Natalia Lafourcade - Mujer Divina

Mujer Divina, Natalia Lafourcade
Sony Music, México
Rating: 80
by Carlos Reyes

Too often in music, attaining maturity equals compromising the musical search. This might never be the case for our generation's darling Natalia Lafourcade. In an interview earlier this year Lafourcade confessed feeling incredibly moved by Mexico’s bicentenario, where she played chanteuse as part of Alondra de la Parra’s Travieso Carmesí. The event led her to a renaissance of national composers from the past, falling in love particularly with Agustín Lara (“El Flaco de Oro”). The follow up to the majestic Hu Hu Hu is a duets tribute album to Lara, to his ever-peeling melodies and the poetry of his profound words.

For the first time in a long time (perhaps since Café Tacvba’s pre-drums era), Mexican indie is witnessing an appreciation for Mexico's music. And it’s happening at different levels: from the indie-gone-mainstream success of Carla Morrison to the cult-gone-classic feat of Juan Cirerol. These artists are reinstating the fact that it’s okay and beautiful to sound Mexican. This observation is of particular significance when considering Hu Hu Hu was the result of Lafourcade’s creative expatriation to Canada. Mujer Divina finds a Natalia Lafourcade that’s less transitional and more acquainted to a classicist artistic scope. She’s quieter than we usually like her to be, but refinement has its perks. Featuring a stellar lineup of accompanying men, this is a record that skips the innate charm of duets and carves for deep emotional exchange.

Mujer Divina starts at a high point, with the always-comforting voice of Adrián Dárgelos (Babasonicos) describing the haunting gaze of a divine woman. When Lafourcade’s voice enters the spectrum, she quickly resolves the biggest anxiety felt by the album’s gendered premise: Will Lafourcade play a passive/recipient role or will she be an active participant in the storytelling? From track one, she refuses to be the muse of Lara’s love songs, and not once does she bow submissive in front of these worldly celebrated men. Lara would be proud of her stance. Lafourcade and her respective companion approach every song with due respect, negotiating rhythmic pace and idiosyncrasies without hurting the album’s overall refined coherence.

Leading single “La Fugitiva” (featuring Kevin Johansen) is a slow-burning cut where tangents from Lara’s original composition are subtly revealed. While the departure might seem impersonal, there are historical margins to be followed. Lafourcade’s approach is considerate and, with the exception of “Aventurera” (featuring Dominican singer Alex Ferreira), she opts to step away from the mounting orchestrations that defined a lineage between Las 4 Estaciones del Amor and Hu Hu Hu. Other standout numbers include the flourishing “Limosna” (featuring Café Tacvba’s Meme), the whimsical “Farolito” (featuring Gilberto Gil), and the ethereal “Amor de mis amores” (featuring Devendra Banhart). To be totally honest, the idea of a tribute collaborative album never really excited our staff, but we should know better than to underestimate the pulling of our heartstrings at the touch of the eternally consoling Natalia Lafourcade.

Cardio, Miguel Bosé

Cardio, Miguel Bosé
Wea International, Spain
Rating: 59
By Carlos Reyes

Before entering Cardio’s barbed and wired content, let me emphasize that I’m a huge fan of its album cover, meaning that I love Miguel Bosé’s persona unconditionally. Whether for Bose’s foiled attempts to sound ‘serious’, or his consummation to serve his aesthetics as both, a gentlemen and diva, the dude is insanely exciting, attractive, vulnerable, irreverent, and if you’ve heard Velvetina or Sereno, one could find enough ground to justify his image of Latin Pop icon. Not to mention Bose is responsible for writing the ostentatious and utterly brilliant “Mexico” by Timbiriche.

Despite all the charm, elegancy and recurrent muscularity, his latest album narrows down to squeezing pieces that couldn’t be any less displaced with their own musicality. It’s not that the album is lifeless or that Bosé is less devoted, Cardio is simply pointed to the wrong direction and unfortunately, Bosé doesn’t give us too much meat to give it a sense. First track and promotional single “Estuve a punto de” is about that eternal desire to take risk, something about him singing “I was this close” gives the track a kind of four-wall effect (the same way “Morena Mia” is wonderfully structured). Sadly, the whole album seems to learn from the single, they’re all on the edge of being good or complete disasters.

In “Jurame”, Miguel Bose is almost unrecognizable. His deep well-dressed voice gets rowdy and this is probably the closest we’ll ever see Miguel Bose rapping. The title track is also interesting; it’s so upbeat one would swear he’s been listening to La Casa Azul. The rest of the album is quite lousy, unforgivingly preoccupied with minor-key traits that instead of embracing their silence, feel empty. There are exceptions like the closing “Y Poco Mas” and “Eso No”, which are strangely erotic but yet forgettable. Cardio is probably one of Bosé’s weakest albums, with “Estuve a punto de” profiling as one of his career-best singles, and yet I still think the man rocks. I’ll trade you Bunbury for Miguel Bosé anytime. Am I arguing that his music is better than that of Bunbury? Yes, and better than most Latin rock dinosaurs out there.