Ramona - "Tristes Ojos"

Among the soft pop contributions to Papasquiaro, “Tristes Ojos” is the song with the most anachronistic sound in the compilation. Recalling the great pop d’auteur of the sixties and seventies with the piano line and the brass call, but not totally out of tune, since there are other artists and bands bringing back that classic style –I am thinking of Spaniard bands like Elsa de Alfonso and Capitán and Mexico's Enjambre, just to drop some names. Well surrounded by the other pop tracks in this half of Papasquiaro, Ramona’s song stands out because of its deeply melancholic lyrics –about love, of course, but a love that is coming to its end. Tijuana quartet Ramona formed in 2011 with the aim of “writing songs about feelings” and to this date they have released an EP called “Vamos a viajar” and a debut album which is going to be published very soon under Carla Morrison's Pan Dulce imprint.

Capullo - "Orientación Vocacional"

In which Capullo sing about magic tricks and bring us to tears. No stranger to Fonograma compilations, the beloved Mexican group's Papasquiaro contribution is practically a ballad next to the more flashy cuts found elsewhere. Previous single "No pases más por mí" had us yearning for that kind of Capullo; more noise but forget that. "Orientación Vocacional" is the kind of song we didn't even know we needed. Even the title sounds special. Like it could've come from an un-produced Bernardo Quesney script. A protagonist that sneaks off to the restroom to practice magic. And like such a script it suggests comedy and absurdity yet equally touching. Thematically it's classic Capullo, but instead of rehashing old synth tricks, they work with less for more hypnotic and dazzling results. Not to mention that bittersweet guitar carries the spirit of the most devastating Camera Obscura songs (who remembers "Eighties Fan"?).

Reconciling adulthood with the world of magic is dificult, ("Sé que es difícil de creer, una cuchara yo doblé. Es que no estamos acostumbrados") with Capullo's help we'll always believe.

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.

La Lá - "Animales"

Coming along like a moment of nostalgia on Papasquiaro, "Animales" reminds us that with an irresistible hook, the neo-folk genre didn't really die a decade ago, we just got over-saturated by it. Everyone was doing it; just like we'll soon see everyone dabble with dubstep. And while bands start trading pot for chemicals, Peruana, La Lá, is pure of any trend. Her debut LP, Rosa, is a straightforward ode to her country - Andean folk pared back to singer-songwriter lamentations, with licks of jazz. It's a pleasant record, and sure to please fans of the genre, but the real find here is the effervescent, and tight "Animales."

With an off-kilter melody, La Lá creates an easily imagined jungle brimming with beasts of desire. From just an acoustic accompaniment, the song creates drama and tension other songs would use lush instrumentation and lumbering horns for. As the artist describes on her website, the pseudonym 'La Lá' comes from the inexplicable visceral 'emotion' of a song: that... that je ne sais quoi. It's that lovely tremble of excitement as you see your lover's naked body for the first time; it's that terrible pang of dread, realizing you've projected an entire fantasy life onto a date; that thing that makes you heady and fragile and brave - and retreat all at the same time.

Carmen Cosmos - "Luces"

Our compilations aren’t exclusively made out of entries the artists send us (near 300 tracks for our latest one). Much of the magic and fun of curating such a thing is to hunt for virtually unknown music, from virtually unknown indie scenes. “The great revelation from the new compilation is the Dominican Republic, by far,” tweeted Miguel Franco (from the now vanished blog, Noche Pasta). I can’t remember the right combination of clicks I did to get to Carmen Cosmos (one of three Dominican acts on Papasquiaro). Nothing on her soundcloud profile was instantly gratifying, but there was a certain tropical warmthness to her music that reminded me that time I came across Rita Indiana’s “La Sofi.”

Serving an interlude/transitional role for the compilation (like the track by Gepe), “Luces” plays like a fast bullet that equalizes the canvas for whatever it’s ahead. But it's more than an interlude. The imagery of the song is as beautiful as it is brutal. Carmen exclaims over dreamy beats about a Chinese man whose guts turn into water after falling into a pit, and how about she would rather be poked with a fork than with a knife. Seriously, you need that tropical warmthness (without falling into the stereotype) to execute the construction of these images with such a pulsating voice and melodic timing. Recorded very improperly (for headphones), I sent the demo of the track to Bill Yonson, who I thought would do a fine job mastering the track and understanding Carmen Cosmos’ sensibility. In my mind, she is that “Chola” he sings about later in Papasquiaro. They now inform me they’re actually making music together, of course putting a smile on me from ear to ear.