Following the buzz of her reimagining of David Bowie’s “I’m Afraid of Americans,” Kaylif pivots into a seven-track cycle with Call of the Yoni, which enters as a carefully staged rite. Drawing on Sufi philosophy, particularly Ibn Arabi, and weaving together oud, ney, rabab, chamber strings, and sparse electronics, she builds a soundscape that sits somewhere between ancient ritual and contemporary art pop. The concept of the “7-in-1 woman” threads through it all, framing each track as an emotional and spiritual phase rather than a standalone moment.
“Call of the Yoni” opens with intricate strings that summon it. Then comes that low, sensual groove, almost subterranean, as Kaylif’s voice slips in: rich, sultry, and deliberately unhurried. It’s suggestive, sure, and it turns desire into devotion.
By the time “God’s Keeper” rolls in, the energy shifts gears. The rhythm section pulses with a kind of controlled combustion, hip-swaying, restless, alive. Kaylif sounds almost exhilarated as she delivers lines about inner torment and fractured identity, that push-pull between savior complex and self-destruction.
Then there’s “Hallelujah,” a striking Arabic interpretation of Leonard Cohen’s classic. Stripped back to a gentle piano arrangement, it leans into stillness, letting the language carry new emotional weight. Her delivery is intimate but unwavering, turning a familiar song into something deeply personal.
Taken together, Call of the Yoni demands presence. It challenges, seduces, and meditates, sometimes all at once. It’s a ritual you either step into fully… or not at all.
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Review by: Naomi Joan