Los Mundos, Los Mundos
by Jean-Stephane Beriot
“It’s just that I can’t wait to see your face again,” claim Mexico’s newcomers Los Mundos in a climatic state of angst and clouded strings. Their name might be a derived fanatic upshot for Los Planetas, and the album cover of their self-titled debut might have a post-adolescent Little Red Riding Hood on it (well, that or some type of hipster witch, or nu evangelist). Yes, there are already too many maybes up for second-hand conclusions in this review, but really, what is shoegaze more than just a hazy feeling that is also, floating in the mist of pop music, awaiting for the endorsement of a generation of romantics to swell its transcendence to the rest of the pedestrians.
Hailing from the north of Mexico, Los Mundos is almost like a super group. Piyama Party’s Luis Ángel Martínez and En Ventura’s Alejandro “Chivo” Elizondo don’t necessarily make an unlikely pair, but their two-man congregation does make for one remarkably pleasing surprise. We’re talking about a major indie romance here, considering En Ventura grabbed a spot in CF’s top ten albums of the '00s and house favorite Piyama Party, which seems destined to grab a few rankings on the next one. In a healthy year for Mexican rock (the year that holds Telememe, Futura Via, and Meaningmore), the arrival of Los Mundos serves almost like a disenfranchisement of our own knowledge of Mexican rock. For one, because for the first time this year (and in a while), we’re in club-consensus worship of an album that doesn’t carry credits from either Martin Thulin or Mou in its production tags.
From its initial spins, Los Mundos showcases a band that can evoke amorphous feelings in an effortless fashion. Whether in daydream (“No Me Grites”) or midnight doom (“Fuera de Horas”), the band crafts songs that are as noisy as they are gorgeous. Further contemplation of the album also reveals a certain affinity with tragedy themes; taking the shock factor out of them and making them feel habitual in an ultimately deviant world. Among those tragedies, “Ni un segundo sin musica” is like a dark, life-at-2:00 AM prolongation of Odio Paris’ anthem, “Cuando Nadie Pone Un Disco.” With so much confidence and good taste, it comes as an off-putting surprise they decided to self-title this album, (a no-guts, no-glory practice in the title would've been nice).
Los Mundos only suffers from two things. First, the lack of an out-of-this-world single that could’ve been referenced for years to come, and from a slight disjoint in the articulation of the music and the lyrics. There isn’t much to say about something that’s missing (although “Punk Soccer” and “El Sol No Sabe” come pretty close), but, for the other flaw, the band attributes the dislocation of its texts to the fact that this album was made at distance (with Chivo doing the music and Luis providing the vocals and lyrics, both working in different cities). Los Mundos carry their influences with so much charm that pointing them out would come off as obsolete. Impeccably timed and devoid of any fillers, Los Mundos is delightful - a work about the visibility of crescendos in a world of hazy melodies, topped by the duo’s assessment to make every action part of their idiosyncrasy.
Los Mundos, Los Mundos