Whew. Alright. Carnival by Calista Garcia. Let’s talk about it. This thing starts and I swear I’m suddenly inside some velvet-curtained, candle-lit cabaret where everyone’s either crying, waltzing, or plotting something dramatic.
You’ve got elements of art rock, a little vaudeville chaos, some smoky lounge piano thrown in for flavor — it’s like if Regina Spektor got possessed by the ghost of Edith Piaf during a Fiona Apple listening session.
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And I mean that as the highest compliment. There’s this beautiful dissonance between the rich, swaggering instrumentation and Calista’s vocal delivery, which is soft, wounded, and constantly teetering between grace and collapse.
It’s delicate but loaded, like porcelain packed with gunpowder. There’s something in the way she phrases — it’s elastic and kind of off-kilter, with moments where she seems to barely hold the melody, which just pulls you in closer. It’s vulnerability weaponized as stagecraft. Stunning.
SCORE 8/10
Calista, you’ve got my attention. I’m already digging into new album— and yeah, it’s delivering.
Indie Boulevard Magazine 