Fakuta - Tormenta Solar

Tormenta Solar, Fakuta
Quemasucabeza, Chile
Rating: 81
by Zé Garcia

Things start off strange on Fakuta's sophomore record, Tormenta Solar, but by the second verse of its opening track you remember (if like me you have been mythologizing Chilean pop since 2010) that you're in the company of contemporary Chilean greats who's opening numbers have a history of feeling larger than life itself ("Como Puedes Vivir Contigo Mismo," "Arde Santiago," "Mantén la Conducción," "Las Fuerzas"). Then you realize the opening track is called "Guerra Con Las Cosas." Is this a Chilean pop or an anarcho punk / metal record? Fortunately for us, the Chilean pop gods at work on Tormenta Solar take us to a starry disco that beams back from the funky 70s and synth driven deep cuts from the 80s all in the service of what Fakuta (Pamela Sepúlveda) has described as "space pop."

"Guerra Con Las Cosas" gives way to "Despacio," a likely second single and the album's biggest banger. Reminiscent of the Chicago house / freestyle mixtapes we inherited from the 90s (it literally sounds like nothing else on the album) it invites a personal speculation of what a proper Mamacita album might sound like with the assistance of Milton Mahan and Pablo Muñoz who both have production credits on Tormenta Solar. And this prospect is a spectacular possibility all its own as "Despacio" would totally play on the same dance floor as mamacita's "No Eres Tu". Anyone care to put the Latinx Divas Do Chicago House Mixtape together? By the third chorus of "Despacio" we know that for this particular track, Fakuta is making a run for the proverbial Chilean pop crown. Fakuta could have just as easily retold "Despacio" for the rest of the album (& we would have loved it) but Fakuta has much more in store for us. What does she do instead? She goes on to make deeply jarring observations about the fragile human condition- something that isn't that weird as far as Chilean pop goes if you've been closely listening to Gepe, Ases Falsos, and to a lesser extent, Dënver.

From urging mankind to stop being cogs and become runaways on the excellent "Fugitivo" to the primordial appeal of walking the earth with your loved one in total liberty on the supernatural and epic "Mascota" one can't help but realize Fakuta isn't just dabbling in political theory. She also isn't crassly talking about "human rights" or reform; Tormenta Solar appeals to something much more cosmic here, something more ancient. And she has emerged as likely the best poet of the entire Chilean bunch, up there with Briceño himself. Lyrically, the album continues the cosmic interpersonal observations of Al Vuelo (and most of Chilean pop today actually). The catharsis of "La Intensidad" is one of the album's most sentimentally appealing moments. It is here where Fakuta finds the ability to move us deeply as the space pop prophet that she tends to be- consider "La Intensidad" as this album's "Virreinatos."

Space pop prophecy in the Chilean pop scene would not be complete without churning out a floor filler or two which brings us to "Tormenta Solar"- the single. Not on board with the rest of CF, "Tormenta Solar" was an immediate hit in the Top 40 of my heart. And the video only served to catapult it to #1. Immediately I felt like both sonically and visually the single would have found its public at Soddom & Ghomorra- a queer / trans punk house in Chicago who's aesthetic was known for everything we see in Fakuta's video: nuns in gas masks, nuns smoking bongs, pink upside down crosses, and neon automatic weapon imagery. Upon hearing the single, I immediately tweeted Fakuta: "this anthem bangs along with the the best of Flans and Fey." Her duet with rock poet virtuoso Cristobal Briceño is likely the best song on the album. Its biggest surprise is the glorious chorus which takes from the 70s funk excellently executed in Ases Falso's latest album, especially on "Al Borde del Cañon."

The riveting closer "Mascota" -a paranormal tour de force- begins with its most forwardly anti authoritarian prose yet: "Los animales alzados van Contra la ciudad se revelará / Cansados de  ser sumisos protestar / Hasta que los amos se rendirán." Such a blatant nod to Chile's contemporary insurrectionaries gives way to synthesized choral horns reminiscent of Camilo Sesto's "Fresa Salvaje" (excellently revived earlier this year in a sample by the Venezeulan duo Las Hermanas). The message of "Mascota" sounds like pop prophecy but considering the global scale of uprisings today, the lessons of Tormenta Solar only seem all the more urgent. From Mexico's self defense committees, to the fires of Ferguson, to Chile's Mapuche and anarcho communities, the timeliness of Tormenta Solar can at times sound like the soundtrack of a popular or personal (space pop!) insurrection. Did we also mention the album dropped on the eve of a total lunar eclipse in Aries?

With all this praise we have to talk about the albums weakest track- "Luces de Verano." It is a perfectly ok song but given the context of what we're talking about- musically speaking- it ends up sounding a little like Live Aid or Teleton Music- it is a bit of a blemish on an otherwise great record. This time around the space like or cosmic offerings of Fakuta's album are more conceptual and lyrical than sonic- there are (sadly) not as many satellite like whirrings or spaceship take offs as on Al Vuelo. Missing too are what CF writer Enrique Coyotzi described as the "architectonic" pop landscapes that made her debut such a heart stopping future pop record back in 2011. Fakuta's ideas on Tormenta Solar are more direct and humanist than ever before- but gone are the adventurous and breathtaking sound collages of Al Vuelo- there is nothing that sounds like a space station disintegrating into dubstep (talking about the great "Las Partes" here) on this album. Despite Tormenta Solar not being as heroic sonically as its predecessor, Fakuta's meticulous space pop continues her legacy as a sonic constellation that shines along the brightest amongst her peers.

Javiera Mena - Otra Era

Otra Era, Javiera Mena
Unión del Sur, Chile
Rating: 92
by Andrew Casillas 

How do you follow-up your masterpiece? The common theory is that great artists deliberately evade the sounds of their great works in the name of aural evolution (think of Café Tacuba chasing Reves/Yosoy with Cuatro Caminos, or every album the Beatles made from 1965 to 1969). Students of history, however, will see the past sixty years of popular music as deviations on a common theme. Except in very rare cases (say, Radiohead following up OK Computer with Kid A), the rock era celebrates artists that formulate an unimpeachable template and harvest that sound to diminishing returns. This is why the Rolling Stones are celebrated for their perseverance; Prince for his idiosyncrasies; Spoon for their Spoon-ness. This is the route to immortality.

Javiera Mena has certainly established a distinctive sound, which is impressive considering the cumulative length of her output is shorter than Goodfellas. In essence: Casio keys, electric drums, sound effects, bass-centric melodies, simple and direct lyrics; again, deviations on a common theme. What made her first two albums (not to mention Prissa’s Ni Tu Ni Yo, her collaboration album with Francisca Villela), so compelling was its infectious nature—big beats giving way to big choruses giving way to big emotions. Her first solo single, “Al Siguiente Nivel,” was a mission statement of her musical ambitions. And it just happened to be a perfect pop song. For 2010’s Mena, Javiera diversified her sound, adding gloss and intricacy to her arrangements, resulting in one of the seminal pop albums of this century.

So one more time: how do you follow-up your masterpiece? For her new album, Otra Era, Javiera Mena chooses to ride the formula to its purest version. Otra Era is the sensational dance-pop classic in the vein of Kylie Minogue’s Fever and the Pet Shops Boys’ Very, combining the giddy bombast of the former with the pulsating Euro-dance rhythms of the latter. Indeed, this is the first Javiera Mena album to reject disco as a foundation. Instead, Javiera reconfigures her sound to fixate on either house music rhythms or frenetic dance-pop. The result is a bouncy, confident beast of a record, and the most uniform-sounding Javiera Mena album to date, with grooves and hooks creeping at every turn.

Much of Otra Era’s pre-release buzz centered about Javiera recording in Miami, aiming to create her “pop album,” as if Paulino Rubio needed to watch her seat on La Voz Kids. While Otra Era is certainly unabashedly pop, it’s not packed full of saccharine, in part because of Cristian Heyne’s production. Javiera’s right hand man across each album, Heyne operates almost like another vocalist, with tempo changes and well-placed percussion lifting ostensibly generic-pop beats into punch-drunk bangers.

And the bangers come as quickly as you can hit play. Opener “Los Olores De Tu Alma” pulsates like a jetliner at takeoff. A pounding backbeat thumps away as Javiera pushes her vocals in a fit of exasperated lust. Then the chorus hits, and the vocals stretch the words “como todo el sonido” into yearning, the beat breaks away into a swirling keyboard cacophony. It’s a dynamite section of music, and perhaps the most aggressive section she’s recorded since the breakdown on Esquemas Juveniles’ “Cuando Hablamos.”

Aggression is certainly the best word to describe Otra Era in relation to Esquemas Juveniles and Mena. In fact, the album’s strength lies in the teeth imbued within the production. Take “Esa Fuerza” for example. The song rides along on high synth notes for two minutes, sounding like a simple dance number reminiscent of Kylie’s “Love at First Sight.” Then, two minutes in, the middle eight hits, and the vocals chant “la unica que ser” until dissolving into a sweaty keyboard breakdown continuing throughout the remainder of the track, a key tempo change that effectively changes it into a different (and better) song. For all its charms, however, “Esa Fuerza” is not the strongest song of the record.

Instead, the three-song combo opening side two are the true showcase for Otra Era’s sonic attack. In single “La Joya,” which still sounds like it’ll be running your summers ten years from now, the exuberant “Que Me Tome la Noche,” and the perfectly titled “La Carretera,” Mena and Heyne have three numbers that allow them to operate on all cylinders. “La Joya” allows the pair to indulge headfirst in 80s nostalgia, sounding like the unintended mix of Lisa Lisa and Madonna you could have sworn already existed. This is before (again) hitting the accelerator at the bridge, tearing the fucking lid off the song and letting the keys ride it into another dimension. “Que Me Tome la Noche” is freestyle on steroids, lifting those keyboards Britney Spears used on “Til the World Ends” that sounded like fire from the sky (or foam falling on the dance floor, I can’t really tell). And “La Carretera” is a 90 mph slice of brash beachside firework pop, launching hooks the way 30 Rock launched jokes. Javiera Mena always held a debt to Gloria Estefan (see "Luz de Piedra de Luna") and this track pays it back by riding the Miami Sound Machine (with a tint of Capullo) into the goddamn ocean.

Of course, this is still a Javiera Mena album, meaning it must be judged according to its slow jamz. And while “Pide” and “Quedate un Ratito Mas” are tender, sometimes blissful songs, the heart of this album is its title track. As a standalone single “Otra Era” was charming and lovely, but as heard within the parent album it is as gorgeous as Javiera Mena has ever sounded. Atypical of the rest of the album, “Otra Era” revels in minimalism and is built solely on an array of keys and basic drum effects. The ethereal “Fool on the Hill”-like melody sustains the track, but it’s Javiera’s lyrics and cadence that grounds the song. Long derided (and sometimes rightly) for writing overly naïve lyrics, “Otra Era” doubles-down on the mantras. Here, however, the music acts as an emotional reinforcement. Note how, after a dizzying array of stadium synths, the final chorus shuts down so Javiera Mena can address the audience (“Piensa en mi como soy / Piensa lejos de mí”). Then, in the turn of an eye: madness; synthesizers exploding at every turn; “llévame a otra era.” It’s the type of dance song you would prefer to listen to sitting down and holding hands.

Making a fun dance-pop album is not hard so long as you remember that people want to dance. But making a great dance-pop album requires the artist to have the confidence to establish an identity and not cater to the lowest common denominator. Otra Era is a great album, genre be damned, because Javiera Mena knows what she is and what how to package her sound. This is why “Espada,” almost a year after its release, still sounds urgently brazen and satisfying far after it’s debut. Javiera’s artistic maturity has allowed her to tinker with her formula like an aural wizard—knowing when to let hooks sink and when to unleash her bag of tricks. Now, let’s make this clear: Otra Era is not the equal of Mena. But very few albums are. And even after the inevitable nitpicking, Otra Era still sounds like a modern classic from one of the classic artists of this generation. One that is clearly on the road to immortality.