You lean against an invisible railing, standing on the tiptoes of your unlaced tennis shoes to get a peek. As an acoustic guitar is aimlessly fingerpicked in the distance, the congested bleat of a melodica and a kalimba’s metallic chirp are introduced to you c’s musical ecosystem. Populated with the field-recorded cries of wild animals, her compositions are vibrant, instilling a sense of impending adventure despite their anodyne atmosphere. She replaces the carpet at your feet with grassland flooring, the brown tips of blades peeking through crevices between grounded fingers, Woodwinds catch the breeze. Droplets of melodic percussion spring from verdant diving boards.
Kifaru is a Sung Tongs for the twee at heart.
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