Little Jesus - Norte

Norte, Little Jesus
Independiente, Mexico
Rating: 67
by Carlos Reyes

The hyperbole that preceded the releasing of Little Jesus’ debut album, Norte, was received with coldness and skepticism among our staff. Collected overhype kills your chances of becoming the-little-band-that-could, especially for a newcomer band like Little Jesus –a band tailored to sound so straightforwardly indie. For a while, it seemed like one blog after another were celebrating singles that simply left us unmoved. When putting the hype in perspective, one can find that those building the excitement are the same publications that don’t bother to review records or formulate any critical input into their novelty-based content.

While indifference was a very civil and appropriate stance to have on the band, the actual release of Norte presents us with an album that’s aesthetically pleasing, well constructed, and often clever. It’s by no means an album for best-of-the-year consideration, but it’s the kind of easy-listening experience that will adjust to just about any disposition on your end. But it’s perhaps that inability of emotional impact and aural assaultiveness that hurts Norte’s chances of becoming an essential piece to the Iberoamerican landscape. But where it lacks artistic sharpness, Little Jesus’ opera prima blooms in relevancy. They trigger the sounds of today and execute their ideas with privilege manufacture. The pristine production of the album (especially its first half) pushes the slightest pin drop to the foreground. If rhythm-shifting songs like “Cretino” and hit single “Berlin” sound so impeccably clean and ready for radio/commercials, it’s because they’ve succeeded at delivering an all-encompassing canvas.

Vampire Weekend and Real Estate are fitting comparisons to the outlining of Little Jesus as a band, but the execution of Norte stills draws them back to music making that merely provides a service to your day. Not everything lacks excitement/ambition. “Azul” and “Color” are proof the band can survey maximalist structures and enrich its assembly from them. Aesthetically, Norte is coherent at keeping itself very clean and simple. The artwork and one-word song-titles parameter make things truly round. And even if the lyrics throughout the album sound a little too Magneto-ish to grasp the intellect, they reinforce the simplistic aspirations. Norte is indeed simple, but perhaps a bit too distant in its conception. Plenty of time ahead for Little Jesus to articulate on its discourse. For those craving profound myriad melodies, please refer back to Los Gandharvas.

Entre Ríos - Saga Catálogo Intervenciones

Saga Catálogo Intervenciones, Entre Ríos
Ultrapop, Argentina
Rating: 76
by Pablo Acuña

I remember reading Carlos Reyes' sorrowful review of Entre Ríos last album, Era. In this entry Carlos expressed his affliction towards Sebastian Carreras' struggle to adapt to the new media that ended up putting Entre Ríos in a indefinite hiatus. The truth is that Indice Virgen's founder never said goodbye to his band but decided to separate himself from the record industry and the habits of users treating all electronic music as indie music: "75 percent of the content that is uploaded to the Internet is uploaded by users and by doing so, they are feeding the corporations. Everything is devalued and is one reason to sense the music in a different way than how I did ten years ago".

Carreras could have opted to keep despising the way music works within the media, but instead he embraces it and uses it for his own benefit. In his new LP, Saga Catálogo Intervenciones, Entre Ríos defies the habitual form of releasing and promoting an album, by developing a series of interventions that include a concept performance where the viewer is introduced to a sonic and visual experience. Each of the interventions are named after a song, and that song is deconstructed live in art galleries in Buenos Aires. Carreras innovation is a beautiful reminder of his words in 2011: "Entre Ríos is a concept. The idea was setting the concept before the person's own name." While Carreras could be viewed as a suffering, airlessness kind of rock-star-dictator (he is the sole survivor of the first band lineup), appearances are often deceiving. And make no mistake about it: SCI is one of the most unabashedly sincere works of indie/electro pop I’ve come across this year. The hooks on are indelible regardless of instrumentation, containing an air around each element that is as palpable as the product's immaculate sound. First single, "Ambiental" has Julieta Brotsky displaying through her vocals, Carreras' sense of emotional urgency that makes this album special.

Rosario Ortega's velvety, heated vocal take on "Otra Vez", remains one of the most nakedly beautiful pieces of singing I've heard this year, in any genre. When lines like “Una vez tuve una historia, yo después tuve una herida. Otra vez tuve un deseo así que yo también sufrí derrotas,” on "Otra Vez" or "Me hiciste sentir que todavía había algo" on "Tu Siempre," are set to the emotive sounds that Entre Ríos trade in, they sound towering, impassioned, and life-affirming. SCI cannot be separated in singles (and that's a reversion for many people). Every track in this album is a piece of the puzzle that Carreras is trying to put together in our own personal experience. I find really ironic that the words Daniel Melero wrote 27 years ago describe exactly my own experience with SCI. The last track of the album is a cover for Melero's gem "Lineas" that with emotional directness truthfully claims: "Hay canciones que se llevan algo de uno cuando terminan. Son como romances que se llevan algo de uno cuando terminan". Welcome back Entre Ríos.

Arca - &&&&&

&&&&&, Arca
Hippos In Tanks, Venezuela
Rating: 83
by Carlos Reyes

Pierre Lestruhaut was the first critic to write a proper album review for Arca. Within hours of its publication, the mastermind behind it (Alejandro Ghersi, formerly known around these parts as Nuuro) reached out to us hoping we could adjust our review for Baron Libre. The Venezuelan producer explained that he envisioned this project as something coming out of a black canvas, hoping to pull off an anonymous contour a la Burial. To which we agreed (with very little enthusiasm) to remove his name (and a whole introductory paragraph) from the review. Such request seems silly now. Little did Ghersi know that just one year later, his name would appear on every publication out there as he became exposed to world acknowledgment as one of the producers of Yeezus, the most mystifying album by Kanye West.

Since we never really got to properly introduce Ghersi’s incarnation as Arca, we might as well do so now. Despite earning a glorious emancipation with The Reddest Ruby, Nuuro never seemed to escape the description of being a prodigy producer. I’m sure I’m not the only that still carries “Safe Safe Safe” and “256 MB of Love” on my ipod. The idea of letting them go doesn’t sit well with me. But it’s only a transitory feeling. Because whenever I find myself trapped in the world of Arca, there really isn’t any other music I’d rather be listening to. Ghersi got bold and serious with Arca. And as the very brave Lestruhaut pointed out on his second time reviewing him (Stretch 2), Arca also became a very difficult act to articulate about. Perhaps I’m taking the easy route to approach his music, but dissecting an artist’s past, and making good terms with it, makes the journalistic duty less intimidating.

Much like reviewing Baron Libre and the two volumes of Stretch, Arca’s sole release this year is a challenge. Conceptually, &&&&& could be read as either Arca’s most selective release yet, or as its less official work yet. Considering he had three releases last year, we could make the case this is his most collected reference yet. In the other hand, this one has been structured as a mixtape, and thus, it doesn’t carry the essential assertion of an official release. Whichever way it was conceived, &&&& is far from a novelty. From the get-go, it’s best to make peace with the mixtape's dense inscrutability. Ghersi’s experimental endeavors here are interchangeably exciting, maddening, perverse, and terrifying.

The fact that the mixtape isn’t fragmented by individual tracks makes it hard to pinpoint to precise hotspots, and that actually makes things exciting. Of course, there are defined choices made by Ghersi that stand out: the whimsical fairies on minute four, the unconsoling piano on minute twelve, the terrifying howl on minute seventeen, and the verbalization of a post-everything society at the twenty-one minute mark. At 25min. long, &&&& is ever-peeling but not superfluous. There’s an emotional restraint/awakening in its genetics that resonates well with the human condition. Like its artwork, &&&&& is cacophonic, broken and grotesque. Arca provokes and dislocates, but also provides shelter under his umbrella. It’s like imagining Werner Herzog and David Lynch sharing a seesaw –like taking a peek into a future that’s already here.

Cancioneira - Mar Muerto

Mar Muerto, Cancioneira
YoConVoz/Entorno Domestico, Venezuela
Rating: 74
by Sam Rodgers 

This is Linda "Cancioneira" Sjöquist's 'debut' LP (via YoConVoz)– which can also be an EP (via Entorno Domestico) – which isn't really a debut – as we have known her as ...al cruzar al calle until now (yes, the same voice behind Best-of-the-Year selections "Asuntos Internos," and "Romanticismo Ultravioleta"). This is the only confusion you should suffer at her guitar-plucking hands, as she continues the straight forward, folksy pop of the Venezuelan's former incarnation.

Mar Muerto floats above and is engulfed by a sonic seascape, both providing background ambience and influencing minor instrumentation: a blast of horns, clam castanets, siren calls. The LP, at only twenty-two minutes long, aims to capture moments on the beach, and at sea, with rain disturbing sleep, and wind whipping hair into the singer's mouth. The mood is Scandinavian: grey, cold, isolating; the protagonist feels hollow, dreamy, undone. Sometimes Sjöquist's voice returns in gusts, then bounces around the vast empty; and then, pulling focus, we're inside an echo chamber, and aware of the sheltered recording studio. It's this voice that at once draws you in and shoves you away that will garner Cancioneira with a cult following, or leave a listener isolated. The songs contain indelible melodies, but most have butterfly lifespans of around two minutes, fluttering past before dying rather abruptly. These are quick chapters in the LP's novella tone; it's easy to miss moments of transcendental beauty, and remember only the gentle guitar chords and slightly off-key vocals. The latter adds to the sea(love)sick quality of proceedings.

At the end of opener, "Labios Motores," an emulation of fog horns calls attention to the world Mar Muerto inhabits. It's a damp one: reminiscent of that of Finnish band Paavoharju – almost of another time/reality. The warmth of the album is not instantly accessible, but there are silver and gold linings that flicker in Sjöquist's compositions like a wistful jasmine garnish on "Quien te viera" and an angel's chorus on "Ausencia." As a whole, the LP is a collection of shells picked for aesthetics and similarity. Not that the songs sound the same or lack melodic depth, but they are pieces of a cohesive idea/mood board. Its brevity can be disarming, and sometimes off-putting: the lightness of musical flourishes can caress a listener, but can also evade them completely. Mar Muerto is a piece of driftwood, hard to cling on to, and easy to drift from. It's not a perfect album, but what it lacks in sonic heft, it makes up for in its relatable vulnerability.

Alizzz - Whoa! EP

Whoa! EP, Alizzz
Arkestra Discos, Spain
Rating: 79
by Pierre Lestruhaut

Of course 2013 was going to finally see the emergence of that one Spaniard contemporary R&B anthem. And of course it was going to be released on Arkestra Discos. Given that their roster has always expressed their admiration for contemporary R&B, it was a matter of time before someone in the label geared up for their own triumphant moment of post-Weeknd R&B (see also: PBR&B). In an era where Miguel asks if you like drugs, Jeremih has girls wanting to fuck him all the time, and The Weeknd really just wants to ride to the sound of snorting yayo, the collaborative effort between Barcelonian producer Alizzz and singer/rapper Kongo Lacosta, “Champagne”, is that one licentious piece of lascivious crooning and luxurious synths that the Galician label had to give out.

Originally set out to be an instrumental ballad, the addition of Kongo Lacosta’s vocals certainly must have added a whole new dimension to the track. Its appeal lies heavily on the “cuando nado entre tus piernas” romantic metaphorical hook, showing that Kongo Lacosta is poetic enough to reframe something that Danny Brown would refer to as “ate that bitch pussy ‘til she squirted like a dolphin.” But the song is called “Champagne,” and it’s ultimately about that one expensive alcoholic drink that's commonly used as a display of conspicuous consumption to attract the opposite sex (“Cuando yo traje champagne el sexo vino detrás”). By the end of the song, Kongo’s voice is melancholic enough to realize that when finally left to yourself with no champagne left to drink, no pussy left to eat, and still high on coke or whatever (“Don’t leave me alone, drogado y sin alcohol”), the only human contact that’s left is the smell of sexual fluids on your fingers.

Alizzz’s 2012 release Loud EP earned him a name as a promising name in the market of Rustie-like digital maximalism, and the laptop producer’s influence is still present on Whoa!. Eponymous track blatantly bluffs the listener with a laid-back synth intro that’s more suited for downtempo yacht rap, before revealing itself to be an epic build-up towards a maximalist drop that’s given a testosterone boost by adding a bro-ish “Whoa!” chant. But gladly enough, the EP’s biggest strength relies in managing to get rid of all the Rustie comparisons. “In Chains” (Alizz - “In Chains” get it?) weaves a polyrhythmic dancefloor banger around a rave synth sample and female R&B coos, while “Turquoise” is all about downtempo lush 80s synths beauty that can only make you wonder how awesome a collaboration between Alizzz and Madrid hip-hop crew Agorazein could end up being.

Although BFlecha just released what’s likely to be the seminal work among the Arkestra catalogue, Whoa! is the proof that the label’s output has not been devoid of minor gems this year. As a whole, Whoa! works so well because it stimulates so many musical g-spots in such a short of amount of time, making it clear that Alizzz is just the kind of producer that can easily have a solid output on the label by consistently putting out his own instrumentals. What we’re really hoping for though, especially after having listened to “Champagne,” is to see him getting more people to sing over his beats. There’s potential for some truly forward-thinking R&B en español here.

Kinetica - II

II, Kinetica
Dilema Industrial, Chile
Rating: 71
by Andrew Casillas 

Over the last few years, the state of web music criticism has evolved into an atmosphere of “hot sports takes”-style socio-political-gender-bias diatribes. While there are plenty of great pieces out there illuminating the discussion of the current pop landscape, the majority of these works take on the air of “WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?” as a means of generating easy click-bait and easy Facebook shares. But it’s important to keep in mind the power that the current web has in exposing and charting the growth of promising artists. That doesn’t mean the latest “buzz bands,” or groups with a steady P.R. machine. What I’m talking about are the “long game” artists, the ones who don’t storm out of the gate with a fully-realized masterpiece, but who exhibit the tools necessary to eventually create something unique.

And that brings us to the intriguing, yet somewhat overestimated, Kinetica. It’s been three years since the Chilean actress/songstress Emiliana Araya released her debut album under her nom de aural. While her debut was promising, it felt entirely weighed down by the many Ana Tijoux/Michita Rex sound-a-like tracks. In the interim, “Halo,” Kinetica II’s first single, has been garnering high praise and anticipation from many of her contemporaries (and CF faves), including Javiera Mena, Mamacita, and Fakuta.

Kinetica's II is a much more fully realized and adult piece, similar to Jessie Ware’s outstanding Devotion. Off the bat, “Halo” sets the appropriate tone—moody, intelligent, and above all sexy. It’s more akin to MBP (think Marisa Monte) than any sort of hip-hop, but it’s far from dinner party catnip. This, along with the more beatzy “Iré Tras de Ti” and full-on garage stepping “Quisiera,” showcases Araya’s versatility and justifies the opinions linking her as the conduit between Chile’s vibrant hip-hop and sophisti-pop scenes.

But, ultimately, Kinetica's sophomore album falters in keeping its distance from producing anything truly bold. The album as a whole plays it far too safe at times, never giving the sense that it’s going to rock the boat melodically or musically, which is a shame considering Araya’s fluid and versatile vocals. But Araya is playing the long game. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to see the fully realized potential the next time up. Until then, we’ll just have to wait and hope.

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.

Mariel Mariel - Foto Pa Ti

Foto Pa Ti, Mariel Mariel
Pan Dulce Productions /
Cosmica Records, Chile
Rating: 67
by Carlos Reyes

The first time Mariel Mariel contacted us she introduced herself as “Mariel, la chilena chilanga.” The title fits her well. She’s become a distinguished musician for Mexico’s cream of the crop indie acts (particularly as part of the band that accompanies Carla Morrison) and has slowly, but determinedly, pushed inward her solo project. Although she has yet to massively breakthrough in the same way her peers or compatriots have, Mariel Mariel has built a bit of a cool underdog status (something that has allowed her to venture from one genre to another). Mariel’s latest EP Foto Pa Ti is a significant departure from the disco diva and melodic chanteuse paths she’s surveyed in her two first references, No Me Despierten! and La Musica Es Buena. And it’s an abrupt, head-scratching (yet smart) reconstruction. Her crossing over to urban pop opens a query on credibility, posture, and appropriation, all of which seem to be confronted (to some degree) in her new EP, the very entertaining Foto Pa Ti.

There’s no denying this new phase of Mariel Mariel is in need of articulation. “Foto Pa Ti” (and its accompanying lyric video) screams Rita Indiana in both sound and aesthetics (who could ever forget that video for “El Blu del Ping Pong”?). But stripped down from its tropical frenzy, “Foto Pa Ti” is still admirable in structure and its tailored wittiness (besides, EPs are meant to be vessels for confessing the references upfront). Songs like the seductive “Noche Noche” and catchy first single “Tirame Un Beso” reveal a lyrical imagery that is sensual and populist, but it’s missing that tragic resonance that recent mantra mavericks (Leidi Li, Valentina Fel) have delivered to us. Foto Pa Ti (produced by Latin Grammy winner Sonido Landon) also includes a collaboration with the EP’s executive producer Carla Morrison (under her Pan Dulce Productions imprint) and a quite amusing maximalist cover for Juan Cirerol’s narcotically poetic “Toque y Rol.” It will take Mariel a proper full-length album to aptly resolve the eyebrow-raising query, but the potential for something big (and geographically significant) is certainly there.

Piñata - Amics/Enemics

Amics/Enemics - Piñata
Hao!Discos, Spain
Rating: 78
by Pierre Lestruhaut

After seeing David Bisbal perform “When a Man Loves a Woman” on Operación Triunfo, I really thought Spaniards couldn’t sing in English. Truth is, after Bigott, Cut Your Hair, and now Piñata—Barcelonan 5-piece band of raucously upbeat rock that could percolate the blogosphere without anyone being surprised that they’re actually not an indie rock band signed to a Williamsburg-based label—the unwritten rule that a Spaniard rock band is not supposed to sound like a Brooklyn rock band has been betrayed too often now. At times we would even forget Piñata actually sung in English—given their proclivity to effect anthemic 3-in-the-morning drunk-style howling—and were misled into believing, for a moment, that bearded drunk indie rock dudes just shout the same things in English, Spanish or Catalan.

First single “Mexican Machotes” was quintessential indie rock-inspired juvenile flare that, despite being able to draw immediate comparisons with compatriots Margarita’s tropical punk, also saw them juxtaposed with a variety of acts fitting in the spectrum of rollicking, buoyant guitar music that’s been made since 1977 in the English-speaking world. Then “Llampec” became the first signifier of their own Catalan origins, ‘cept if you believe the lyrics in Hao!Discos’ Bandcamp page. All they do is actually just shout “Bleeding teeth / I want to kill your faith / Llampec.” It’s a lyric that doesn’t really make any sense whatsoever, but as long as it elicits that raw feeling that makes you want to tear your shirt apart, grow a beard, and scream “Llampec,” this is still a Top 25 song of 2012 by any sort of calculation.

I could go on and waste the whole set of synonyms related to raucous, boisterous, and thunderous, as well as references to bands that sound like Surfer Blood and Japandroids in order to discuss their new songs. But the feeling about them seems to be that they don't really reach the height of the previously released ones, meaning that Piñata keeps a place in our hearts as more of a singles band. They remain one of Spain’s most promising acts, which they surprisingly achieved while sounding decidedly not Spaniard; but also one of the most overlooked as well, which probably happened for that same reason. One could diverge towards a reflection on what it means to be a geographically misplaced band these days, but in the end we all really just care about one thing. And that is: “Oh oh oh oh! Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!”

♫♫♫ "Suc de Toronja" | Stream EP

Los Blenders - Meta y Dinero

Meta y Dinero, Los Blenders

Independiente, Mexico

Rating: 76

by Enrique Coyotzi

If we could honor Los Blenders right now with a single prize, it would be for Mexico’s most overlooked group. Seriously, these guys are incredible. I don’t quite get why they haven’t exploded yet. Sure, they've only received moderate exposure by some local music magazines and they rarely offer shows in Mexico City, but then again, they recently toured with Las Robertas and Ave Negra in Costa Rica (bless the Internet!). 

What’s wrong, mipster indie rock audience? This is the kind of refreshing surf pop worthy of wider acknowledgement, diffusion, and buzz—the type of ensemble you’d like to see owning Caradura or El Imperial, instead of revisiting I Can Chase Dragons!, Verano Peligroso, or other unconvincing and overhyped national names included in a great portion of Distrito Federal's shows and festivals. 

For better or for worse, Los Blenders don't seem to be seeking mainstream success or a bigger public outside their Internet-reaching niche. The Coapa four-piece has opted to walk small but precise steps with short releases. Following last year's brain-blowing, hysterically euphoric Ah Oh, the happy-go-lucky youngsters quickly come back with Meta y Dinero, a slice of three radiant pieces that remove the destructive guitar noise of its predecessor, substituting it with a chiller attitude, shinier hooks, and a stickier approach (as more recently accomplished in "Yumbinha"), upholding a tail of fierce, carefree adolescence, a feeling of momentary freedom enveloped in less than ten minutes.

What's next for Los Blenders? Hopefully they’ll soon release a proper full-length. In the meantime, I can't wait for the summer to see how Meta y Dinero develops; heat must reveal these grooves' balmy aspects. The title track is a straight sunny season anthem, all packed with LSD and MDMA consumption lyrics. "Surf de Amor," the best song in here, could reasonably turn into a spontaneous visit to the beach for riding the waves while being fucking high (I would do it, with a lover), and "T&T" slaps any of Best Coast's or Wavves' efforts in the face. This is how it's done, guys: genuine and heartfelt rock and roll playero.

♫♫♫ "Meta y Dinero" | Download Album

Boogat - El Dorado Sunset/El gran baile de las identidades

El Dorado Sunset / 
El gran baile de las identidades, Boogat
Maisonette, Canada
Rating: 71
by Souad Martin-Saoudi

The question of identity has never been more relevant. Neither modernity nor globalization has been enough to wear down cultural or ethnic affiliations, and it seems that they have actually enabled more individualized forms of belonging to arise. Music being a necessity and a medium of expression of identity, we should look at the musician as being placed at the center of a dialect on the global/local, the universal/particular.

Born in Quebec City, Canada to a Mexican mother and a Paraguayan father, Daniel Russo Garrido cut his hip-hop teeth while attending university. He then relocated to Montreal in 2001 to pursue his ambitions. Going by “Boogat,” Russo Garrido earned a good reputation and garnered some local media attention, yet there was still something missing. After three albums, his solo concept was just not received the way he wanted, and let’s face it: the hip-hop scene in Quebec is very limited, almost sectarian (though primarily the product of immigrants). It was time to look elsewhere, to dig deeper, to reinvent.

Identity is no longer merely a question of inheritance or customs, but the subject of individual choice. And Boogat chose wisely when he decided, back in 2010, to collaborate with Montreal-based electronic producer DJ Poirier (Ninja Tune) on a dark, industrial, glitchy reggaeton track in honor of the priest in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.” Released through ZZK Records, “Kalima Shop Titi” was his turning point, as it pushed him to rethink his mode of interaction with the world. The MC’s transition towards more tropical bass sounds also led him to feature on El Remolon’s Pangeatico EP. Armed with this new knowledge and ability, Boogat dropped El Dorado Sunset/El gran baile de las identidades earlier this month. Choosing to now rap strictly in Spanish, Boogat uses language as a mediator for the construction of his own identity. Sure, the lyrics are less brainy than when he rapped in the language of Moliere, and his approach still needs to be refined, but to me, by mixing his hip-hop roots with the urban bass, electro tropical sounds of DJ/producer Poirier, Boogat may have struck gold, or at least something really pretty and gilded.

The opening number, “Eres hecha para mí,” with its excellent production, courtesy of Munich's electro/dancehall dons Schlachthofbronx, displays how dance-driven music can become a provider of cultural identity in a multiethnic Canadian society. However, on “Llévame pallá,” Boogat’s flirting with Latin music archetypes comes dangerously close to cheesy world fusion. So here I am, torn between my desire to praise his efforts to foster interculturality in a multicultural Quebec and my discomfort with the one too many cross-cultural shortcuts. Boogat’s “great ball of identities,” if any, is one where we do not know which foot to dance on. At times, it seems like Boogat has found the strength to redefine and reassert his art in the music, at others, it’s like he is struggling to sustain his self-imposed pace. Then, among the dozen richly arranged and orchestrated songs seamed with love, migration, identity and nightlife, there’s a true gem: “Único.” In collaboration with Club Fonograma favorite, Lido Pimienta, the track discusses how strangely the foreigner lives within us as the hidden face of our identity. The ease with which Boogat and Lido Pimienta tackle complex issues—like the absorption of foreignness by our Western societies and the possible coexistence of these foreigners that we all recognize to be ourselves—is truly disarming. The foreign begins when consciousness of one’s own difference emerges, but ends when we all recognize ourselves as foreign.

Part of El Dorado Sunset’s strength lies in its ability to make us reluctant to dwell on its flaws or even want to answer whether the LP is intended for Quebec or Latin America. Boogat’s music reflects his roots and his journey, as well as expressing his humanity both in its unity and its diversity—and for that, I say Merci!

Iconili - Tupi Novo Mundo

Tupi Novo Mundo, Iconili
Independiente, Brazil
Rating: 66
by Carlos Reyes

Identifying what’s explicit vs. what’s implicit should be a responsibility of anyone daring to mingle with a real league of audiophiles. When a text is assumed rather than added to the investment, the music is often reduced to an easy listening experience. Some acts make the interaction simple; others make you sweat for it. Brazilian newcomers Iconili belong to that last group, particularly as their debut EP Tupi Novo Mundo is so much of a seduction and very little of an affair.

Iconili has a total of 11 members on its roster, and so it’s no wonder its composition brings an abrasive pool of sounds (most notably Brazilian roots, jazz, and dusty rock and roll), that add up to a “tropical and psychedlic sound experience.” It’s hard not to attach some exoticism to the premise, but. luckily, the ensemble is far too busy at the mass-assembly of instruments to focus on tourism. The EP’s opening number, “O Rei de Tupunga,” displays the journey of the afrobeat as it merges into tropicalia. The track’s venture is sinister but has a familiar warmth to it–we are essentially confronted with the sound of every cop/crime TV show in syndication  Eventually, this (implicit) recognition of the text becomes a pattern that’s not always savaged by nostalgia.

You can denounce Iconili for not shooting for innovation, but you can’t hide the fact the music is gleeful and flawlessly orchestrated. Particularly in tracks like “Solar” and “Areia,” where the band interplays with restraint and exhibition. Tupi Novo Mundo sounds robust and is filled with polished noise, but there’s not a lot of actual movement in the long run. Like recently acclaimed albums by Chica Libre and Onda Tropica, this is a perfectly produced and perfectly wrapped album that’s flawed only by fixity. Iconili doesn’t make its flaws obvious though; a sense of ambiguity seems to follow them at every turn, and that’s a signifier of potentially better things to come.

Stream | Download EP

Michael Mike - Música Negra

Música Negra, Michael Mike
Independiente, Argentina
Rating: 77
by Carlos Reyes

You can’t blame an indie band for trying to gain back a little of their hard-worked financial investment through the good old trick of selling music. But sometimes you have to look further and make choices that are realistic when considering your audience. Michael Mike released Música Negra last summer through CD Baby, and the response (if any) was lukewarm to say the least. With no way to stream the album in its entirety, the audience and media outlets regarded the release as something inaccessible. Then late in December, the Argentine act put a stop to self-sabotage by making public a Mediafire link to download their album on their website. And what a difference has that smart move made.

While the timing of its scratchy release certainly hurt the album’s success at zeitgest (as this is something that could’ve easily popped up on many best-of-the-year lists), Música Negra is a bold, disco-effervescent album that’s transcending the year-to-year transition by its own merit. The six-member act evolved the menacing canvas of their last record Nena o Neno, and turned into something less threatening: a nuanced pop proposition. Recent disco pop out of Iberoamerica seems to divide itself between the worldly minimal/house group (Mamacita, John Talabot, Matias Aguayo), and the more pedestrian/melodramatic songwriters (Javiera Mena, Alex Anwandter, Linda Mirada), Michael Mike make it pretty damn hard to place them on any group. Música Negra goes from tailored disco flairs (“Experto en vos”), to abrasive synths (“Caca Sonica”)–lighting and shutting off the discoball as they please.

First single “Tun Tun” was aptly described by fellow Fonograma writer Claire Frisbie, as something “to combat any impending winter blues.” She’s so right. This track is delightful in how it manifests itself–you may suit it as part of your sunny playlist, but the rise and breakdown of those cascading sequences mimic those moments where repressing pain isn’t an option. Bound to be single “Carmen” is overly staged and so scandalized in its chorus that it’s hard not to see it as a statement. Much like “Carmen,” Música Negra finds itself critically involved in the fetishization of a disco pulse as applied to emotional discourse. We'll take that over the ideologically-bruised and misplaced propositions made in that comeback album by Illya Kuryaki & The Valderramas any day. Música Negra is an example of how when the music is reachable and up for grabs, anyone can be a critic.



♫♫♫ "Carmen" | Download Album

El Medio - "No tengas miedo al Amor"

"No tengas miedo al Amor," El Medio
Independiente, Puerto Rico
Rating: 79
by Enrique Coyotzi

“Don’t be afraid of love” is the forthright premise of El Medio’s second effort this year (without counting that recent lovely split with Sr. Amable). Following the abundantly bleeping, synth-led, at occasions Wendy Carlos-esque EP Crónicas del hombre orquesta vol. 1, the Boricua affecting composer Leonardo Balasques adapts a more customary, acoustic instrumentation (fiddle and wind instruments), along with post-rock winks, twee breaths and his ever tender harmonies in the heartbreaking “No tengas miedo al Amor”. The quotation marks in the title are to be highlighted, just like in David Bowie’s “Heroes”. A popular phrase among daydreamers, it’s not to be interpreted here as something imperative, but rather inviting to something passionate, profound and surely tumultuous: the great chance of falling in love, assuming all of its consequences, whether good or bad.

There’s a devastating story to be found in here. A dramatic arch nuanced from the first to the last track. Wind blowing exhibits a desolate state of being in first seconds of opener “Hasta Caer”, where, brightly, solemn drumming and shining guitar strumming announce the new-found infatuation of our perceptive protagonist. The singer raises his hopes high, picturing absolute surrender (“Tomar su mano/Dejarlo todo”), yet realizing the sacrifices this decision will imply, foreseeing future –and for a fact inevitable- changes and losses. After warming violin presence, courtesy of Balún’s Angélica Negrón, boisterous electric guitar soundscapes à la Slint, injected of raucous distortion stain this blooming whirlwind of emotions, resembling internal turmoil. Continuing songs, in a heartwarming fashion, retake the possibilities of a beautiful pair up, at the same time leaving behind a bittersweet taste. “La máquina lo hace todo mejor” is pretty, melodious and certainly acutely sincere (“Hoy la noche no acaba/Siempre que hayan momentos como éste”), while “En primavera” captures the love-is-in-the-air essence of this season accompanied by a sunny, joyful beginning infused by synths and güiro, culminating in a colorful explosion of electronic gravity.

Afterwards, the record goes in decrescendo acquiring a much more melancholic tone. Short emotive piece “' '” is a striking exploration of heartbeating affection expressed through body discovery via touching. “'Alguien'/El tierno retorno” is the central backbone of “No tengas miedo al Amor”. After an enchanting introduction based on Paloma San Basilio's “Alguien”, El Medio displays his soul in a naked, personal declaration of letting in someone new into your life, to the point where happiness may be too much to handle. “Alguien nuevo llega a tu vida/ Y quieres que se vaya ya,” he declares in the final line as the marimba-like outro partially sweetens. Wind blowing once again is present in “Distancias pares”, only this time around the circumstances have changed. Over a minimalist simple-chord structure, the artist laments what could have turned out into an enduring friendship, but now is blackened. In “Todas las cosas”, which strongly evokes Sigur Rós' ( ) era, he furthermore deepens into his now dissolved, intense relationship, asking his ex-lover to value the things learnt. “Es bueno seguir vivo/Ver qué queda por vivir,” he claims looking forward to the future in a probably hopeful, but ultimately self-convincing manner -self-defense all the way. Fortunately, the album ends in a blissful note with favorite “Publio Ovidio Nasón”, making a magnificent return as a sort of savior following such a depressing final ride.

“No tengas miedo al Amor” is a deep work fueled by vast honesty and many of El Medio’s best songs to date. It’s best enjoyed during lonely, cold nights where a bottle of cheap wine or a pair of caguamas are the only and best friends. With this album, Leonardo Balasques reaffirms his status as one of our favorite songwriters. And while it may not be a very drastic improvement to his previous releases or incorporate few new ideas to his music, its universal discourse, transparent frankness and powerful development are the main qualities why this revealing piece is not to be missed. Clearly one of the year's most despondent achievements and another essential in Balasques' transcendental career.

Hello Seahorse! - Arunima

Arunima, Hello Seahorse!
MUN/EMI, Mexico
Rating: 74
by Sam Rodgers

Mexico's Hello Seahorse! return with their fifth studio album, Arumina, a word which apparently signifies the glow of dawn. The ripple of synths that open first track "Buen Viaje" herald the sun breaking over the horizon, but one suspects the adage about a red morning being the sailor's warning might hold true for this collection of focused, defiant songs. Denise Gutiérrez (Lo Blondo) leads the band like the general of an army, loud enough to reach the nosebleed section, Hello Seahorse! are taking that exclamation mark very seriously, they want to fill stadiums. Even when Lo Blondo's lyrics are about letting go, if you're the person in question, you'll still see her face on every maxi-screen around you—you are not to forget.

For a band with such a signature sound as Lo Blondo's soprano-rock voice, it's hard to pin down what soundscape they want to inhabit. They've gone from cute, put-a-bird-on-it indie, all hand claps and melodica, to pop rock, and more recently to a much darker, experimental place, like they've decided that to be taken seriously, you must be stone-faced serious. For this reason, it's harder to warm to a Hello Seahorse! track these days, unless you happen to be in a similarly downbeat or angsty frame of mind. Listening seriously, and critically, there's much to admire about the ideas floated during the eleven tracks of Arunima. The production by Grammy-winning producer and composer Camilo Froideval is slick, giving the album a grand, symphonic sound, whilst keeping Lo Blondo's voice front and center. Case in point, "Tristes," with its woodwind, clicks, and smoky jazz club bass line, makes you visualize Lo Blondo entertaining gentlemen like Jessica Rabbit. You can almost see them mesmerized and a little frightened by the siren song. Unfortunately, "Tristes" doesn't fulfil its club lounge style promises. The general signals for the drums, and what could've been a cheeky, sexy breather becomes another stadium rocker, reminiscent of Sweet & Sour, Hot y Spicy-era Ely Guerra. While not necessarily a bad thing, it skews the band's attempts at capturing their own sound, which is driven by the phrasing and timbre of Lo Blondo's voice.

Thankfully, the tracks are scattered with her yelps and squeals and other throat-trickery, and, when paired with the right instrument (like the glockenspiel at the end of title track, or the synth opener “huh!”s of "No Es Que No Te Quiera"), it's easier to throw your rock star-gloved fist in the air. Yes, Lo Blondo, we're with you! Standout track "No Te Vayas Al Bosque" opens with whistling and choppy piano chords, the band tentatively steps in, ducks back out, then returns with horns for a memorable rollick through the forest. Strangely, lead single, "Para Mí," with its straightforward urgency, actually isolates the singer, it's cold, desperate, kinda scary. Again, a song constructed more for the mosh pit than audio intimacy.

The album fluctuates between this hot and cold, pull and push soundscape, like Lo Blondo doesn't want you to fall too much in love with her singular and beautiful instrument. It's a difficult album to listen to in one go, drowned in emotive sound which overshadows more nuanced and interesting flourishes in parts. The band turns it up to 11 too often, which may ingratiate or frustrate, depending on whether a listener is a long-term fan or not. (Or is the type to lap up Florence and The Machine.) In fact, this is what might be the problem. When the singer's voice is as big a prospect as the rest of the band, something has got to give. When both work harmoniously, though, Arunima shines golden, if off the hilt of Lo Blondo's sword.

Café Tacvba - El Objeto Antes Llamado Disco

El Objeto Antes Llamado Disco, Café Tacvba
Universal Music Latino, Mexico
Rating: 77
by Claire Frisbie

It had been a while. Five years have passed since Sino was released. There have been side projects, other bands, social and political causes to champion, a documentary, a book, breakup rumors, 20th anniversary festivities, extensive touring, life. And now: El Objeto Antes Llamado Disco (The Object Formerly Known as a Record), Café Tacvba’s seventh studio album.

El Objeto did not take five years to make, and it shows. The songs came together early this year, and in a rather brilliant marketing move (but somewhat ineffective creative technique), were recorded in front of live audiences in Buenos Aires, Santiago, DF, and LA. Dozens of lucky fans and friends sat in on the sessions, while the rest of us followed along on Twitter, piecing together song titles and wondering what the next chapter of Café Tacvba would sound like, anticipation swelling.

And now we know: Café Tacvba five years later sounds a lot like Café Tacvba 15 years ago. Whether this is a good or bad thing is entirely subjective. Many of the songs feel familiar, but a tad less catchy, less raw. The band has returned to the pre-Cuatro Caminos four-core-members-and-a-drum-machine lineup, but instead of the quirky storytelling and earnest experimentation of Cafeta songs of yore, we have introspection and wisdom, nature and spirituality, overall self-reflection. And, alas, minimal innovation. Thirty-nine minutes with 10 tracks mostly written by Meme and Joselo, El Objeto requires some time and a bit of patience. Disclaimer: initial listens might prove unsatisfying, but somewhere around the tenth or eleventh time through, the "object" really starts to grow on you, though the objective might never be clear. It's worth the commitment.

So much of the buzz around El Objeto was tied to the recording process, the different locations, the live audience. The decision to record the entire thing in front of an audience with little preparation was bold and risky, though not unfounded. Café Tacvba’s live shows are one of the most intense, insane, gratifying communal experiences out there, so why not attempt to channel this energy, this connection and rapport with your audience, into a recorded album? But the final product reveals nothing of these intimate itinerant sessions. Not a single song is taken in its entirety from a given recording. Elements from all four recordings were instead cut and pasted to create the tracks we hear now. I’m not pining for another live album, but a bit more spontaneity, some added energy or edginess might have been nice.

That being said, the production (from Tacvba homeboys Gustavo Santaolalla and Anibal Kerpel) is excellent, and El Objeto has some truly beautiful songs. “Tan Mal” makes optimal use of the rhythm machine and Rubén’s vocal range, ebbing from soft whispers to increasingly grating falsetto, intimate and delicate, then frustrated, yet controlled. “Zopilotes” is gorgeous in its mystic simplicity. “Andamios” is classic Cafeta at their best: an upbeat track with layered beats, inquisitive, metaphorical (architectural!) lyrics, and slightly imperfect harmonies. But you almost wonder if you haven’t heard it before, maybe on Re, or perhaps Cuatro Caminos.

The most musical variation and experimentation can be found in the middle of El Objeto. The earthy “Espuma” features finger harps and other pre-Columbian instruments, but teeters dangerously close to world music/songs your mom might love. The repetitive “Olita de Altamar” has an undeniable Andean tinge, drawing from Peruvian chicha and huayno music. And then comes “Aprovéchate,” the true standout of El Objeto. A love song sung by Meme, it feels almost Argentine or Chilean in its guitar-driven rock sound and tone, but is undeniably Cafeta when it comes to the chorus. This isn’t “Eres” Meme—his voice is deeper, more forthright. The lyrics are dark, sexy, submissive. And it’s wonderful: “ahora eres tú la agresora / desquítate conmigo ahora / me puedes usar, me puedes amar / te aprovecharás de mí...”

But “Aprovéchate” almost feels out of place on the album, which brings us to what may be the main fault of our “object”: an overall lack of cohesion. El Objeto Antes Llamado Disco is a collection of ten different songs, not a cohesive album. Café Tacvba is so revered for their continuous and relevant reinvention, and each of their past albums has had a definitive theme or feel, while managing to maintain a sound that is distinctly Tacvba. But El Objeto lacks a strong identity, though one could argue that this is precisely the point: the record as we once knew it is, after all, obsolete.

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.

Los Románticos de Zacatecas - Ya lo dijo Rufis Taylor

Ya Lo Dijo Rufis Taylor, 
Los Románticos de Zacatecas

Independiente, México
Rating: 69
by Sam Rodgers 

Ya lo dijo Rufis Taylor charges out of the gates, heralded by gringo-accented pronunciation of the band's name and gunfire. Los Románticos' drummer, Toni, bashes away, and the simple, punk-like guitar chords of lead single "Si tú estás lejos" penetrate the mind's attention span for a memorable riff. Predictably, lead singer Manzanas enters when the drum rolls, and here begins a triplet of songs dedicated to that someone Manzanas is standing on a mountain, on a pier, outside the club declaring his love for, maybe with a novelty director's megaphone or funnelled newspaper. It's all about "tú" (presumably "ella"), and before you've memorised the lyrics of the first one, tracks two (second single "Es por ti") and three come crashing out of the speakers at the same frantic pace, like Manzanas has ripped off the last lyric sheet, scrunched it up, thrown it over his shoulder, and is composing the same thoughts again. Because each of these tracks all come under just three minutes, the effect is urgent and relatable (if you're not here–it's all for you–you feel the same way I do), if not a bit like a whirlwind. Wait? Am I up to track four already?

Interspersed between songs is generic nostalgia Mexicana (snippets from radio, TV, etc.), which gives the album a sense of being just "good ol' rock and roll." Whether or not it successfully heightens the melancholy that looking back (on a decade of culture, or lost love) entails is debatable–the choice to include these sound bites doesn't seem very focused–but, superficially, it breaks up what could be an overwhelming exercise in high hat 'n' strumming.

The most interesting moments of the record integrate these relics with the music during the middle of the album. The end of "No te tardes," with its cinematic flourishes and stomping drum outro, shake us out of the so-far-so-rock daze and make the next song, "Ya lo ves," instantly stand out. It's the first track to change the atmosphere of the album from a simplistic Help! to a more nuanced Rubber Soul. The melody of "Ya lo ves" is quite Beatles-esque, a more upbeat Tame Impala, and reflects well the melancholy and desperation Manzanas must be feeling for this evasive muchacha by track six. Even his voice channels the signature psychedelic drone of the Fab Four, and is evident again on the next track, "Me siento cansado."

However, the album does err on the "outstayed welcome" side of things. It's unfair to say it does this completely when tracks are no longer than four minutes and most are under three, but, with fourteen tracks, the album can sound repetitive. Even though the protagonist has lyrically been through the wringer and come out hopeful again by the end, the album is bookended by the least interesting sonic ideas, which the sound bites on their own can't salvage. At its best, Ya lo dijo Rufis Taylor is playful and somewhat innocent, tracks are straightforward, catchy and sometimes unexpected; it's a solid record to put on at your next summer house party (as depicted in the lead single's video). But at its worst, the straightforwardness can grate, you want to lower Manzanas' megaphone and tell him to get over it, or at least get empathetically depressed, just to change the tempo here and there.

Selma Oxor - User 69

User 69, Selma Oxor
Vale Vergas Discos, México
Rating: 79
by Enrique Coyotzi

In my review for Bam Bam’s 2011 masterpiece Futura Vía, I mentioned how Luxor’s vocal collaboration wasn’t that essential. Nevertheless, the truth is we’ve missed her. A lot. She’s made a proper comeback under the charge of Selma Oxor, the band she once shared along with Alexico and Ratas del Vaticano’s Violeta Hinojosa. We’ve lauded Selma Oxor’s return as one of this year’s best and, as evidenced in her fiery EP provocatively titled User 69, we weren’t wrong predicting it as something exhilarating.

Getting rid of the loud guitar noise abundant in the self-titled debut, spanning a poppier sound while preserving an electroclash basis, User 69 finds riot grrrl, scenic artist Leticia Beeton owning the moniker, revamping it into something deviantly appealing, her own. Comparisons to María Daniela may seem obvious, but honestly, quite tired. While their voice timbre might be alike, Beeton’s work isn’t candy floss electropop. This is filthy, dark, strenuous synth punk that persuades you to get carnal in each pumping, lecherous beat enveloping it.

Aided by Dr. Dude’s (Humanoid Mutations) galvanizing production, Luxor, making use of obscure, sinister aesthetics (think Dani Shivers), maniacally stimulates the listener in each of these five ebullient tracks. First single “Dotes de Cocina” showcases what Selma Oxor’s new direction is all about: luscious, soothing vocals that at times sound frenetic, combined with propulsive rhythms and stained yet jaunty guitar work both rousing and degenerate. Resembling a vivacious Mount Kimbie track, bass-heavy “En tu T.V.” speaks about the comfort found in television addiction under scary declarations (“La vida real está en la pantalla chica”). The robotic voices heard in “Aerobic Nation” bring to mind Ellen Allien’s Berlinette, confirming Beeton’s listening habits have changed, while the surf rock guitar line in “Jungle Juice,” guiding Luxor’s suggestive articulation (“O-o-o-o-o-o-oxor/Jui-jui-jui-jui-juice”), comes as the sexiest moment in the EP. Closer “Quiero Salir” still sounds a bit like Portishead’s “Machine Gun,” although it retains a phantasmagoric aura and nefarious outlook.

A fierce and rampant EP, the only thing missing here is the inclusion of outstanding hit “Lo Que Quiero.” It was a bit disappointing to learn Luxor opted to leave it out. Nonetheless, User 69 satiates after a long wait since last hearing from Selma Oxor, exposing a radical change in her music that resulted from going solo, taking a perceptible step into maturity, and encountering complacency and freedom of ideas by making her own fertile art.

Download EP / Soundcloud

Linda Mirada - Con Mi Tiempo Y El Progreso

Con Mi Tiempo Y El Progreso, Linda Mirada
Lovemonk, Spain
Rating: 86
by Blanca Méndez

Listening to Linda Mirada is like traveling back in time and hanging out with Fleetwood Mac and Mecano, which is enough of a selling point without saying that Con Mi Tiempo Y El Progreso is a beautifully executed pop album that doesn’t try to be anything that it’s not. Though certainly more youthful than the other two, Con Mi Tiempo Y El Progreso would be perfectly comfortable in your record collection between Tango in the Night and Entre el cielo y el suelo. It’s like a time capsule of the late ‘80s, an anachronism that somehow makes sense in 2012, though there’s really nothing new about it.

The album wastes no time on introductions or small talk, immediately drawing the listener in with the charming ode to the beach that is “La Costa.” The airy, echoey vocals, like a siren’s call floating over ocean waves, are soothing and seductive, almost hypnotic. By the end of the song Linda Mirada has you in the palm of her hand. Then she shoves you right into full-on ‘80s mode with “Mientras La Música No Pare.” The videogamey, bordering on cheesy, percussion paired with the swelling saxophone makes no effort at subtlety, and the increasingly precise and pronounced enunciation and the sax trills at the end really drive home the point: Linda Mirada is not fucking around.

Still one of the best songs of the year, “Secundario” features a springy melody and spacey synths that make it feel distant in a really attractive way, as if the space between the song and the listener adds to the appeal. There’s also something comfortably, almost routinely dark about this album that is not entirely revealed in its first single. It’s in the way “Las Cosas Nunca Salen Como Las Planeas” seems resigned before it even begins or how “Lío En Río,” with its strategically monotonous guitar and bursts of something that sounds halfway between a shriek and a cackle, talks about how summer days are the longest in a way that wishes summer would never end and at the same time is already bored. In “Aire” there are so many cacophonous elements—eerie vocals, ominous percussion, spirited strings, playful bass, a nimble flute—that it shouldn’t make sense together. Yet, it is one of the album’s most captivating tracks.

Con Mi Tiempo Y El Progreso’s brilliance lies in its convictions. The commitment to a sound that to many will register as outdated and unfashionable is the kind of commitment it takes to rock a garish, older-than-you sweater that has been collecting dust at a thrift store. Whereas someone like Javiera Mena takes a fondness for the ‘80s and makes it into something new, for Linda Mirada there’s no pretense of updating a sound or putting a fresh spin on it. Con Mi Tiempo Y El Progreso is unabashedly ‘80s, unapologetically Tango in the Night-era Fleetwood Mac. And there’s a lot to admire in someone who sticks to her guns like that. It makes the album title particularly apt. El progreso is a larger sense of change over time, but mi tiempo is more of an individual measurement, one that’s not calibrated to any one clock or calendar but moves at the pace of whoever is keeping time. Linda Mirada’s tiempo is the ‘80s, which is why it would be a mistake to call this album nostalgic. You can’t long for an era if you’re still living in it.