Dan Caleb and his Calebo (because London is not done yet)
Balham, South London. The area doesn’t do much to brighten my mood. On a Saturday morning, I head out to meet Dan Caleb at his place but, before that, I’m struck by a strong craving for an English breakfast. Confident that my plan is easily achievable, I arrive in the vicinity an hour early but, unfortunately, I’m forced to settle for cream-filled croissants (generally speaking) as it seems the local cafés in the area lean towards sweet options only. Where has the tradition of a classic English breakfast for just five pounds, coffee included, gone? I ponder this and find satisfaction in the connection; perhaps Balham, much like Dan’s music with his band Calebo, is still undecided between the echoes of a glorious past and what the new music scene may yet have to offer, even if it’s unaware of it… of what it could provide. However, unlike Balham and its absence of scrambled eggs, this ambiguity works in favour of Calebo’s music, with their deep but never dull atmospheres, light details but never frivolous ones. Restless music, but subtly so — whether it’s a mesmerizing work of electric guitars (“In my dreams”) or the gentle interplay of melodic lines (“On the hillside”). I meet Dan, and our conversation begins, one of those conversations where you can’t tell if it’s been two hours or five, or a week. I had a feeling there would have been much to talk about. Dan (vocals and main songwriter) is the leader of Calebo (with Georgia Maria on lead guitar, Rob Ouseley on bass, and Roy Lubugumu on drums). The band conceals years of experience behind a fresh approach and the sincere, clean faces of all its members — it’s all about the music, nothing else matters, you might say. Dan is also one of the familiar faces in London’s captivating open mic circuit, and that’s how I met him, although I can’t recall how many millennia ago or exactly where. Surprisingly, the amateurish nature of the open mic concept becomes a force of nature when his songs are performed by the band in a proper show. Their only online album is a notable presence, vibrant, remarkable in its composition of never obvious songs, a tasteful blend of calm and powerful high volumes. In light of such talent, Dan explains to me the fundamental reason behind his unreasonably frequent appearances at open mics (where it’s easy to be ignored or mistaken for a Sunday musician): he did it in the past to conquer his stage fright, his fear of the spotlight — performance anxiety. Perhaps never defeated, but certainly tamed now, and well managed. Sometimes, stage fright is thought of as just excessive excitement going bad, just before stepping on stage, maybe with slightly sweaty palms. Dan tells me that for him, it essentially meant giving up playing music altogether due to obvious physical discomfort even days before the most intimate and straightforward performances. Fortunately, his talent has been supported over the years by his intelligence, and thus, through meditation and sensible steps, Dan is now quite the showman live, with banter with the audience and a couple of songs belted out at the top of his lungs. Indeed, live, Calebo can get rather “heavy”. In the studio, however, they lose a couple of decibels and pay more attention to details and lyrics: his lyrics — often introspective — sometimes present obscure passages to the listener. They seem like beautiful poems, albeit cryptic and vague. I point this out, and he, amused, agrees and assures me that he has a couple of songs coming out soon where he knows he’s been clearer. The conversation continues; Dan talks as much as he listens, and with a talkative person like me, there’s no escape in such cases. We agree on how music can still be treated as a genuine art form; how the artistic concept of an album (just like Calebo’s “Kaleidoscopic Mind”) is still valid, and the artist, if sincere, should never solely cater to a series of hit-and-run singles in the hope that someone shares their song on social networks. Those traps where, for every success story, thousands and thousands end up making go unnoticed — perhaps wasting something good.
Moving on to their only album in their discography, “Kaleidoscopic Mind” starts with an intro track, and we might raise an eyebrow. Usually, intros — those ones explicitly titled “intro” — add nothing — fortunately, that’s not the case here. Typically, these conceptual pieces are a misstep: instead of placing the best song at the beginning of the journey, some bands insert this conceptual stuff that they themselves probably forget the meaning of after a few days. In this case, however, Dan and his Calebo do what others often struggle with — that’s how I like to see it. Their intro consists of a brief speech on, listen up, capitalism and the difficulties faced by those who don’t have sufficient funds (“It is not what you have, it is what you do with what you have”). In short, it’s about those who make excuses. Dan explains to me that this fleeting audio is a short excerpt from a longer speech by a guy called Manly P. Hall, writer and mystic from the early 20th century whose simplicity and clarity of language Dan appreciates, among other features. I find that introduction brilliant, a perfect opening for an album where songs like “I’m only a guest in the house of the Lord” and “In my dreams” take control at the beginning and at the end, revealing a passion for the ’90s, with hints of Seattle grunge and a journey into the more mature indie of the early 2000s. Meanwhile, in the middle of the album, Calebo manage to evoke the more sophisticated side of Simon and Garfunkel, not limiting themselves to just clever arpeggios. The band oscillates between these two worlds, yet somehow, they maintain a fairly defined and promising identity for their upcoming albums. Dan, who likes to delve into his old compositions to continuously update them, shouldn’t have a hard time bringing something out in the near future.
We bid farewell, and I ask him about his plans for the rest of Saturday. He tells me he’s going to Georgia’s house, his guitarist and close friend, and they’ll spend the whole afternoon playing Mario Kart. Like everything else, his plan seems to be the best idea — balanced and sensible. After all, amidst all the possibilities, and much like Calebo’s music, everything somehow falls into place without making life too complicated. As I head towards the underground station, I realise I forgot to ask him about the serious lack of English breakfasts in Balham; perhaps he would have had a good explanation for that too.
(adapted/translated from the original Italian article on SpazioRock.it)
