Harakim

When I first met Itai, there was an immediate feeling of ease, as if words wouldn’t really have been needed. He has a way of radiating acceptance without even noticing, and that same energy seems to hum beneath the surface of this music. There’s no urgency to explain itself, just presence.

Since the beginning of our connection I knew I would want to release an album of his and I knew exactly how it would make me feel. After I listened to the album for the first time, even though we already knew each other for a while, it hit me and I laughed emotionally, thinking to myself, of course, that’s who he is. This isn’t just the outcome of his work, it’s pure feelings and emotions and memories translated into a musical piece.

The album’s name means “insects” in Hebrew, and it fits. There’s a sense of scale here that feels close to the ground, small creatures darting across windowsills or circling a lamp at night. Itai’s use of rhythm often mirrors that kind of movement irregular, flickering, sometimes static, sometimes skittish.

Itai’s Harakim is a short collection built from quiet moments and low stakes routines, the kind of days where not much happens but everything still shifts. Made with great love to two Casio keyboards, a CZ 2000S and a Casiotone 403, the music has a toylike softness to it, but also a sense of care in how each sound is placed. Loops unfold slowly. Melodies repeat with small, deliberate imperfections. Some tracks feel like they’re studying the air around them more than trying to move through it.

Recorded in a bedroom overlooking a line of city trees, the outside world seeps in birds, insects, distant traffic, blurring the boundary between composition and background noise. That in between space seems central to Harakim. It’s not ambient in the classic sense, and it’s not trying to be a beat tape either. It sits somewhere else, where focus drifts in and out and the texture of the room matters as much as the notes being played.

El Hapisga starts with a slow flow of things, coming and going. Melodies and harmonies appear naturally, slowly climbing the peak of the mountain. But the goal is not the purpose. The way and the experience along the path is what matters. Vocal chants dance around, giving a feeling of motion towards self acceptance.

Love Birds, as the name implies, is a story between two birds in love next to Itai’s window. For a few years Itai has been witnessing their love story from his window and has composed a love song for them to enjoy.

Nahar feels like trying to swim between the little rhythms of life, as if you’re trying to keep up with yourself. Itai repeats that he’s doing things in another place and dreaming again, but he’s not asleep, how hard it is to stop and witness, the river is still flowing, you are part of here.

Seashell See is a song for seashells to dance to, inspired by Itai’s love for the ocean.

Hara Kim captures insects waking from the ground, slowly crawling around moss within tree holes, as if there was a new beginning.

Bonfire Tea, Heart. 

https://alapam.bandcamp.com/

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