Shining out of the darkness comes a light. Ouvala are that light, illuminating everything they touch. Together, their music pours out of a pale, rainy period, providing essential relief as a remedy for an encounter that left behind nothing but sharp, sour notes. The grind, sweat and passion of the music takes a lot of physical and mental energy. You can see what the music does in the singing of a national anthem. For your love, your art, to be taken away and used in an entirely new context by one of your own is a cruel betrayal and a separation like that of a parent to their beloved child. It takes a real spirit to recover these tired, aching limbs and stand up once again. It’s not so much the tip of Cupid’s arrow and the pangs of heartache and heartbreak that cause the pain; it is the betrayal. You can only adapt to what comes your way. It can either consume or inspire, and with Psychology Of Colour it’s most definitely the latter.
Truth can set you free – even if the said truth provides only a cold, harsh light; the beast entwined with humanity. Like two sides of the same face, they occupy each other’s circle and circumference, one frequently encroaching and overlapping the other. The beast is always there, along with a well-trodden path of ruin if it isn’t tamed. And yet, through the creative outlet of music, it can be tamed. At times, Psychology Of Colour is a lonely thing, the accompanying photographs / prints by Nieves Mingueza deepening the sense of detachment and unforgiveable abandonment, and yet a tighter unity enfolds the two musicians because of it. A positive response is always there, waiting to be unearthed. And yet sometimes, it’s a struggle to see it. The sense of disillusionment can be so real – so consuming – that it covers the mind like a heaving, grey cloud.
Ouvala’s reels of fluid music have been left to decay, its corrosion further morphing the sound.
For a couple of years, the damp tapes were left in a blossoming state, healing themselves while in the process of slowly decaying and ageing like a poisoned wine. These decaying tapes, so close to the end of their lives, offer a kind of renewal, too. Squelchy beats and sporadic, improvised phrases appear and disappear throughout the record, always changing, always providing a pulse of a rhythm. As always, change is the only constant in a world where friendship is a precious thing; enemies are born when a friendship decays. Just like the decaying of a tape, nothing lasts forever, and this corrosion can be heard as the music progresses, belching out a souring relationship and breathing in a new, healthier one. The churning rhythms digest the trauma. A veiled sense of mystery stains the music, its unknowable, unpredictable journey disowned by destiny. Perhaps fate herself swirled the waters with her hand, both in the situation and the music that arose out of it.
There is no closure in a world where justice is a counterfeited product, but music can simultaneously close a chapter and open a new one. Ouvala’s music is easy-going and as natural as an intake of breath; it doesn’t concern itself too much with what has gone before. As a result, Psychology Of Colour is a record of emerald healing that leans towards the choice of acceptance; it has the ability to come full circle. Psychology Of Colour is a signal of intent and a flare of hope; that, after the rain, something good can come out of a bruised chapter. Along with the heartache and disappointment (and there’s really no escaping that), Psychology Of Colour is a positive response to a negative event, a renewal, like the emergence of a butterfly after the passing of a cool monsoon.