Karma Smile sits in this uncomfortable middle space between biting humour and real exhaustion. There’s sarcasm all over it, but it never feels playful for the sake of it. You can hear the frustration underneath. The sense that things are off balance and someone needs to say it out loud. Coolonaut clearly believes in some version of karmic justice, not in a spiritual bumper-sticker way, but more like stubborn hope. That eventually the noise settles and truth lands where it’s meant to. The songs feel like small acts of resistance, shouted through fuzzed guitars and organs that swirl without ever fully calming down.
“Confabulation” opens the record with momentum. Guitars come in gritty but light, drums rattle instead of punch, and it immediately feels alive rather than polished. His voice glides through the track, not overpowering anything, just riding the groove. It’s catchy, but not clean. Hooks land and then slip slightly out of frame. That looseness matters. It gives the song personality. You can hear the analogue process working, the imperfections doing some of the talking.
There’s a strong thread of 60s psych and mod running through the album, but it never turns into cosplay. You can hear echoes of The Byrds’ jangle, early Pink Floyd’s unease, but the writing stays rooted in now. Fuzzy guitars, hazy textures, all wrapped around a theme that still stings.
Knowing Coolonaut records everything to an old eight-track makes sense. The lack of digital neatness all serve the material. This music isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s meant to feel lived in.
