Waves of sound wrap around you. They swim and splash, working in circular patterns. You hear heartbeats, the click-clack of bones, the gentle pumping of blood through veins. The distant sound of voices, indeterminate but familiar, repetitive, soothing. Is this what it feels like to be in the womb? The music of Juana Molina sure feels like it. The eccentric singer–songwriter, a well-known television comedienne in her native Argentina, has created more of an organic sound cocoon than a proper set of songs on her fifth album, Un Día. She spins looped and phased instruments and Spanish-language vocal harmonies into a rich brocade, brimming with life and warmth.
In Molina’s world, rhythm and atmosphere are the reigning king and queen, and everything else serves them. A two-chord acoustic guitar vamp shimmers in 7/8 to open "Vive Solo," and before too long layers start to accrete as if that groove were a sonic snowball. Thumping hand percussion pats out space, a bass ostinato trickles down and crawls back up, and Molina’s vocals overlap in percussive crosshatchings. Discrete parts stack into complex architecture, yet the overall impression is airy and light-filled. "Lo Dejamos" takes the same basic idea somewhere way weirder. A looped electronic murmur plays off barely there steel drums; Molina’s sensual cooing sounds like wind passing through a dimly lit, subterranean tunnel.
The beauty of Un Día is its malleability. The album is musical enough to capture attention—ain’t no way that anyone with ears can avoid shimmying across the floor to the jazzy shuffle of "Dar (Qué Difícil)"—and abstract enough to recede into the background if all you need is a quirky accompaniment to your day. Pop on "No Llama" and all of a sudden lazing about on a Sunday afternoon becomes an act of great humanity. Gentle percussion and guitar layers clank along at the speed of life, Molina’s whistling whisks away all cares. If you let it, Un Día can become your world.