Karma Smile is Coolonaut’s third album in just three years, and that speed alone tells you a lot about why this record exists. This isn’t a carefully planned “statement album” designed to land at the perfect cultural moment. It feels more like a reaction, almost a reflex. The kind of record you make when staying quiet starts to feel dishonest. If Coolonaut’s earlier albums arrived when ideas like “human rights for all” were already under strain, Karma Smile is firmly rooted in the aftermath, where those ideas feel openly attacked, twisted, and brushed aside.
The album opens with “Confabulation,” a title that immediately signals one of the record’s core interests: the way truth gets bent, softened, or outright rewritten. It sets the tone without ceremony, easing the listener into Coolonaut’s world of observation and unease. That flows naturally into “Be On The Right Side,” which feels less like advice and more like a quiet challenge. There’s no preaching here, just a steady insistence that neutrality isn’t as harmless as people like to pretend it is.
From there, Coolonaut zooms in on smaller, more personal details with “Boganville” and “Volvoman.” These tracks sketch out odd characters and everyday quirks, reminding you that this album isn’t just abstract anger aimed at the world at large. These songs feel lived-in, grounded in real places and real people. They also reflect Coolonaut’s willingness to poke fun at himself, using eccentricity as a way to stay human in the middle of all the frustration.
That balance between the personal and the political is one of Karma Smile’s biggest strengths. The album never pretends those two things are separate. Memories of childhood in Scotland, especially in “Pebble Dash Heaven,” sit alongside a much darker view of the present. Nostalgia appears here not as escape, but as contrast; a reminder of what once felt safe or simple, and how far the world seems to have drifted from that feeling.
The album’s anger becomes more direct with “The Reckoning,” which acts as a turning point. This is where the record’s sense of moral urgency fully comes into focus. Coolonaut is clearly fed up with the way mass suffering is explained away or justified, and even more disappointed by the lack of response from mainstream rock artists. There’s a feeling that the big protest songs just aren’t coming anymore, not when they’re most needed. In that silence, Karma Smile steps forward, even if it feels like shouting into empty space.
The title track, “Karma Smile,” sits at the emotional center of the album. It ties together the record’s belief in accountability; not as comfort, but as consequence. There’s no promise that things will magically improve, just a stubborn faith that actions matter and that cruelty doesn’t disappear without leaving a mark. That idea carries forward into “Rainbow,” which offers a brief, cautious sense of light. It’s not a victory lap or a happy ending, more like a pause to catch your breath before moving on.
“Into The Sun” continues that reflective mood, sounding like forward motion without pretending the road ahead is easy. It feels less like optimism and more like resolve; the decision to keep going even when the outcome is uncertain. The album closes with “I Don’t Need To Apologise,” a final statement that feels both personal and political. It reads as a refusal to soften the message or back down for the sake of comfort, ending the record on a note of defiance rather than closure.
Musically, Karma Smile is intentionally out of step with modern trends. Coolonaut records everything on an analogue 8-track machine, chasing the warmth and texture of mid-to-late 1960s psychedelia and mod music. The rough edges, room noise, and imperfect takes aren’t mistakes. Rather, they’re part of the point. This isn’t retro for style points; it’s the sound of someone working in a musical language that’s deeply ingrained in how they think and feel. The production never tries to be sleek or polished. Instead, it leans into space, atmosphere, and limitation, creating a record that feels handmade and honest.
Karma Smile isn’t an easy album, emotionally or mentally, and it doesn’t try to be. It’s driven by anger, disbelief, and a stubborn belief in justice, even when that justice feels far away. In a time when a lot of music feels disconnected from real-world pain, Coolonaut offers something raw, honest, and deeply tied to the moment it was made in. This album doesn’t gently ask for your attention. It assumes the world is already loud, already broken and adds its voice anyway.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
