Technically Hello, Voyager is Evangelista's debut record, though there's hardly a beginner musician in this revolving-door collective gathered around maverick singer Carla Bozulich. Named after her solo debut for Canada's Constellation Records, Evangelista provides a perfect platform for Bozulich's old cohorts from her numerous solo and collective endeavors to clash with eager new recruits, mostly from Constellation's colorful roster, in an attempt to break all stylistic barriers. Hello, Voyager is an apt title for ...
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Technically Hello, Voyager is Evangelista's debut record, though there's hardly a beginner musician in this revolving-door collective gathered around maverick singer Carla Bozulich. Named after her solo debut for Canada's Constellation Records, Evangelista provides a perfect platform for Bozulich's old cohorts from her numerous solo and collective endeavors to clash with eager new recruits, mostly from Constellation's colorful roster, in an attempt to break all stylistic barriers. Hello, Voyager is an apt title for Evangelista's debut, since the overriding theme of the album is one of exploration; mainly of the band's own possibilities. There's a ragged, improvised feel to much of Hello, Voyager -- it's obvious how much the musicians cherish the immediacy of their own playing, as if they find a special form of discomfort in each other that allows them to tip-toe right to the edge of the abyss (and sometimes over it). Hello, Voyager is decidedly all over the map -- in the blink of an eye, Evangelista switches from free-form spoken word pieces ("Winds of St. Anne") to unhinged noisy dirges ("Smooth Jazz") to coolly restrained murder ballads punctuated by shards of squeaking guitar ("Lucky Luck Luck"). At times, as on the all-too-brief guitar rave-up "The Truth Is Dark Like Outer Space," the band charges ahead so forcefully that it literally trips over itself in places. It's not all sturm und drang though; "The Blue Room" is a gorgeous ballad featuring an achingly croaked vocal turn from Bozulich, and "The Frozen Dress" is something of a horror film sound collage that achieves maximum spooky effect with minimal means. Still, it ends with the huge, cathartic, noisy bang of the 12-minute title track, a bizarre cross between a free-form noise jam session, a poetry slam, and the street ravings of some righteously mad preacher, with Bozulich genuinely sounding like she's tearing her heart from her chest and offering it bleeding for everyone to see. This is potent, thrilling, darkly explosive stuff; the presence of talented musicians brave enough to dive head-on into any experiment clearly re-energized Bozulich enough to deliver one of her most powerful records. ~ Sergey Mesenov, Rovi
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