Showing posts with label colateral soundtrack. Show all posts
Showing posts with label colateral soundtrack. Show all posts

Fonobisa - 12:68

12:68, Fonobisa
Bad Pop, Mexico
Rating: 84
by Enrique Coyotzi

It’s a well-known fact that the best Mexican producers (Mock the Zuma, Siete Catorce, Wyno) are hailing from the north, but we can’t ignore other often overlooked artists (Kryone, Turning Torso, Carlos Pesina and his many pseudonyms) based in some of the country's central states, whose fruitful labor has also helped to shape the national electronic field. The prolific Edgar Mota (aka Colateral Soundtrack or cltrlsndtrck), member of the disappeared Los Amparito, easily fits into this category. The tapatío's last EP as cltrlsndtrck, Cifras, put him in the spotlight, but more recently, he’s been acquiring more attention with his newest project, Fonobisa, playing at gigs like Festival Antes and becoming a favorite for the NAAFI parties’ lineups.

As Fonobisa, Mota’s been restless. He’s offered three compelling EPs in 2013, where he has explored from crazy, kinetic footwork (Frecuencia errónea) to weird-as-fuck, chopped postcard experiments (Abstracción). Still, his most absorbing contribution appeared between these both, with the playful, jaw-dropping 12:68. Under the mixtape format, the producer expertly tests his poppiest facet yet, along with a top-notch selection of collaborators, including Matilda Manzana, Pájaro Sin Alas, Onenina (Capullo’s Cris), and Marinero (Francisco y Madero’s Jess Sylvester), while devoting himself to a concept that feels both flexible and wide-ranging, allowing the listener the possibility of free interpretation—a circular release that can truly be perceived as cyclic, as well as mind-expanding on its own.

The seven songs' names point out specific hours of this time lapse. Starting with the title track, 12:68 takes off in an introspective, almost meditative, lo-fi dance note. Thick bass, a jaunty rhythm, and Marinero’s ethereal vocals set the mood. In “5:17,” urgency is the key. Pájaro Sin Alas, with his towering voice, delivers a fiery performance with a trace of Radiohead's anxious efforts in Amnesiac. Revisiting the chemistry between both, Fonobisa teams up for a second time with Matilda Manzana in the bouncy, ghostlike “6:06,” which Óscar Rodríguez has described as “anti-scene.” Onenina's contribution turns out as the most entertaining. Fonobisa’s shadowy landscapes represent a different zone for Cris, yet she unravels with no problem, singing one of the year’s catchiest hooks (“No puede procesar tus labios en tiempo real”). Nevertheless, the only piece sung-spoken (à la Daniel Maloso) by Mota, “11:25 ( mensaje directo ),” takes the whole prize. “Como un loop estás en mi razón,” the beatmaker enounces over reflective, neon-like synth lines nuanced by increasingly voluptuous beats and swooning effects, setting the body into inevitable motion. “11:25 ( mensaje directo )” wouldn’t feel out of place inside the Cómeme catalog. The roundness of 12:68 arrives courtesy of Hiram Martínez's 2-step pacifying edit of the title track—a version which definitely spells "hangover."

Up to this stage, it’s fair to establish the incredibly creative Edgar Mota as one of Mexico’s top electronic underground figures. His cerebral approach is defying as well as inspiring, and no one around sounds like him right now. One must check out his whole body of work to actually understand (and taste) his entire artistry. However, with 12:68 he’s crafted a sensationally contagious and outstanding entry point to discover what his challenging music is all about.

Colateral Soundtrack - Collage

Collage, Colateral Soundtrack
Independiente, México
Rating: 79
by Reuben "Judah" Torres

Collage begins, quite literally, with a false start, the opening track, “1911,” stuttering as it tries to find proper footing. A pulsating beat ruminates over a distant siren. A lo-fi drum track inches in before fully consuming the mix, only to fade away as a muddled chant bleeds into the foreground. The track’s quiet introspection, its brooding meanderings and second-guessing, could all serve as a terse encapsulation of the album’s aesthetic, an uneven work that nonetheless manages to shine through its moments of understated splendor.

Colateral Soundtrack is the work of Guadalajara’s Edgar Mota, who also performs in the lauded laptop folk outfit, Los Amparito. Mota describes his influences as ranging from Mexico’s current political situation to “a couple of moods.” The latter is particularly evident in “La escondida y la ciudad de los mil caminos,” a song that struggles to find leeway for a sole vocal track amidst a languid piano phrase and banal radio fodder. The vocalist’s passionate wails, which resonate with almost classical grace, suffocate in a slew of mediated distraction, becoming just another compendium of frequencies in an endless sea of noise.

“Buen día," on the other hand, functions almost like its flip side: all noise, no harmony. The listener is assaulted with scattered patches of a consumerist fantasy that seem to evoke Mexico’s golden-era economic boom. The pervading mambo number, rather than serving as the rhythmic center, operates as yet another sound object in Collage’s disparate palette, presenting a starry-eyed rendition of that epoch’s unbridled optimism and carefree exuberance. All of this plays out to conceptual perfection, though it sadly wears off by “Sociología,” a track woven from the same cloth as its predecessors, but undoubtedly lacking in luster, quickly exhausting the use of found sounds. Fortunately, the album concludes on a high note. "Me enamoro cuando...” closes off with Apache O'raspi’s otherworldly voice guiding the listener through a blissful escape into an idyllic reverie.

It would be easy to designate Mota’s work in Colateral Soundtrack as a Mexican iteration of hypnagogic pop, especially in light of his involvement in Los Amparito. A trite categorization, to be sure, as Mota forges a work that coheres into a unique realm of ephemeral phantasmagoria that is wholly its own. Though redolent of a bygone era, Collage’s conceit lies in evoking how the residues of our dream worlds construct our future reality. The past, no doubt, is in the present.