Video: Ases Falsos - "Mi Ejercito"



As far as poetic contributions are concerned, Cristobal Briceño postures as the leader of the pack in Chilean pop. This is true despite the fact that Ases Falsos are actually the contemporary descendants of rock en español. The poetic finesse of Conducción is charming, vague and compellingly incisive. Back in 2014, Pierre Lestruhaut called Conducciónlyrical pop grandeur,” a record that scaled back the aggressively political intentions of its predecessor, Juventud Americana. This isn’t necessarily true. Ases Falsos’ 2016 single “Mi Ejercito” shows Conducción wasn’t primarily a scaling back of political intensity but rather a calculated channeling of the age old mantra: the personal is political.

As the first single from Conducción indicates, our realities must find symmetry. The fourth (and likely final single from Conducción) succeeds in conducing balance. “Mi Ejercito” contemplates the limitations of teen angst: “parece que fue ayer cuando creí en la lucha contra el mundo” instead of channeling the energy of the world for combat. As Briceño would have it, the world is his army of which he is its commander and first line of defense. The Zapatista saying “mandar obedeciendo” comes to mind. In other words, Briceño alludes to the concept of command-obeying where the power of leadership directly stems from obeying the will of the community. True to form, Briceño channels personal agency over being a martyr for empty populism: “soy mi propia carne de cañon, y mi conspirador” (I am my own cannon made of flesh, my own conspirator).

But this isn't just a fluff piece for Ases Falsos or Cristobal Briceño's ego. I have thoughts regarding the music video for “Mi Ejercito” which follows a trend of cringe worthy visual presentations for the group: its corny. I also have some choice words regarding Cristobal Briceño’s confusing, nauseating, and disappointing comments regarding feminism which Alex Anwandter recently chastised and attributed to machismo. Cristobal, meet bell hooks en español. In the pejorative sense, Briceño's comments were pretty rock en español indeed.

Alex Anwandter - Amiga

Amiga, Alex Anwandter
Nacional Records, Chile
Rating: 90
By Zé Garcia


Club Fonograma first began transmitting communiques about the (nominal) pop insurrection sometime in October 2014. The term came attached to Fakuta’s Tormenta Solar, a record that sportively reflected Chile’s combatant youth with a mantra (as heard in “Fugitivos”), urging us to become outlaws rather than cogs in a machine. In recent memory, a growing number of artists in the Club Fonograma scene and beyond have gone on to make their own statements regarding an array of amalgamated global crises. From Beyoncé’s anti police publicity stunts, The Knife's conflictual Shaking The Habitual, Julieta Venegas’ plea for the 43 students of Ayotzinapa & against femicide, Lido Pimienta’s vocal repudiation of white supremacy & her celebration of water as an Indigenous womn, Destiny’s celebration of Taino & African ancestries through funky soul music, to the rapture that is felt every time Kendrick Lamar sings about hating the police & articulates Black resiliency in the face of social death. Systems of domination everywhere are trembling at present (& forthcoming) insurrections. We should continue celebrating our liberation, our uprisings. Our soundtrack is sounding pretty lit, too. Which brings us to the seminal record of the pop insurrection in the Club Fonograma scene: Amiga by our Prince of Pop, Alex Anwandter.

You will likely find many publications gushing over Amiga, claiming it is a progeny of this white man from New York, or that white band from Europe. Let us settle the score: disco, soul, funk, & Motown (the dominant music styles at work on Amiga) are mediums of the African diaspora. It isn’t surprising publications are more eager to name drop Phil Spector as an influence on Amiga but couldn’t even mention the Queen of Disco herself, Donna Summer. All shade aside, Amiga exists because of Grace Jones, Gloria Gaynor, Diana Ross & The Supremes, Ashford & Simpson, Chic, and Marvin Gaye well before any white person. I am reminded of the words Lido Pimiento recently shared with Club Fonograma: “there is this wrong impression that white people created “rock and roll”, Rock and Roll was pioneered by a Queer Black woman, her name was Sister Rosetta Tharpe.” Mentioning the liberation soul music of Chicago’s very own Curtis Mayfield seems compulsory when discussing Amiga, Chilean pop’s most explicitly political album thus far. Without resorting to cultural cannibalism, Alex Anwandter's magnum opus seems to derive its life source from Nina Simone’s “Baltimore,” a timeless protest record that has enjoyed a resurgence since the Black Uprisings following the police murder of Freddie Gray.

Amiga feels like a candidate for Album of the Year. For immediate reference to this claim see the elegiac “Cordillera” which finds Alex at his poetic peak. Lyrics like “El Mercurio miente y la verdad se tira desde un Puma al mar, a ese mar que todavía baña a los niños en el litoral” feel like post colonial parables, while indictments of electioneering and lines like “que esto no se acabe…yo quiero pelear” feel like voices from street battles against $tate forces. “Cordillera” is monumentally gorgeous: the lush string arrangements at the end of the track uplift the record from memorable to epic. This is true of every moment in Amiga that makes use of 1970s disco & soul era horn sections & orchestral strings (reaching one of many zeniths during the riveting, The Smiths / Elton John-esque "El Sonido De Los Corazones Que Se Quiebran"); such embellishments only add to the exquisite feeling of grandeur reminiscent of the album's aforementioned cultural predecessors. And since we are in the subject of Chilean pop, it should be noted that Dënver went on to create their best record yet using a similar formula, their "tribute to Motown," Fuera de Campo.

The album’s title track is a peculiar ode to Top 40 radio, although more effective and elating than its leading competitors in the charts. This foray into the 'top of the pops' allows us a glimpse into how EDM might sound if the calculated intentions of its maker were pure of heart. It comes with an incisive, no apologies breakup mantra (giving me Empress Of vibes), “y aunque no supe amarte, no pido perdon, si mi corazon cambio”. Slick and precise synth pop, “Mujer" contemplates centuries of patriarchy and rape culture- its staying power is accentuated by its sprite, orchestral panache. “Traición” is a disco showcase for Alex Anwandter's "future queer kingdom". All the wonders that Amiga has to offer are at a ten here: house keys, female backing vocals for added flare, & (again) orchestral opulence. "Caminando A La Fábrica" is pure melancholy, illustrating that it isn't necessarily life itself that is the source of our torment, but rather capitalism. Sufjan Stevens vibes aren't out of the question here. And I most definitely needed this song during my near suicide depression days of third shift factory work a few years ago. Did I mention “Caminando A La Fabrica” features backing vocals by Julieta Venegas?

Only time will tell if "Manifiesto" is our generation's "Imagine" although no other exemplars have emerged to date. Like John Lennon's ode to world peace, "Manifesto" is stripped to bare bones: only a piano complements Alex Anwandter's silvery vocals. Like "Imagine", "Manifiesto" rejects formal theology and traditional systems of social control. However, "Manifiesto" offers something "Imagine" doesn't; its protagonist betrays a privilege (or perhaps a hindrance) afforded to them since birth: an emotionally stunted, male subjectivity. As the protagonist rejects male subjectivity to instead embody womanhood, they offer a glimpse into the terror experienced by trans and gender non conforming people: "sere el maricón del pueblo, aunque me prendan fuego." “Manifiesto” isn’t just theory, it is also a praxis; advocating for armed self defense: "yo quiero ser un manifiesto, hecho cuerpo…que va a disparar / lo justo no es normal, defiéndete no más.” Alex Anwandter claims his "Manifiesto" stands on the shoulders of his compatriots Victor Jara and the "poor and queer" literary genius, Pedro Lemebel. "Manifiesto" deserves our full attention Such a bold record has the universal spirit to command awards ceremonies. Next year’s “Hasta La Raiz” at the Latin Grammy’s? Better than winning industry awards, "Manifiesto" has an alchemical quality to make hearts made of stone bleed.

"¿Qué Será De Ti Mañana?” is completely devoted to Chilean folk music, the Nueva Canción movement, and it's protagonists like Mercedes Sosa and Violeta Parra. After all, Alex Anwantder is beaming his 21st Century pop manifesto to us from a post-colonial, post-dictatorship social reality in the southern cone. As suicide pandemics, modern alienation, and our interpersonal relationships continue to suffer in this purgatory of capitalism- "¿Qué será de ti mañana?" (what will become of you tomorrow) seems like a perfectly poignant question. I'm not simply projecting my own alienation as I write this essay, Alex Anwandter literally talks about the failings of capitalism. Alex seems to be alluding to the inherent emptiness universally embodied when energy (power) transfers are articulated through the spell of capital. Alex appeals to populism, "si alguien queda atrás, nadie avanza," alludes to the ebb and flow of revolt, reminding us that rebellions are temporary, "la revolución en dónde quede?” and finally, aspires for a day that doesn't betray our personal and collective potential for happiness. This was a song we listened to in a squat at 4 in the morning, accepting our collective and personal depression, and pressed on with our resolve to do something dangerous about our current myopic horizons. Y empecé a chillar.

Like pulling a page from Juan Gabriel's diary, "Te Enamoraste" is perhaps Amiga's crowning achievement. It is a heart wrenching story of gracefully accepting the misery (& optimism) of falling in love with someone else. Alex accepts that there's nothing inherently wrong when love finds solace in the heart of another, "no tienes que pedir perdón". He accepts such jarring and traumatic developments with a profound sensibility, proclaiming that he understands that one doesn't discard a lover for another "eso lo entiendo yo / que no funciona así". The Orquesta de Camara de la Universidad Austral is simply exquisite on this album. Allow yourself to languish in the whimsical musical flourishes that complement these niceties. Grace gives way to an homage of shared, beautiful moments. And then Alex loses his elegant stride and begins to beg his former love to in turn bless his new love, begs her to be happy being just...a friend. "Te Enamoraste" displays a musical richness that speaks to the musical heritage of soul records. But we must firmly situate this number in the tradition of breakdown inducing Juan Gabriel epics. The strings reminisce "Querida", the final belt of "bendice mi amor, quiero que estés contenta, bendice mi amor" recalls the beautiful despondency of "Te Sigo Amando." Is it safe to say that "Te Enamoraste" is not unlike the cathartic urgency a queer boy might have felt in 1986, the year that birthed "Hasta Que Te Conocí"? But here Alex does something JuanGa could never do in his heyday (because of strict homophobic ethics in the Latino music industry), Alex seems to swap the pronoun from female to male as he delivers the devastating final moments of a career-defining album, from amiga to amigo. Where does one go after such a devastatingly tragic moment? Right back to the beginning of the record for the finest exemplar of our current pop insurrection: the anthemic disco house of "Siempre Es Viernes En Mi Corazón”. Alex Anwandter calls this track his wolf in sheep’s clothing, “a protest song disguised as a party anthem”. As I stated before, “Siempre Es Viernes En Mi Corazón” is "our eternal mutiny in the discotheque and in the streets". It urges our generation to attack the modalities that Church and $tate have created. WITH FIRE.

Amiga is a sophisticated pleasure that is by no means facile. It is neither strictly synth pop nor disco. It also isn't exclusively “suited for the dance floor” as some publications have suggested. The first half of Amiga is euphoric discotheque bangers. But “Manifiesto” marks the turning point towards the album’s dysphoric second half. This is where some of the finest moments in Amiga can be found, as Alex gently takes us by the hand to show us his political project with a splendor that matches Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” In other words, this is some of the saddest (& vitalizing) music Anwandter has ever created, reflecting a widespread societal malaise. Most of the moments Amiga generates are spaces of personal-political solace, a collection of melancholic melodies that allow broken spirits the ability to process, reflect, and yes, cry. Amiga could come with a trigger warning: it is a record full of confessional interpersonal & social miasma. Lines like “madre, tómame la mano / ya no tengo dudas, esto es el final" during the fascinating “Intentarlo Todo De Nuevo” function as double entendres. Clearly Alex is speaking to an end in a romantic relationship while simultaneously alluding to a broader eschatology; that we are living through a literal end of days.

Capitalism unquestionably shapes and molds our social realities, accomplishments & shortcomings. Amiga deconstructs and attacks various modalities of control and even though our total liberation might never materialize, we are already creating our moments & methods of liberation. But our fortitude comes in our ability to share & create our own stories, our own otherness, our own queerness, as part of a deprogramming that we must undergo (individually and collectively) if we are to reject capitalism, patriarchy, & colonialism. When we build under capitalism, our desires are subjugated. Our agony, however we feel it, is the birthing pains of a world surviving capitalism. As "Siempre Es Viernes En Mi Corazón" suggests, we can weaponize our desires to destroy this reality, even as we subsist under the domination monolith of Capital. Amiga plays like the current soundtrack of the ungovernable.


Video: Mock the Zuma feat. Jamez Manuel - "Octanaje"



When it comes to NAAFI, we don’t nearly have enough words to introduce them. All we can say is that the label feels like world citizen. Not only virtually, but also very well positioned in many of the most important places around the world in physical locations and online sessions. NAAFI is thriving, and we continue to applaud them enthusiastically.

Kevin Santana, from Ciudad Juárez in northern Mexico, aka Mock The Zuma has been involved with the experimental club music label for about five years now. He is one the most active artists in their roster, contributing with a number of guest mixes to their NTS radio show and playing at their three-day festival in Oaxaca. However, it’s hard to believe that Gauss is his first release for NAAFI. The seven-tracker features Chilean rapper Jamez Manuel, and follows previous releases for French bass label Fullfridge and the Venezuelan imprint Cocobass.

It’s the Jamez Manuel collab track that shows an unnerving, dense video for "Octanaje.” Directed by Federico Schott and shot in Xochitlán de las Flores, Hidalgo, the clip compiles images of the desert, a busy highway, burning, smoke, a cemetery, and someone brutally disposing of a body in the dead of night. Haunting images that further highlight this track as just another awe-inspiring taste from one of 2016's most intriguing EP so far.

Video: Josué Josué - "Primus"



I initially discovered Josué Josué through his quiet and eerily spun verses on Matilda Manzana's 2011 deep cut, "Hola holograma." His flow was sharp and focused, yet charmingly timid and self-aware. Several singles and EPs later, we then came to view him as one of Mexico’s most forward-thinking and authentic rap projects, especially on collaborations that joined him with national producers like Mock The Zuma (who is barely getting his due praise thanks to the stellar Gauss EP) and Siete Catorce. Josué Josué’s penchant for daring soundscapes demonstrate how ahead of its time the Linus EP really was. His own voice lends itself to the electronic vanguard because his diction can match any kind of weird, brazenly pushing the word count up and floating next to the esoteric.

Josué Josué’s latest video, which we are ecstatic to premiere, is taken from what was supposed to be his send-off album, thus the apt title, Aprendiendo a morir. "Primus" sounds like the future. The energy espoused by the MC does not do much to push finality or other Ready to Die themes. Josué Josué still has much to say. The chiptune lounge foreground on the beat (courtesy of Technic Trouble) feels invasive. Director Eduardo Makoszay Mayén channels those claustrophobic vibes with a clip that corners the young performer. Those quick cuts, however, are not the only dizzying quality to extract from “Primus.” Josué Josué lays down his daily routine, which includes existentialist readings and seeking refuge through music to calm his spiraling spirit. Tell me who in here can relate?

Maria Usbeck - “Moai Y Yo”

Photo credit: Holland Brown
Maria Usbeck, former lead singer of the band Selebrities, dropped “Moai Y Yo” via The FADER last night, which then immediately had us wondering: Who Is She. Born in Ecuador and currently based in New York, the singer/producer is now promoting an upcoming solo record which promises serene pop born out of an existential crises from losing touch with her mother tongue. Usbeck later took it on herself to reconnect with her language and culture, all of which has aided her in building a more meaningful musical identity. One that is waiting to be unveiled in her album Amparo.

“Moai Y Yo” rises at sun salutation only to be carried off by gentle harmonies. The arrangements are simple but extremely rich. The singer pulls in harps and other ornate sounds that often recall Ramona Lisa (Chairlift's Caroline Polachek, who is actually listed as co-producer), an influence that becomes more pronounced through the Rapa Nui chants chained to the vocal patterns. Usbeck stretches the tonal canvas to its absolute limit. Reaching its conclusion it is hard not to feel elated both from the music and the impression of the discovery (“Te busqué, te encontré”). Maria Usbeck, welcome to the club.

Amparo is out May 27 via Cascine / Labrador

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