Sorrows are sung and danced. It is the axis that crosses La Alegría de los que Lloran, the third album by Catalina y las Bordonas de Oro. A work that persists in the group’s interest in expanding their discography; from bolero to the Latin dance catalog. The first part is that of drama; in Quien es él, the singer Catalina Plaza stands out for an affected interpretation with inflections that suggest tearing.
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And the version of Ciudad Traicionera, by Joe Vasconellos, proposes an arrangement where guitars and the strings of Cuarteto Austral dialogue, in the atmosphere of a Mexican bar in the 1940s. The album also offers dance floor moments with organic instrumentation, like the lively Te despediste de mi pobre corazón, the radio-friendly collaboration with Los Vásquez that articulates the sound of both groups without interfering. That repertoire also marks their boldest songs; in the remarkable Fue una mentira the group ventures into merengue without losing their sound and gives prominence to the voices. The same goes for the salsa track No he dejado de pensar en ti. Key is the support of the Brass al límite ensemble, which has gained live experience with the band, allowing a polished joint sound. The closing with the cinematic Te acordarás de mi crowns the most exploratory album of the project and one of the best Chilean records of the season (Felipe Retamal).
“I am making the music I want to make,” said Cristián Heyne some time ago in these pages. The brain behind Shogún had set himself a mission: to release all the old material, that is, to spread key albums in his discography like Demonio, Alma and Fuego el aumento across platforms to start releasing new music.
Well, the first release is titled perro, a nine-track album that oscillates between experimental and instrumental, with some pop arrangements but maintaining that rough texture so key to his sound. When he signs as Shogún, there are several Heynes at play: the apprentice of Trent Reznor (Cocaína, El caos camina conmigo), the producer capable of combining rough atmospheres with a dense emotional charge (1991, Te encontré, te perdí), and the most dramatic and dark (Mi alma murió, Todos los animales), all so distant from the bright pop he usually shapes for others.
perro is the continuation of a perhaps recognizable palette: minimal rhythms, dry hits, whispered voices, drowned in deep reverberations or processed with echoes over dark textures and the use of noise as a language.
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Oye and Esa escalera larga de la playa are two perfect entries to this very well-crafted lo-fi aesthetic album. An album that moves, almost silently, through a kind of inner world halfway between boredom and confinement (Alejandro Jofré).
It was all a coincidence. A great coincidence. Kurt Wagner, the leader of Lambchop, was heading to a gas station in Nashville when on the radio he heard a melody built only on a banjo chord and a gospel choir.
The sound fascinated him and from that moment he began a search for the songs of early 20th-century British churches, which later influenced the development of gospel. Wagner then called his band to build Punching the clown, a minimalist album developed with just a guitar, a banjo, voice, and choirs.
Careful, intimate, and simple, this album flows track by track and has the virtue of calming certain emotional storms. Kurt Wagner’s characteristic voice (Nashville, 1959) works like a magnet that could well remind one of Johnny Cash, the beacon of that Tennessee city. “Look at the sterile cracks that form the ceiling/Oh, the rays of light/Were no comfort,” he sings in Weakened, one of the highest points of this record, by an alternative, restless, and profound band. From Nashville to the world (Alejandro Tapia).
