by Leila Rodriguez (@leilajjade)
The French language splits the future into le futur and l’avenir. Le futur is the tense that belongs to the immediate, knowable future, but what Chloé Jara-Buto is concerned with on her album om-om is l’avenir. Unlike le futur, l’avenir is a tense that belongs to the unknowable future–or that which accepts the uncharted. Having already contributed to Montreal’s scene through her work with PERMA on their EP in 2024, Jara-Buto’s latest release om-om feels like a natural evolution: a home-recorded album featuring eleven tender, translucent dream-pop sketches.
The seventh track, “rond,” is sonic and responsive, shifting with the fragile weight that marks the changing of the seasons; muffled synths and drum machines swell and retract, mimicking the bittersweet sensitivity that ties and unties your body in spontaneous outburst at the beginnings and ends of each day. “Boldo” and “nouveau grappin” similarly mirror an awakening, leaning into soft, offbeat brevity. Across all eleven tracks, om-om walks a delicate line. It’s undeniably human but remains plugged into a crisp, electronic orchestra; it’s playfully adolescent but patient, it balances a minimalist bedroom-pop texture with baroque-ish synth layering.
The record unites in its loose, improvised melodies. Reminiscent of Stereolab’s Dots and Loops, om-om leans into a retrofuturistic kitsch, rewarding gentle listeners with a subtle magic that finds you when you aren’t looking. Like Parsley Sound’s self-titled album and Lali Puna’s Scary World Theory, Chloé Jara-Buto plays with sound, coyly leaving space in each track to develop an ambiance without being super overwhelming or indulgent. Delirious, ambiguous, and Québécois, om-om collapses nostalgia and unpredictable futures onto each other with a synchronous bossa cushion, creating an intricate collection of secrets uncovered, forgotten, and rediscovered.