Matías Aguayo – I Don’t Smoke EP

I Don't Smoke EP,
MATÍAS AGUAYO
Kompakt, Chile/Germany
Rating: 70
BY REUBEN "JUDAH" TORRES

So, in looking to approach Matias Aguayo’s latest output critically, I narrowed the focus to three possibilities: 1) Matias Aguayo as a continually evolving and chameleonic figure in dance music, 2) the influence of Cómeme, as the atypical, Latin-friendly tech-house label, and 3) Rebolledo, do you have a cigarette? No, I don’t smoke. LOL! Fortunately, there was no need to settle on just one, as there is enough eclecticism on I Don’t Smoke to serve every one of these avenues.

“Dance Machine” starts off the record with the sultry house rhythms of yore, blending all too well with the current state of retromanic, four-to-the-floor dance music, which is now so prevalent on both sides of the pond (see: Miracles Club and Teengirl Fantasy for some less Euro-centric examples). A clang here, a drum machine there, and “Cómeme Riddim” is exactly what its title portends, a measured tribute to that certain Kompakt sub-label. “Niños,” on the other hand, is one of the more off-kilter pieces in the lot and speaks to Aguayo’s penchant for working disparate sounds laterally.

In many ways “I Don’t Smoke” is the quintessential Matias Aguayo track, with the kind of sophisticated, subtly sexual (if somewhat blasé) restraint that has followed him since his days in Closer Musik. The tounge-firmly-in-cheek quality of the track’s sole vocal hook would feel right at home among Cómeme’s ample in-joke repertory (see: Rebolledo’s "Guerrero"). Though seemingly banal in style and execution, its consistently hypnotic simplicity holds well against repeated listenings, equally effective as a stay-at-home headphone number or a comedown for hectic dancefloors.

It’s hard not to see the autochthonous “Kuddle Riddim,” one of two digital bonuses included, as a remnant of the Latin-infused BumBumBox parties that bore the Cómeme label. However, rather than take a ubiquitous sound, namely tribal (or 3ball, depending on whose school you subscribe to), and lend it the typical Matias treatment, it is simply included as a reference rhythm, presumably for less-than-saavy DJs looking to appear exotically au courant. I Don’t Smoke is not so much an EP as it is a couple of solid tracks accompanied by a decent set of DJ tools. Its scattershot character serves as an apt manifestation of an increasingly multifarious producer. There is enough material on here, however, to spark genuine interest in Aguayo’s future ventures. That is, if he ever decides to stop touring.

Ernesto Ferreyra - El Paraíso de las Tortugas

El Paraiso de las Tortugas, Ernesto Ferreyra

Cadenza Records, Argentina/Canada

Rating: 77

by Andrew Casillas

As any long-time Club Fonograma reader has figured out by now, one of the quickest ways into our heart is by throwing in some disco strings into any given song (and if you’re in need of more proof, I would recommend going back through our Top Songs of 2010 playlist). So imagine the happy surprise of hearing some disco string action kicking off the debut album from Latin American techno’s latest wunderkind, Ernesto Ferrerya. This Argentina-born DJ cut his chops by working virtually every major scarcely-lit club in Mexico, before drawing greater attention, and a record deal, thriving in Montreal’s ultra-competitive electronic scene. And indeed, El Paraíso de las Tortugas filters the wide range of electronic sounds across the American continent: Cuban rhythms, French Canadien rave signifiers, Mexican proto-ruidoson, Detroit house; all coming together in a wonderful set of upbeat minimal techno.

If album opener, “Mil Y Una Noches” (aka the one with the disco strings), lets a little sun into the typically dusk world of minimal, follower "Los Domingos Vuelo A Casa" throws some sand and aged rum into the mix. It’s a pungent one-two punch, and shows the array of sounds that Ferrerya is keen to experiment with. There are noticeable other peaks throughout the album, from the frothy “Lost,” with its liquid bass line, skittery percussion, and rave aesthetic, to the delectable “Letting Go” (which is pretty much what María y José would sound like if Antonio Jimenez ever had a budget). It’s also satisfying to report that Ferrerya saves the greatest fireworks for the final track, “El Comienzo De Todo Los Demas,” a disco burner stacked with overwhelming synths and lightly-frosted drumming which could have only been made by someone who’s absorbed as much latitude as he has.

Granted, there are still some slip-ups, a few tracks eventually dissolve into “Techno 201” bits of pointless monotony, but on the whole there’s much to admire and take in. If this debut album is any indication, Ferrerya’s career is definitely something to keep an eye on. Hey, as long as he keeps those disco strings coming, we’ll definitely be listening.

Ay Ay Ay, Matias Aguayo

AY AY AY, MATIAS AGUAYO
Kompakt Germany, Chile
Rating: 90
by Andrew Casillas

Not to sound like a disgruntled reader or ungrateful writer or anything, but I wish that Club Fonograma could review more techno records from Latin artists. Of course, such a proposition doesn’t have a quick-fix. Most electronic artists prefer the quick 12-inch or EP rather than deliver entire albums of new material. Also, many of the more prominent labels promote compilation packages to showcase their entire roster of artists, like Kompact’s Total series, or the ZZK volumes. Not to mention that none of this staff’s writers could be described as “Beatz-heads,” despite the fact that we like to revel in our share of glitchy wax digi-fun.

So when a prominent techno artist of Latin descent gets around to releasing a full-length album, it’s quite the event around these parts. Thankfully, Chile’s Matias Aguayo has delivered not just one of the best techno records of the year, but one of the best records of the year period. Following up his spellbinding and transcendent singles “Walter Neff” and “Minimal,” Ay Ay Ay continues the evolution of one of today’s most unconventional and unpredictable producers. For 11 charming and breathless tracks, Aguayo seemingly deconstructs minimal techno into a schizophrenic street party of his own creation. From the siren-call laced swagger of “Menta Latte” to the El Guincho-esque faux-African noise collage “Juanita,” there’s enough sound on this album to fill an entire warehouse.

Part of Aguayo’s strength lies in the way that he has developed his own kind of melodic foundation out of an unusual rhythmic structure. Using his own voice as the base from which every track revolves could be a dangerous maneuver for a lesser producer, but Aguayo surrounds himself with enough ear candy to the point where you’re almost compelled to pay attention. Listen to the almost-fervent boombox hums on “Rollerskate,” and how they convey the feeling that you’re actually roller-skating. Pay attention to the cooing harmonies on “Ritmo Juarez,” and how they evoke the sound and feelings of those late nights that can quickly turn into early mornings. The sluggish and fuzzy noises of “Koro Koro,” a reflective piece of trance, that personally creeps this writer out because it sounds a lot like Paul Simon if he had an addiction to cough syrup.

I could continue to point out isolated moments on Ay Ay Ay and explain my personal interpretation of it all. But my personal appreciation isn’t what’s important. It’s how you choose to hear it. There’s so much detail embedded into every track that developing a definitive interpretation would be virtually futile. It’s this attention to the ways that sound can influence mood that makes Aguayo one of the more special artists in his field today. Ay Ay Ay may be built around the concept of a long, sweaty, late summer block party, but it doesn’t reinforce this notion at the expense of giddy listenability. It’s as if the record is telling you to enjoy this exactly how you please, as long as you just simply enjoy it.

♫♫♫ "Ritmo Juarez"
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