KEY LOSERS – California Lite

Dear Nora’s Katy Davidson just released the first full length album from her newest project, Key Losers, featuring the Key Losers Black Crow Session band, which itself is chock full of Pacific Northwest superstars. The album’s being released on Phil Elverum’s P.W. Elverum and Sun imprint as an LP and digital download. It’s an exploration of Southern California based isolation via a mix of soft rock, smooth jazz, folk, and art rock. And the weirdest part? It kind of rocks. Natalie Snoyman, an expert in SoCal isolation, agreed to back and forth with me about the album.

Natalie: These days, it’s quite rare for me to get excited about the release of an album. Having seen Katy Davidson perform some of these songs live over the last two years or so, California Lite is one of those rare releases I’ve been anticipating for a long, long while. After hearing some of these songs played live, I would stand there and think “When is she gonna get these songs on a record?” After the release of last year’s “mini-album,” Adjust, California Lite is the first full-length from Key Losers and I can happily say that just about every song I’ve had stuck in my head for the last few years is here, flawlessly engineered by Phil Elverum.

Katy’s been a somewhat quiet hero of the Pacific Northwest for many years; she played under the moniker Dear Nora for about a decade, creating some of the most beautifully simple songs I have ever heard. The sound on California Lite is decidedly more “full” than it ever has been in the past. Indeed, her backing band on this album (the “Key Losers Black Crow Session Band”) consists of a pretty stellar group of musicians from the Pacific Northwest, including Karl Blau, Nick Krgovich, Eli Moore and Greg Campanile.

We were lucky enough to have Katy here in Southern California a few years back and I get a distinctively California feel from this album. For me, California Lite is driving down the 405 to San Diego, passing the Long Beach industrial plants, with the promise of a burrito at the end of the drive. It’s sprawling and intricate and I love it.

BUY THE ALBUM!

Brandon: You know, I think, how much I love Phil Elverum, how I think The Glow pt. 2 is one of the all time great records of the past 25 years (which is a random number I just pulled out of my ass), and you’re even the one who introduced me to Mirah, another Elverum…what do I call them? Teammate? Prodigy? Colleague? Co-conspirator? I was really pumped when I went to the album link you sent me to discover that Mr. Phil Elverum produced and is releasing the album himself.

Other fun tidbits of note on the site include that the album was recorded on an “analog tape machine, almost completely live,” that California Lite is supposed to be ironic, and that Katy would like me to listen to the album on a 70s turntable “while [I’m] partying with [my] friends.”

I don’t know what kind of parties Katy throws (hint hint, Katy. I don’t know why I’m not on the invite list; my email is very easy to find and I am a delight!), but I don’t think my first impression when listening to this album was, “Wow, great party music!”

In fact, is it weird to say that I think my favorite track is closer, “Weight of the World?” With the vocals slowed and pitch shifted low, it sounds, literally, like the world is crushing Katy. Beyond “the weight of the world is on your shoulders” I can’t make out a thing she’s saying, but the deteriorated sound of her voice with the over-saturated, crunchy amp production of what otherwise sounds like soft rock or even light jazz is just all kinds of awesome.

I think this album is a bit of a grower. But I like that. I’m not so much blown away by the album as intrigued. I’m compelled to keep going back to it, to sift through the smooth jazz and soft rock, to find Katy’s self-described “lyrical judgment” about the devastating direction of the human race. Also, considering her (beautiful) song “Metal Masks” is literally about driving down the 405, it’s appropriate, I suppose, that the sense of the actual drive translates.

There’s so much I want to talk to you about in regards to this album. How do you feel about the use of the “road” and the “freeway” as a metaphorical motif throughout the album, and, as you are from Southern California, how do you feel about their ever-present existence in your life? I, for one, am happy to be rid of them.

Also, what do you think of the “lite rock” tone of the album, and what purpose do you think it serves? I like it, but can’t divine its reason for being.

Natalie: I agree that this album is a bit of a “grower.” Initially, I skipped around, playing only the aforementioned songs I had been waiting to hear for the last few years. However, after several listens, I really appreciate this album in its entirety.

I’m really happy you mentioned “Metal Masks” since that is definitely one my favorite songs off the album. I’m also keen on “Limited Time” thanks to its Angelo Badalamenti-ish synth track and the amazing robot-like notes on “Cheap Display.” Also, that little guitar riff on “Don’t Know Why” kills me. There are so many great little moments on this album!

While I agree that California Lite may not be music best suited for a party, I do believe it would be a pretty killer soundtrack for the after-party. I have to say, though, that I think the real party was had by the musicians. Having met Katy a few times, I can tell you that she is the epitome of cool, in more ways than one. I can totally see her encouraging the band to go with their instincts and have fun while recording this album. I don’t know about you, but when I listen to “Smoggy Mountain High” I can see everyone who contributed to this album just boppin’ around the recording studio, having a pretty “real time” even though the subject matter of the song itself isn’t all too uplifting.

I think having the road act as a motif for this album is fitting. To live in Southern California is to live with the road, after all. I know that I spend much more time than I would like alone in my car and I find it to be incredibly isolating. On the (likely) occasion that I find myself stuck in traffic, I tend to peek into the cars that surround me and I find it so bizarre that we’re all sitting there together, yet our cars so solidly separate us from one another. I can’t speak for her, of course, but I think Katy was exploring this topic of isolation in togetherness and was maybe remarking more on the sadness of this idea than anything else. I’m curious, though. Now that you’re livin’ it up in a city with reliable public transportation, do you feel like you’re interacting more with society than when you, too, were sitting in gridlock? I will say, though, that California Lite is an album I would want within arm’s reach during peak traffic hours.

As for the “lite tone” of the album, I think it’s both fitting and justified. Los Angeles in particular is a pretty “lite” place to be, don’t you think? It’s ridiculous in its superficiality but I have to say, I kind of love it for that. I don’t think Katy Davidson feels the same way, though. I think your description of “Weight of the World” was pretty apt. In general, this is a pretty heavy conceptual album and I get the feeling that her time in Southern California was an emotional and physical trial.

Brandon: You know, I’ve actually been listening to “Permanent” over and over again. I think it might be the loneliest song on the album. Single key strokes on the piano, a simple bass line, and various elements of art rock white noise. And though it’s a duet, that somehow makes it feel even worse as the two sing, “It was winter and there wasn’t much to say. / Anyway / We got out of the car / and walked into a valley / where there were no houses / and probably no people.” They’re singing together but never to each other, not even harmonizing. Just singing the same thing at the same time, separately.

What I’ve noticed since moving to New York is a much different sense of loneliness than what I felt in Los Angeles. In LA, sitting in your car, you didn’t see anyone else. It was literal loneliness – you, the smoggy mountains, and other cars. In New York, you’re packed in next to one another, touching one another, and trying your best to avoid eye contact. For the most part, you don’t dare speak to the person who can’t seem to avoid using you as support while the train shucks and jives under the city. I can’t decide which kind of loneliness is more profound, actually. It might be more comforting to see your surrounding community, but I think it’s also a bit more painful to be ignored by it.

You know, in regards to the smooth jazz, soft rock sound of the album and its thematic thrust, I feel like it bears a strong resemblance to Destroyer’s Kaputt. Maybe it’s just the prevalent use of a saxophone. Still, I think a reemergence of this sound in the musical landscape is kind of interesting and I can’t quite figure out where it’s coming from, not that it’s unwelcome, though I’m not sure I’m ready for a full Yacht Rock renaissance.

Natalie: You see? We keep returning to the “together yet apart” theme. It’s a poignant idea and one of the main ideas Katy Davidson explores in California Lite. I feel it more often than I’d like here in Los Angeles and, apparently, it’s a feeling one cannot escape even if they move away from the sprawl of Southern California. I suppose the subway is built for its riders to neglect one another, right? I’m not going to say I haven’t seen Angelinos reading in their cars (I have), but on the subway, it seems to be the thing to do (and legal, to boot).

On a side note, I’ve started taking the bus in the last few months and I’ve noticed that people are much more sociable on this mode of transportation. Perhaps the bus is our solution, Brandon.

I think Kaputt is a pretty decent comparison, musically-speaking. Both albums have some shining, smooth, funky moments and Katy Davidson and Dan Bejar can write a damn fine song, that’s for sure.

Brandon: You know what I just noticed – the very last sound on the album is the sound of Katy taking a breath, about to say more. Or maybe, because nothing comes after it, it’s the breath you take when you think you have more to say, only to realize, “No. That’s it.”

Either way, it’s an abrupt ending. I feel like she was cut off; like we didn’t get to finish our time together. I guess that’s OK. I’m definitely looking forward to our next conversation.