Cale Parks, Illuminated Manuscript

There is nothing flashy about Cale Parks, but he makes geek look good. In between albums for the indie band Aloha, Parks decided to take it upon himself to release his first full-length debut, Illuminated Manuscripts. Yet even with this decidedly ballsy move, he still manages to slink away into the background while letting the music do the talking. The album’s infinitely crisp ambience flirts with the idea of delving into the emotions, though it doesn’t quite get that deep. In his “About Me” section on his MySpace page, Parks describes Illuminated Manuscripts as “intimate but intricate bedroom” music.

This statement, though succinct, fails to describe the bedtime action accompanying the album. I would imagine the bed having Egyptian cotton sheets (ironed, of course) in taupe and involving two politically-correct, straight, condom-and-diaphragm-wearing recipients. In other words, this album is clean and safe, without even a hint of raunch; it’s more sparkling and sanitary than Thievery Corporation. But, no matter — one can still appreciate Parks’s brand of understated and subtle electronic loveliness. They can also take interest in his year-long journey recording Illuminated Manuscripts. Apparently Parks was living in and out of other’s homes, borrowing computers and 4-tracks and whatnot and scraping this album together, piece-by-piece.

These songs have a way of creating cool and relaxed moods. “Tiny Theme” brings to mind a scene in a movie where a man frantically searches a train station for his love, a love he nearly lost but with whom he’s determined to reconnect and begin again. “Halls of Avalon” has an infectiously swanky beat that prompts one to wear silk and sip a cosmo. I see utopian skies, complete with the occasional spring shower and endless dewy grass, where “Late Show” plays softly in the background. The last song of this album, which is, incidentally, secret and simply called “Cale Parks SS2,” is a hybrid of quick cymbals and what sounds like a vibraphone, one of the many instruments Parks plays with Aloha.

These are the songs that people who live in lofts listen to. You know them: they buy their furniture from Pottery Barn or West Elm after jogging at Memorial Park and getting Sumatra coffee afterwards at Starbucks. I envision these people cooking their well-balanced Sunday brunch with Illuminated Manuscripts gracefully emanating from the many meticulously-placed speakers provided by Tweeter.