The Night Dënver Gave Me a Future

   By Richard Villegas | Nov 7th, 2019

    Artwork by Alonso Ayala (@ouchal)

What’s the record that changed your life? I don’t mean the one that helped you get over a break up or nursed you through mourning a loved one. Those records are essential, but I mean the one that shattered your fundamental understanding of what music is and can be. I mean the one that forced you to reassess your beliefs. The one that unmasked you as little more than a young, arrogant fool. For me, that record was Dënver’s sophomore album Música, Gramática, Gimnasia, an emotional whirlwind of synthesizers, orchestral strings, romantic daydreaming and teenage angst that forever shattered my US-centric musical outlook.

Melodrama aside, that record really did change my life. In late 2011, after nearly three glorious, if hectic, years in South America, a wild adventure came to a crashing close as ending jobs, friendships, and romantic relationships indicated it was time to begin a scary new chapter. That October I headed home to New York City, an amazing but tough fucking town, where my less than glamorous circumstances ushered in a deep and ugly depression. I was broke as a joke, sharing a bedroom with two friends in The Bronx and unable to secure a job for the first six months of my return. This apparent fall from grace was a sharp contrast to my South American life, where for the past two years I’d lived in Santiago, Chile, making extremely cute coins and living excessively, to the point of vulgarity. It was a humbling shift, and looking for any nostalgic taste of my past life, I remembered a friend had gifted me the new album from this random band for whom he designed a website.

I distinctly recall my incredulousness as the shimmering disco strings of “Mi Primer Oro” gave way to the filthy, saturated synths of “Olas Gigantes.” How had I never heard this? I loved dance music. Disco had been my favorite musical genre since I started paying attention to the whole damn artform! How had this music existed right under my nose and completely escaped me? What the actual fuck was happening? Who were Dënver and why had I not yet pirated their entire discography?

But the bitter truth was I had known about this gold mine and didn’t care when I was actually in it. I had seen Dënver, Ana Tijoux and Astro perform at the first Lollapalooza Chile in 2010, and I shrugged them off as local filler talent as I walked over to catch whichever other US or European act was performing at the same time. Javiera Mena and Francisca Valenzuela opened the festival’s main stage on their respective days, promoting their sublime debut albums, as well as new cuts from their even better follow ups Mena and Buen Soldado. I, of course, showed up later, eager to see some mediocre band I can’t even remember. More galling still, I saw Dënver perform twice more during my time in Chile; once at a post-earthquake fundraiser in 2010 and again opening for Cut Copy later that year.

Back in my friend’s Bronx dining room, the epic orchestral crescendo of “Lo Que Quieras” was hitting and I was already frantically searching for related artists. That night I discovered Gepe, Adrianigual, Fakuta and Alex Anwandter, also going back and giving Javiera Mena and Astro a proper shot. I was blown away, and while the Chilean indie pop explosion came as a buzzy and gradual wave for most, it was a rude awakening for me. I looked back on my life in Chile, and even further back to the year prior in Argentina, and found cherished memories lived through a jarring gringo bubble. In many ways I’d been bratty and condescending, disinterested in local music scenes I was repeatedly told were excellent. Maybe it was knowing that soon I’d have to go sleep on a dirty, deflated air mattress, or perhaps it was the pit of regret expanding in my stomach, but that night Dënver threw me a lifeline.

Chilean indie pop suited me shockingly well, then and now, and while I remain a fervent acolyte of this musical golden age, Música, Gramática, Gimnasia is still my favorite way of getting lost in a wondrous hipster fantasy. I’ve always had a taste for quirky, left-of-center pop, so songs like “Los Adolescentes” and “Segundas Destrezas” left me twirling on the moon. Mariana Montenegro’s almost childish cooing on “Feedback” and “Cartagena” still gives me chills, and while she remains the face of Dënver to this day, it was Milton Mahan’s reluctant leading man energy that had me hook, line and sinker.

I was completely sold on the cinematic romanticism of “Diane Keaton” and “Lo Que Quieras,” the latter of which always gets me on the last line. After offering us heaven, earth and everything in between, Mahan closes the song by meekly gasping “Y si no quieres nada...” – an extraordinary reminder that having each other’s company is more than enough to get by in this terrible world. On “Los Bikers,” we also get a glimpse of the subtle darkness that has become a hallmark of Mahan’s writing, minimally unspooling a tale of sexual assault that grows even tenser when coupled with its modern dance and sadomasochism-flavored music video. Finally, on “En Medio De Una Fiesta,” he provides a perfect bookend for the record, exquisitely colliding the melancholy and disco ball euphoria we’ve heard explored throughout.

In my life there’s a before and after Música, Gramática, Gimnasia. Before Dënver opened the floodgates of an entire generation of Latin American indie musicians making brilliant, challenging work without so much as an ounce of credibility to envy their US and European peers, I was willfully ignorant and unaware of my staggering gringo arrogance. Afterwards, I became hungry and curious again, reconciling several aspects of my identity and devoting the better part of the past decade to supporting and uplifting this artistic universe. As a writer I’ve been lucky enough to meet, interview and befriend many of my idols, while as a fan and adventurer I’ve traveled the world, being welcomed into scenes, shows and homes I could only have dreamed of while sitting in my friend’s plastic covered chairs in The Bronx. Today, this music pays my bills. It literally feeds me. After years in the game, it still sounds like madness every time I say it out loud.

Gracias Dënver, por darme lo que quería.


Richard Villegas is a music journalist, culture writer, world traveler, Instagram thot and hot mess. He is a frequent contributor at Remezcla, Bandcamp and Rolling Stone and produces the SONGMESS podcast, where he interviews Ibero-American musicians and industry professionals over beers, coffee and chisme.
IG: @rixinyc / @songmess

Video: Playa Gótica - "Fuego"

Playa Gótica’s first entry was a seismic breakup song that went unrivaled by anything else out of the pop Iberosphere in 2015. If Ana Gabriel wrote a track with the gothic icon Alaska, then perhaps “Reptil no gentil” would be its reimagined tribute. Since their explosive debut the Chilean group has remained relatively quiet, allowing them to refine their sound and build our expectations to near insane levels. It’s only fitting then that Playa Gótica’s comeback would also inspire us to return to our blogging duties.

“Fuego” moves the band forward with an updated version of the previously released song along with a new clip directed by Bernardo Quesney. Set in the woods and surrounded by mountains, the video contains a star making performance by singer Fanny Leona. She easily steals the spotlight with her restless presence and energy. The intercut shots where she struts along bathed in a Lynchean lens are easy contenders for our favorite mv images this year. On its own “Fuego” brought moody guitars and bass grooves that were not hard to love instantly. Thanks to its visual, one is now opened up to more anthemic layers and lovelorn chaos. #FlameEmoji.

Las Olas - Canciones Para Mis Amigxs

Canciones Para Mis Amigxs (EP), Las Olas
Piloto Records, Chile
Rating: 75
by Giovanni Guillén


Las Olas is a four-piece noise-pop band based in Santiago de Chile. They actually stylize the “noispop” part into the name, in case there were any doubts. Over the last few months the group has become the new darlings within Santiago’s indie scene. These youngsters represent a fresh face in Chilean alternative, leading a wave of similar punk and noise-inclined bands that remain decidedly friendly and supportive and fun.

Canciones para mis amigxs puts together a cohesive product from previously existing songs that just needed to be collected in the studio. The six tracks that make up this cassette EP are just as charming as the pink cover art and doodles might suggest. Here is a reminder of how guitars can still transmit the essence of teen and young adult extremes, and how life’s difficulties can be sustained or made lighter through them. “Un Gato” materializes under the sappiness of twee. The band rolls out angular notes drowned in cymbals while the singer comes in punch-drunk by it all. Cami’s voice even borders on the nya-nya of this cat she alludes to. But the most memorable bit comes from her ferocity at the end, in which she bellows to hold her own. They might be Chile’s darlings, but Las Olas have not yet been declawed.

“Para no irme lejos” is infused in Saddle Creek Records folk. Thankfully, the one-minute runtime doesn’t allow the listener to absorb or wallow in too much nostalgia. “Brilla lo que tenemos” and “Desobedecer” mark the EP’s existential core. The words first come at us in a sinister tone from a male voice: “Puedo desobedecer sin intentarlo tanto...” The teenage fantasies of rebellion are betrayed by the restraint from the slow-burning and tense guitars. “Desobedecer,” already a single and video, acts on those feelings and launches forward, underlining the best that Las Olas have to have offer: unbridled force and energy.

The end credits, scored by the bonus track “Me dices que es fácil,” is an epic conclusion of Dënver - “Lo que quieras” dimensions. Perhaps Las Olas were attempting to already outsize their humble beginnings. Or better yet, they just wanted to reach the same emotional heights without compromising their scraggly diminutive punk. Whatever the case, the song is proof that Las Olas know exactly what they’re doing.

Ablusion - Soluciones temporales

Soluciones temporales, Ablusion
Piloto Records, Chile
Rating: 74
by Giovanni Guillén

Chile’s reputation to outsiders as a pop paradise gave the country a one-sided spotlight. This left many genres -it’s rap scene and electronic pioneers- out of the conversation. Indie-rock was ignored as well, but this wasn’t an altogether bad thing. Over a short period of time we’ve seen newcomers that favor guitars pop up all over the place. Their evolution into full-fledged stardom is still far off, but they are flourishing nonetheless.

Last year we discovered burgeoning acts such as Las Olas, Velódromo, and Playa Gótica. Piloto Records also added their share of names to remember. It was through this netlabel that we met Franco Perucca. Perucca has paid his dues in a number of bands, playing with Patio Solar and El Cómodo Silencio de los que Hablan Poco (ECSDLQHP). Under the name Ablusión, the Chilean artist ventures solo with Soluciones Temporales.

The EP is a tight set of four songs (five with an interlude) bursting with ideas. Not all of them work, but they don’t really need to. Traces of hardcore line the opener and title track, barely outpacing the lo-fi layers. The melodies spin and still remain accessible and light. “Comenzar” emits a static-lined guitar collaged between a whimsical dream-pop. Perucca counters this twee moment feigning detachment. It happens again on the closer and strongest track “Miremos al Espacio-sayi.” This time, the singer shows more of his romantic side (“cubrirte con mis brazos / que miremos juntos el espacio / hasta que estemos unidos”) then retreats behind a brazen psychedelic finish. Soluciones Temporales whizzes by leaving a fresh impression on nostalgic sounds.

Elandh - "Fiesta House"

Elandh is a Chilean trio that's been steadily teasing their debut LP, Ficción, for some time now. Promo cuts “Estrellándonos” and “Como nunca” eluded us in their original run, but have gained some heavy rotation thanks to the official release just days ago. Early impressions generally concede that Ficción is a sleek pop record with some notable features (Fakuta on "El frío entre los dos") and house cuts. "Fiesta House", the album's opener, is so straightforward as a dance track that one could almost miss it. Then again, you could just be overthinking it. Pre-chorus we hear the words: "Seré mi propia estrella..." and there its function is made clear. This is a warm-up track, when the dance floor is looking empty and social inhibitions are still lingering. Fear not. By the time you hear the reprise of those vocal samples, you'll know exactly what to do.

Video: Adrianigual - “Nunca vienes a mi casa”

Easily one of the best comebacks of this year, “Nunca vienes a mi casa” is the result of a long apprenticeship but also of a certain experience. Diego Adrián, the man behind Adrianigual, was busy producing for others, DJing, collaborating (Planta Carnívora and others), working on Terry Unplugged (his techno project) and, of course, songwriting. The first cut from the forthcoming album Rap y Amor, which was co-produced by MKRNI’s own Marcelo Miopec, reveals a beautiful fragility and a newfound ability to diversify his emotional range while arraying a more classic Chicago house sound and some legit, straightforward and well-placed grooves. Adrián sings about acceptance and rejection, the erosion of self-esteem and ability to love in a clashing yet effective voice.

Throughout the video, directed by multidisciplinary artist Begoña Ortúzar, we follow a rather flustered Adrianigual making his way into a gloomy country road. With every step he drifts into darkness, blurring the lines between predator and prey. The Santiaguino ultimately unleashes his finest dance moves, leaving us spellbound by his flair to tell the innermost secrets of human condition and express emotions through movement.

Adrianigual will be releasing his album next March through Enciclopedia Color.

Dënver - "Los Vampiros"

There's a lot that feels beguiling about Dënver's music (and the band itself). Their last release, the charmingly-crafted Profundidad de Campo is structured in a very narrative sense and the quirky Música, Gramática, Gimnasia, took on adolescence with all the sincerity of adolescents. Mariana Montenegro and Milton Mahan illustrated their poppy intellect with songs that sounded more and more melancholic every time one heard them. Among the greatness that surrounds Chile's music scene, what made Dënver's first two albums so compelling was its infectious nature and their big up beat emotions. In "Los Vampiros," their first single off the upcoming Sangre Cita, Mahan’s openness also gets the better of his often spot-on taste for musical eclecticism.

"Los Vampiros" opens with blasts of Europop synths that demand to be enjoyed rather than endure. The track counts with the vocal collaborations of Fanny Leona (Playa Gótica), (me llamo) Sebastián and Pablo Muñoz, the other half of Mahan's side project De Janeiros. The lyrics refer to more extreme hedonism and exemplifies, just like a B movie, the night as territory of fantastic creatures, vampires and werewolves in a struggle for pleasure where the battlefield is the disco track.

The community Mahan and Montenegro seem to imagine here is not exactly the twee community of romantic shut-ins that once defined the group’s fanbase. It’s a different version of that group, not necessarily older, but certainly wiser in their recognition of the need to engage the world in order to preserve their dreaming within it. You might not love disco or Europop, but you can still feel that honest, gentle hope that only Dënver knows how to transmit.

Maifersoni - "Partners" / "Las flores más hermosas se marchitan"

Plot twist: Enrique Elgueta aka Maifersoni's Telar Deslizante doesn't go down as another unsung Iberoamerican masterpiece and instead finds new life amidst news of Elgueta's upcoming follow-up to his 2010 debut.

We last heard from Maifersoni by way of a Michita Rex compilation. The chaotic "Andina" had an immensity that spilled over and made us cry as many times as it left us in awe. There's a markedly different approach to Elgueta's two latest tracks, "Partners" and "Las flores más hermosas se marchitan" (released jointly on Quemasucabeza) but it's one that feels like the most natural kind of progression. Going by history, it's one we've seen before once shoegaze became stifled by its own listless nature and began to indulge in the exotic qualities of dance music.

A-side "Partners" benefits the most from this fresh pop compound. Maifersoni sounds at home channeling rhythm and flute grooves into the perfect pastel rave or future twee entry, the kind James Brooks (Elite Gymnastics) promised us through his Default Genders project. "Las flores más hermosas se marchitan" takes a more wistful approach but is equally touching. Both songs signal an exciting direction for Maifersoni and one we can't wait to see fully flourish.

Planta Carnívora & Diego Adrián - "Playa Salvaje"

New tropicalesque singles from Astro, Bomba Estereo, and now Planta Carnívora & Diego Adrián are the first signs that we're very close to welcoming the summer. The latter is specially exciting for how intoxicatingly cool it manages to be. While most bloggers took "Maracanaso" as a plain novelty piece for the world cup fervor and the RSS feeds, we applauded the song's proposal of something Andrew Casillas called, "alternative reggaeton." For their new collaboration, Planta Carnivora and Diego Adrian keep it risky and very, very weird. "Playa Salvaje" boldens the casio keys and triples the use of the reggaeton beat to steady results. Planta's delivery of the verses is strong and often hillarious, while Diego's near-broken pitch is almost too obtrusive for its own good. Nothing should work here, and yet everything DOES. In a year where too many singles have lacked a definitive chorus, it's refreshing to hear a piece that doesn't stop at the bridge and actually goes for the kill. Download the MP3 of the track via Soundcloud.

Javiera Mena - Otra Era

Otra Era, Javiera Mena
Unión del Sur, Chile
Rating: 92
by Andrew Casillas 

How do you follow-up your masterpiece? The common theory is that great artists deliberately evade the sounds of their great works in the name of aural evolution (think of Café Tacuba chasing Reves/Yosoy with Cuatro Caminos, or every album the Beatles made from 1965 to 1969). Students of history, however, will see the past sixty years of popular music as deviations on a common theme. Except in very rare cases (say, Radiohead following up OK Computer with Kid A), the rock era celebrates artists that formulate an unimpeachable template and harvest that sound to diminishing returns. This is why the Rolling Stones are celebrated for their perseverance; Prince for his idiosyncrasies; Spoon for their Spoon-ness. This is the route to immortality.

Javiera Mena has certainly established a distinctive sound, which is impressive considering the cumulative length of her output is shorter than Goodfellas. In essence: Casio keys, electric drums, sound effects, bass-centric melodies, simple and direct lyrics; again, deviations on a common theme. What made her first two albums (not to mention Prissa’s Ni Tu Ni Yo, her collaboration album with Francisca Villela), so compelling was its infectious nature—big beats giving way to big choruses giving way to big emotions. Her first solo single, “Al Siguiente Nivel,” was a mission statement of her musical ambitions. And it just happened to be a perfect pop song. For 2010’s Mena, Javiera diversified her sound, adding gloss and intricacy to her arrangements, resulting in one of the seminal pop albums of this century.

So one more time: how do you follow-up your masterpiece? For her new album, Otra Era, Javiera Mena chooses to ride the formula to its purest version. Otra Era is the sensational dance-pop classic in the vein of Kylie Minogue’s Fever and the Pet Shops Boys’ Very, combining the giddy bombast of the former with the pulsating Euro-dance rhythms of the latter. Indeed, this is the first Javiera Mena album to reject disco as a foundation. Instead, Javiera reconfigures her sound to fixate on either house music rhythms or frenetic dance-pop. The result is a bouncy, confident beast of a record, and the most uniform-sounding Javiera Mena album to date, with grooves and hooks creeping at every turn.

Much of Otra Era’s pre-release buzz centered about Javiera recording in Miami, aiming to create her “pop album,” as if Paulino Rubio needed to watch her seat on La Voz Kids. While Otra Era is certainly unabashedly pop, it’s not packed full of saccharine, in part because of Cristian Heyne’s production. Javiera’s right hand man across each album, Heyne operates almost like another vocalist, with tempo changes and well-placed percussion lifting ostensibly generic-pop beats into punch-drunk bangers.

And the bangers come as quickly as you can hit play. Opener “Los Olores De Tu Alma” pulsates like a jetliner at takeoff. A pounding backbeat thumps away as Javiera pushes her vocals in a fit of exasperated lust. Then the chorus hits, and the vocals stretch the words “como todo el sonido” into yearning, the beat breaks away into a swirling keyboard cacophony. It’s a dynamite section of music, and perhaps the most aggressive section she’s recorded since the breakdown on Esquemas Juveniles’ “Cuando Hablamos.”

Aggression is certainly the best word to describe Otra Era in relation to Esquemas Juveniles and Mena. In fact, the album’s strength lies in the teeth imbued within the production. Take “Esa Fuerza” for example. The song rides along on high synth notes for two minutes, sounding like a simple dance number reminiscent of Kylie’s “Love at First Sight.” Then, two minutes in, the middle eight hits, and the vocals chant “la unica que ser” until dissolving into a sweaty keyboard breakdown continuing throughout the remainder of the track, a key tempo change that effectively changes it into a different (and better) song. For all its charms, however, “Esa Fuerza” is not the strongest song of the record.

Instead, the three-song combo opening side two are the true showcase for Otra Era’s sonic attack. In single “La Joya,” which still sounds like it’ll be running your summers ten years from now, the exuberant “Que Me Tome la Noche,” and the perfectly titled “La Carretera,” Mena and Heyne have three numbers that allow them to operate on all cylinders. “La Joya” allows the pair to indulge headfirst in 80s nostalgia, sounding like the unintended mix of Lisa Lisa and Madonna you could have sworn already existed. This is before (again) hitting the accelerator at the bridge, tearing the fucking lid off the song and letting the keys ride it into another dimension. “Que Me Tome la Noche” is freestyle on steroids, lifting those keyboards Britney Spears used on “Til the World Ends” that sounded like fire from the sky (or foam falling on the dance floor, I can’t really tell). And “La Carretera” is a 90 mph slice of brash beachside firework pop, launching hooks the way 30 Rock launched jokes. Javiera Mena always held a debt to Gloria Estefan (see "Luz de Piedra de Luna") and this track pays it back by riding the Miami Sound Machine (with a tint of Capullo) into the goddamn ocean.

Of course, this is still a Javiera Mena album, meaning it must be judged according to its slow jamz. And while “Pide” and “Quedate un Ratito Mas” are tender, sometimes blissful songs, the heart of this album is its title track. As a standalone single “Otra Era” was charming and lovely, but as heard within the parent album it is as gorgeous as Javiera Mena has ever sounded. Atypical of the rest of the album, “Otra Era” revels in minimalism and is built solely on an array of keys and basic drum effects. The ethereal “Fool on the Hill”-like melody sustains the track, but it’s Javiera’s lyrics and cadence that grounds the song. Long derided (and sometimes rightly) for writing overly naïve lyrics, “Otra Era” doubles-down on the mantras. Here, however, the music acts as an emotional reinforcement. Note how, after a dizzying array of stadium synths, the final chorus shuts down so Javiera Mena can address the audience (“Piensa en mi como soy / Piensa lejos de mí”). Then, in the turn of an eye: madness; synthesizers exploding at every turn; “llévame a otra era.” It’s the type of dance song you would prefer to listen to sitting down and holding hands.

Making a fun dance-pop album is not hard so long as you remember that people want to dance. But making a great dance-pop album requires the artist to have the confidence to establish an identity and not cater to the lowest common denominator. Otra Era is a great album, genre be damned, because Javiera Mena knows what she is and what how to package her sound. This is why “Espada,” almost a year after its release, still sounds urgently brazen and satisfying far after it’s debut. Javiera’s artistic maturity has allowed her to tinker with her formula like an aural wizard—knowing when to let hooks sink and when to unleash her bag of tricks. Now, let’s make this clear: Otra Era is not the equal of Mena. But very few albums are. And even after the inevitable nitpicking, Otra Era still sounds like a modern classic from one of the classic artists of this generation. One that is clearly on the road to immortality.

Ases Falsos - Conducción

Conducción, Ases Falsos
Quemasucabeza, Chile
Rating: 87
by Pierre Lestruhaut

If our own twitter feed was a representative sample size for all of Latin America, then Ases Falsos would already be international superstars. Although they may not be the most universally loved indie darlings (it does have its good share of skeptics), there’s not another band that has garnered so much enthusiasm among bloggers and tastemakers, in large part thanks to the scope and ambition of their “debut” album Juventud Americana. A fiercely cathartic and politically charged record, the strength of Juventud Americana’s lyricism relied not so much on its content but on its form. “Europa” was essentially 21st century resentment of European colonialism, and “La Sinceridad del Cosmos” was yet another defense of left-wing street protests, but the elegance of its delivery — the European crisis seen through an I-don’t-give-a-fuck punk attitude, or the nobility of street protesting personified by the animals appearing on each side of the conflict — is what elevated them towards lyrical pop grandeur.

If you listen to Juventud Americana back-to-back with its follow-up record Conducción, you’ll notice that Cristóbal Briceño and his band are turning the cathartic and revolutionary knobs a few levels down. It’s not just the shift in mood here but also the shift in content: going from subversive youthful energy towards adult apprehension. Sonically, the very obvious comparison with mainstream Anglo rock here may be Springsteen’s Nebraska or Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs, going from anthemic to intimate. It’s a record that tries to look inwards rather than outwards, as from the first few bars Briceño claims sociopolitical issues need to be saved for later, as it’s time to focus on personal ones “Habrá tiempo para hablar de la confrontación, antes vamos a sondear la gruta personal.”

Although pop and rock are the quintessential forms to express the ideals of political engagement and undying love, Conducción is actually more about the hard realizations of adulthood. In “Búscate Un Lugar Para Ensayar” Briceño sings like the old been-there-done-that former student who participated in way too many street protests with strong catchphrases that eventually ended in partying, thus highly critical of how protesting values posturing instead of ideas (“pero son frases hechas que se olvidan con facilidad, después de unas cervezas nadie sabe dónde quedó la rabia.”). “Mi Ejército” is regretful of past days spent fighting against the world (“Parece que fue ayer cuando creí en la lucha contra el mundo”), and arrives at the realization that all humans must make their own way in the world (“soy mi comandante y a la vez mi primera línea”).

Throughout Conducción, you can sense that these are the thoughts of an almost thirty something that is digesting the hard truths of life that go against the ideals of the rock realm. In “Ivanka” Briceño speaks about perhaps the hardest one of them all: the futility of everlasting love, and the acceptance that romantic relationships must come to an end (“Te encontré saliendo herida de una relación dañina, siendo justos yo no sé si exista otro final”). Conducción is a poignant record at times, even if its surface can be uplifting. Briceño just loves playing with the contradictions between form and content: the album’s most delicate and gorgeously sounding song (“Niña por favor”) is actually about the importance of despise and how deep down we all really love to hate, while its most gimmicky lyrics are found in a catchy 80’s power pop number that’s about loneliness and depression (“Plácidamente”).

In “Cae la cortina” the record enters the territory of morality. A song about how in reality everyone is the same in their own private domains, (“cuando cae la cortina, queda claro como vives”) it resonates tremendously in our times given how social media has made well-known figures who fuck up subject to public scrutiny, even though we are all the same behind those curtains. But the most accomplished song here is probably “Yo No Quiero Volver.” Using the metaphor of a computer as a crystal ball connecting the world and allowing us to see the past of humanity, it might seem like it would initially be critical about how, despite owning magical boxes allowing us to access knowledge and information within seconds, we’ve done so few to actually use it as something beneficial to society. Yet it concludes that free access to information is a lot better than being subject to the all-dominance of information that television and newspapers previously had.

A lot is made of Cristóbal Briceño’s magical mystery mind from which emanate wonderful words and melodies, but the quality of his accompanying band here is often understated. The band’s sonics are perfectly in step with Briceño’s simple ideas, and Conducción is yet another work of timeless and well-crafted pop music, romantic lyricism, and sociopolitical reflection. Briceño himself has talked about how the surface should be just as important as the content, and there may not be an explicit reference to Juan Gabriel here, but more than ever, Ases Falsos show the same obsession for melodical efficiency that Juanga always did. Ases Falsos has always been a sensory experience as much as an intellectual one: strong powerful poignant content that gives it its cultural relevancy, but always presented in a shiny glittering surface. And it’s that surface that has you eventually coming back to the songs months or even years after they were released.

Tunacola - "Danky"

Even amongst Papasquiaro’s multitude of riches, Tunacola’s “Danky” stands out as a welcome surprise. This is mainly because, as compared to much of the compilation, “Danky” is an instant winner. Indeed, my reaction on first listen was “Wow, I’ve been waiting for the Go! Team to make something this great for ten damn years.” Not to say that Tunacola’s breakthrough track is beholden to early 2000s mash-up culture. In fact, where “Danky” really shines is in its infectious verses, which invoke Len’s eternal “Steal My Sunshine.” But this isn’t some twee shit—the last minute throws out the coyness and throws in the entire kitchen sink, to dizzying effect. While there may be more important songs on Club Fonograma’s latest compilation, none of them are as destined to last as a classic summer jam.

El sueño de la casa propia - "Color Piel"

The keystone for electronic music (perhaps for any music) is to succeed in creating something like an interiority without succumbing to some sort of hermetic art. El sueño de la casa propia’s vibrant and cohesive elemental landscape illustrates that principle, providing something perhaps a bit more “human” to a genre that can sometimes be too intellectual or abstract. “Color Piel,” which was released on our latest compilation, Papasquiaro, gives a glimpse at José Manuel Cerda's further exploration of undefined shapes, textures and resonance, but always with greater ambience and confidence. Without saying a word, Cerda deftly translates the reality of a multi-facetted, polymorphous contemporary identity. The sonic collage of chops and glitches leaves the abiding impression of a distant memory creating a universal truth beyond time and place.

Mañaneros - "The Vass"

Around the one minute mark of Mañaneros’ new track “The Vass,” right when the accordion finally kicks in, you can’t help but think of one of the more defining phrases of 2000’s Latin pop: “Suena, suena y emociona, nuestra, nuestra acordeona.” It’s not a surprising move, given how Mañaneros tend to reappropriate all sorts of popular Latin rhythms, movements, and symbols, and then proceed to reinterpret them through their own lens of post-internet holy-fucking-shitdom. It’s about recontextualizing Latin folk in the digital era as much as it is about getting drunk on aguardiente and passing out next to some cumbia blasting speakers. I’ll admit that the Celso Piña connection might be a little too far-fetched here, but with Mañaneros, you get the feeling that their music is about everything and nothing at the same time. For these guys, no connection is too crazy. Especially when you’re this crazy.  "The Vass" is the first song unveiled from Mañaneros' forthcoming release, download the track via Papasquiaro.

Video: Planta Carnívora & Adrianigual - "Maracanaso"

Bling bling mundial. Quirky and unapologetically kitsch, “Maracanaso” raised eyebrows amongst our staff as we tried to figure out if it had an ounce of formality (realness) or if it was just an amateur attempt at connecting with the zeitgeist –yes, the World Cup. Either way, we couldn’t help ourselves and included the track in our recent Favorite Futbol Songs playlist (where we remind you this is a better song than anything on the official Word Cup soundtrack). Newcomer MC Planta Carnívora (kickass name and a revelation) and Adrianigual (nowadays a one-man band by Diego Adrian) show they meant real business by releasing a meta-sequenced, meta-juxtaposed clip that removes the disposable/serviceable purpose out of the track. As they describe it, it’s a song born out of “el dembow, el fútbol, el sexo en exceso y las dos mentes mas exacerbadas de Santiago.” Without undermining its witty, deliciously sarcastic spirit “Maracanaso” (free download here) sure makes for better entertainment and Chilean pride than the very unfortunate and drowned-in-sentimentalism fútbol clip featuring the Chilean miners. Muy buenos pal reggaeton.

MP3: MKRNI - "Inercia"

If we were to take a poll on what’s the best summer jam to have come out of the last couple of years, “Humedad” would be near the top. But was that too much of a hit? This is perhaps, a stretched assumption, but MKRNI seems to have taken solid steps to departure from the bubble-gum streak of Jumper. By the second release, Playa Futuro (released in late 2011), the Chilean act rejected pop structure –making the music more interesting, but also more alienating. They went as far as trying to change their name into the more proper, Makaroni, showing signs that they were ready to get more serious. Neither the public nor the bloggers responded too warmly to such changes.

Elisita, Roman, and Marcelo are pushing forward. We’re glad they’ve kept the MKRNI name and even happier to see them negotiating with both, pop structure and personal vision, as shown on their latest single, “Inercia.” The track starts with menacing dreamwaves dictating the melody. As the song progresses, we find that those epic synths are actually the chorus of this song –if there’s a chorus at all. Slow-paced and responding to its own echos, “Inercia” is a lovely and immaculate gem. Getting closer to what we’ve heard from Granit and Marineros than their past tropical affairs, MKRNI’s newfound introspection is surely promising. Download the track via the Soundcloud player below.

Javiera Mena - "La Joya"

People often refer to us as Chilean pop insiders. And although we don’t shy away from calling her our diva, we’ve been very distant to Javiera Mena’s highly anticipated follow up to Mena –the only album to have ever received a perfect score from us. Considering someone leaked Mena about six months before its release date, it’s understandable that Javiera and producer Cristian Heyne have opted to keep the new album (out in September) under extreme vigilance. Today, on her birthday, Javiera has released “La Joya,” the second single off her third album. If first single “Espada” had some people claiming we had “lost her to the mainstream” and comparing the pop agency of the song to something Paulina Rubio would do, the new single will complicate things even further.

The music in “La Joya” is vibrant and the melody is eventually catchy. It’s the further reduction in the lyrics (particularly in the bridge towards the chorus) that builds a barricade that prevents it from being truly engaging during its first half. Things get much better once the song re-structures its proposition on its second half. The synths get bold, the melodies find a direction, and some very militant vocals provide the track with roundness and pop prowess. “Espada” wasn’t an easy swallow either. For some people, it was resolved once the music clip came out. For me, I realized I loved it when Sam Rodgers referred to the performance as “an 8-bit character in a fantasy quest game, collecting coins.” Perhaps something will resolve “La Joya” for us too –hopefully the album itself. It’s okay to be skeptical –that’s why we’re here. Javiera is doing her job, acquiring visibility and keeping momentum until it’s time to open her vault.

Kali Mutsa - Souvenance

Souvenance, Kali Mutsa
SHOCK, Chile
Rating: 76
by Sam Rodgers

Everyone's favorite "ninety-four year old" Chilean gypsy princess Kali Mutsa, aka Pharaoh Koralle Esperanza del Carmen Pantic, has finally released her first LP, Souvenance,  over a year since this reviewer commented on first single "El Jardín." Before we go any further, it must be said that this is divisive artistry. It's unlikely Souvenance will impress those that have not jumped on board Kali Mutsa's particular/peculiar style already, and for those of you who do "get" it - there's much here to surprise, exhilarate, and perplex you even further.

Moving away from the EPs' more cabaret lounge style - easier to digest, left-of-center world music stuff (it always teetered precariously towards that) - Souvenance intimidates, getting right in your face from the beginning and rarely letting up the attention demanding beats for its forty minute run time. This is an album so intent on imprinting its singularity on the listener, it can seem a bit too much to handle. There's no wading in here - the ideas are bubbling over, it's disorientating. Kali Mutsa's vocals are incessant, this is no background dance album; like M.I.A., you better be listening. So aggressively does Mutsa avoid aural sublimity it can be jarring. Nearly every moment on the album needs a second, third, or fourth listen to finally hear a track. It doesn't help there's the semi-annoying prevalence of short tracks, which, with this sort of experimental and explosive jam, feels like sorting through half-baked and burnt ones to find the fully-formed cookies.

And unlike the singles we've heard from Kali Mutsa up until now, there's a lack of blank space on Souvenance - she's turned it up, whether actively discouraging an easy-read pop personality or not. There's only "El Jardín" that connects this album with the rest of her catalog: the mood-changes, the sass, the co-starring fiddle riff, the familiar (and thereby readily likable) structure. So, what works? Kali Mutsa's music is perfect to pull out when you want to impress with a "new sound." Any track fits that bill - go on, insert them into a mix tape, get that double-take - but finding the pleasure points on the album - and treating Souvenance as such, not just a collection of cool new sounds - requires the track to restrain itself to an extent. Second single "Canción de Amor Colla" does this well by providing space to the playful distortion and the gradual build up to a signature bat-shit carnival climax. It's quite possibly one of the best tracks of Kali Mutsa's canon to date.  

"Traga Traga" excels at striking the balance between acquired style and originality - borrowing from the Angolan kuduro dance style (and featuring kudurista Francis Boy - who, like his peer Titica, seems to have some beef with Lady Gaga) and then funneling it through the Bollywood flavor Kali Mutsa wears on the album cover art. This hopeful single will make your ass hard and your head wobble. Elsewhere Souvenance takes the listener to a worrisome circus on the Río de la Plata on "El Cuerpo;" through a batucada-infused German discotheque on "Edithcita;" muscly rap over Andean folk on "Sicopompa;" and the almost parody of itself, "Cumbia De Pichi." However, it's not until final track, "Tati Bal Bal (Viento Caliente)," that there's reprieve from the high octane shenanigans of the rest of the album. It gives some much needed gradient to the melodrama - Kali Mutsa can also do a Dance of the Seven Veils, a counterpoint to her explosive witchcraft.

Dënver - Remixes de Campo

Yeah, you might be looking at that cover and trying to figure out what’s going on. Milton has apparently kept the bleach blonde hair that accompanied their festival circuit, and Mariana took the line of “Hasta el bikini me estorba” very seriously. In all honesty, both Mariana and Milton are looking mad sexy. The duo recently surprised us with a cover of Juan Gabriel’s “Pero Que Necesidad,” made aware they’ll be swinging by Primavera Sound, announced the release of their album on vinyl, and today, they’re bringing us another treat. They’ve unveiled Remixes de Campo, a short collection of remixes (of various achievements) for some of the tracks of the initially divisive, but increasingly appreciated latest album Fuera de Campo. Highlights include an auteristic dance treatment of “Concentracion de Campos” by Chilean beatmaker Motivado, the transporting of “Medio Loca” to a whole new place by AJ Davila, and two remixes of “Revista de Gimnasia,” including a cumbia. Download the remixes through their website.

Video: Marineros - "Oh Oh"

Like its predecessor “Espero,” the new single by Marineros isn’t brand new to us. That is, of course, if you’ve been as engaged in the unfolding of Marineros as Chile’s most promising newcomers. “Oh Oh” (in its finished edit) was first presented to our staff last year by Cristian Heyne, when the track was meant to accompany “Espero” as a b-track. We are glad they chose to hold on to the track instead, and even happier they’ve given it the audiovisual and promotional treatment. Not only does the single offers Marineros great amounts of momentum, it also validates the act’s atemporal craftsmanship. Under the scope of Álvaro Puentes (director of “Espero”), the clip is like a marketing dossier whose almost-static use of space keeps the song’s melody and urban flirtations clear and focused. Constanza and Soledad are still in the shade, wearing black, and keeping themselves distant to the camera –a personal-detachment practice that keeps their promising career that much more exciting.