El sueño de la casa propia - Doble ola EP

Doble ola EP, El sueño de la casa propia

Michita Rex, Chile

Rating: 85

by Pierre Lestruhaut

When discussing Chilean producer José Manuel Cerda’s El sueño de la casa propia project, its very own beginnings are rarely referred to. Although official discographies will cite 2006's Hogar as being the first record published by ESDLCP, Cerda himself has revealed he considers 2010's freakishly gorgeous Historial de caídas his actual debut. Hogar isn’t a bad record by any means but, to be honest, it carries the amateurish imprint of a musician that was only starting to toy with electronic gadgetry. Cerda neither likes nor identifies with the sounds in Hogar, finding it "a little too post-rock." For a man who also claimed Valparaíso’s musical scene seriously lacked pop, it’s no surprise that for his latest short-form release, Doble ola, his aesthetic is becoming increasingly hook-centric, even if his modus operandi remains in the vein of glitchy sample-fueled electronica.

Most writing associated with this brand of sample-based music will outline its merit on the basis of conceptual coherence and stylistic consistency—the piracy as composition of plunderphonics, the anarcho-capitalist Muzak twisting of vaporwave, or the ghoulish “old-timeyness” of hauntology—but rarely engages the subject of the music’s own listenability. Even at its utmost ear-candy configuration (The Go! Team, The Avalanches, Bibio), concept and style are ingrained as the nexus of the music’s own appeal. By contrast, ESDLCP manages to stand out by working precisely within the confines of listenability. In focusing on providing moments of truly audacious beauty, it completely throws away any sort of conceptualization that could be made of it.

The glitchy manner in which Cerda has always manipulated and presented his samples could also see words like “noise-influenced” being associated to ESDLCP. The first 20 seconds of “Balbina” come as close to noise as anything else in Doble ola, but by the time the piano arpeggios hit the surface there isn’t a single doubt remaining: José Manuel Cerda isn’t here to indulge in fist-fucking your ears, he’s here to give you a 4-minute session of continuous eargasms. Nowhere else will the EP aim for such luxury, but it’s top-notch sequencing makes it so that the climax is not only reached after just the ideal amount of foreplay (the catchiness/dance conflation of “Caen Rocas,” the guitar licks/marimba ethereal combo of “Peinados de fuego”), but also given its due period of relaxation (leisurely paced, flute-sampling “Pobre Ave”).

I used to differ with Andrew Casillas' definition of ESDLCP’s sound in his Historial de Caídas review, in which he stated that "there's nothing really original about El sueño de la casa propia." How could something so sonically unique not be original at all? But I’ve gradually come to believe every time more that José Manuel Cerda’s brand of glitchy vocal chops et al. aren’t really that innovative or forward-thinking at all. Just like another one of my favorite albums of 2013 so far, Justin Timberlake’s The 20/20 Experience, the glistening surface that distinguishes it (in JT's case, 8-minute long pop songs) might trick some ears into buying it as some sort of forward-thinking opus. In reality, it functions because its own ambitions never stray too far from the ends of pleasure and listenability, because it’s hook-centric music as paradisal sonic escape.

Which is why trying to discuss the work José Manuel Cerda Castro in the context of Latin American electronica feels a bit pointless. Standing at the margin of both Latin folk-infused electronica and new world techno, ESDLCP is still confidently owning its own private island of holy-fucking-shitdom, holding sway over weird-as-fuck Latin American electronic music territory. Three years after wondering how Cerda could possibly follow such an out-of-nowhere success like Historial de Caídas, he seems to have shrugged off the two main follow-up album clichés: Doble ola is neither a safe continuation, nor a risky rupture. It’s actually more of a question mark. It leaves us wondering if this is the snack that will keep us satiated for a little while, or the sugar-coated dessert that’s closing off a well-rounded meal.

Download Album | Stream Album

Devendra Banhart - Mala

Mala, Devendra Banhart
Nonesuch Records, USA
Rating: 79
by Carlos Reyes

The white savior complex is far from being a popular topic of discussion on Latin music forums, but when hipsters get together, it seems like no one is indifferent to the subject. “I am Venezuelan. Do I represent Venezuelans? I don’t know…I can barely represent myself.” Although Devendra Banhart carries Venezuelan blood and lived his formative years in that country, the general perception (at least from those in Latin America) is that he is still an outsider (some people are still resistant to the idea of Manu Chao being one of us, and others doubt of Ry Cooder's intentions). It’s a conformist, unfair, and anti-integrationist reading of an artist who clearly carries his identity on his sleeve.

Banhart isn’t being accused of a complete cultural appropriation, but is indicted for contributing to the exoticism of cultures (the fact that he also happens to symbolize Los Angeles’ boiling-pot society adds to the fire). When you hear the name Carmensita, does the image of Natalie Portman playing a Bollywood princess come to mind? While the allegations make up for a rich cultural debate, it’s easy to dismiss such opinions by simply listening to his records. Banhart is far from a gimmick. Mala, his eighth studio album is so thematically deep and sonically enduring to distill any skepticism. Sounding ambrosial in barebone acoustics (“Daniel”) or plainly twee in strummed melodies (“Your Fine Petting Duck”), Mala feels like the work of an experienced artist who has acquired cosmopolitanism through the arts.

By now we’ve come to expect Banhart singing in Spanish at least on one track of his albums. And they usually turn eventful. Such is the case here with the lovely “Mi Negrita.” It’s an unconscious habit, but Banhart always puts on his crooner voice whenever he sings in Spanish. It’s not a pose, it’s a loving way to show respect to his identity, an identity he can grasp and contribute to through either bolero or Americana. The song is also a great companion to Banhart’s recent collaborations with Natalia Lafourcade and Adanowsky. You can’t say the man isn’t trying to get more involved with our soundscape. Mala might not be Banhart’s strongest hour, but it’s easily his most respected work yet. He’s no longer filling the freak folk quota at your local artwalk or the young man putting a magnifying lense to his roots. When Banhart sings “you’re a young man on a dancefloor,” it all becomes clear—Mala is disambiguated and beyond earnest.

Video: Xenia Rubinos - "Whirlwind"

Following the re-release of her debut album Magic Trix via Ba Da Bing Records, which features  bonus track "Lost Things," vocal contortionist and quirky keyboardist Xenia Rubinos comes bearing a new single. Shot in an empty Long Island parking lot at 6 a.m., the video for "Whirlwind" captures Rubinos’ playful energy and propensity to favor vocal prowess to composition. With director Francesco Lettieri brilliant stop frame-like video, the sonic juxtaposition of drummer Marco Buccelli’s odd and complex dance beats and Xenia’s powerful, high-pitched, and unpredictable vocal flights, synth noises, and squeaking hinges, the content suddenly becomes as fascinating as the container. The performance art (all in loops and layers) has us both hypnotized from the repetitive oohs and ahs and bouncing to the infectious raucous groove. 

Pardo - "Fantasma"

Melodrama, this familiar object, has been manipulated as if its contours were obvious, yet it continues to be ill defined. While critics in Latin America have often stated spurious value judgments of the cinematic genre and its literary counterpart—portrayed as cheap, commercial and lapsing into simplicity or complacency to develop a heightened emotional tension and create a grand spectacle—it’s astonishing to see a young and talented composer availing himself of the melodramatic popular song culture in México.

At age 22, the prolific and self-taught Sergio Castelló Fernández has already released under the name Pardo two solo albums made of intricate melancholic piano pieces he had been keeping to himself for sometime. (I should also mention he’s been part of two screamo bands and has been working, with his brother Arturo “Turi” on another musical project called Castelló). Through “Fantasma,” released last January by the Mexican Netlabel MYRDAL, Pardo finally reveals that melodrama must be thought of in terms of inheritance and adaptation. With his smooth and silky voice that echoes Juan Gabriel’s and drifting electronics, the regiomontano skillfully draws a particular aesthetic universe, filled with emotion and extremely evocative melancholy images. Singing "¿Quién iba a decir que yo jamás habría de perdonarme?" the tormented multi-instrumentalist cautiously lays out a story of wretched love. The result is beautifully painful. Pardo’s rich and dense work hovering between shaded sky and storms can all be found on his SoundCloud page.