the beginning of the next track: “Por Toda A Minha Vida”, the cover by Jobim.
Here, in addition to that voice that will resonate for quite a while, even after the song ends, somewhere in your suspicious mind like mine, there is little or nothing. A void of liquid sound that is almost not there.
If these two examples of light magic that can be achieved even in the extreme limitation of means aren't enough to give you an idea, follow that sound that's almost not there: it's the same one that, entering into “Flying High”, encounters others, delicate and “stylish”, layering slowly and giving body to a song.
Where Cibelle shows you how to sing a fascinating dream pop song: giving voice to her voice, opening curtains on different scenes, making them flow into each other.
All in 6 and a half minutes that, you'll notice, you enjoyed dreaming with her.

GOODBYE…
I've mentioned five pieces, I believe. But there are 14 on the album. And you'll skip none.
Because it is a beautiful journey. She and her voice (of sometimes a little ethereal sensuality) are the most desirable of companions, and the places she leads you to always smell good.
For instance now, in “Arrete La, Menina”, she and Seu Jorge have flung open a door, and you find yourself amidst lush tropical vegetation, acoustic with life and pulsating with melodic languor.
Then you slip down into the heart of bossa, to relax and unwind in the “refreshed” version of “Splendor”
And if you still haven't been caught, it would probably be useless to persist: we are towards the end of the album, and evidently, our tastes differ.
I instead let myself be accompanied, along the impalpable corridor of “Cajuína”, (another cover of Veloso) towards the exit. And I say goodbye.
Knowing that, during what remains of this scorching summer, we'll meet often.
And that it will still be lovely, during some cold winter evening, to savor once more the warm softness of her voice amid the fragile but solid architectures of sounds.

Happy listening.