La vida en un poema escrito en una servilleta. La vida en un Fa sostenido. La vida en una canción reproducida por un iPod. La vida en una nota.

Life on a love poem written on a napkin. Life on a F-sharp. Life on a tune played by an iPod. Life on a note.

jueves, setiembre 29, 2011

Theophilus London: a matter of form


In these days of the Internet age, you can get to know a musician’s work without even hearing his first LP. Artists nowadays can just edit tracks, post videos and EP’s through their websites or blogs without the aid or large conglomerates. Theophilus London gained notoriety releasing a series of EP’s before editing his first official album: Timez are weird these days (2011). This production sounds like a natural sequel to what London has offered us before. His sophisticated-stylish-glamorous hip-hop remains strong and fearless. However, it lacks the freshness and inventiveness found in his previous efforts. Timez are weird these days is not a bad record, it’s actually very good, but after being witness of the originality present in his first work, one can’t help but feel a little disappointed. That being said, this record, more than a statement, works best as a promise. Don’t get me wrong, London has made very good music –I’m afraid we would just have to wait for “great”.

This is the video for Why even try featuring Sara Quin

martes, setiembre 27, 2011

O algo


Ahí viene.

Sí, es ella.

¿Le digo algo?

¿La saludo?

Pero es que si no la conozco.

Mejor no digo nada (como siempre)

Haz algo (como nunca)

Está más cerca.

No mires hacia abajo.

Casi, casi.

"Hola".

"Hola", dice ella.

Y sigue de largo.

Y yo me quedo ahí, parado.

"¡Hey!"

Ella voltea.

No tiene muy buena cara.

¡Di algo, pues!

"Sólo quería presentarme, me llamo Victor y trabajo en el departamento de Producción".

No dice nada.

Me mira algo confundida.

Pero no de mala manera.

Me dice su nombre.

"Mucho gusto".

Sigue allí, aunque parece que estuviera a punto de irse.

"Si quieres tomarte un café... uno de estos días... o algo..."

Saco de mi cartera y le doy una tarjeta de presentación.

"Ok", dice.

Y se va.

¿"Uno de estos días"?

¿"O algo"?

¿Qué coño es "o algo"?

¿Para cuándo más o menos es eso de "uno de estos días"?

¿Por qué coño dijiste "o algo”?

¿Qué carajos se supone que significa eso?

¿Que coño va a pensar de ti ahora?

¡Mejor no hubieses dicho un coño!

¡Un coño hubiese sido mejor que "o algo"!


El jurado emite su veredicto:

eres un estúpido.


El estúpido está contento:

sigue caminando orgulloso de su inesperada y arriesgada estupidez.

domingo, setiembre 04, 2011

Russian Red: music of certain freshness


Naturalness seems to be an underestimated feature in music. We just don’t appreciate very much those songs that seem to have been written with easiness and spontaneity. This is all very speculative, I’m afraid. In the end, we could just guess how a musician writes his songs. But listening works as a great tool to theorize. Sometimes, when you listen to certain songs, you just know how they could have been written. Take, for instance, the group of songs included in Russian Red’s magnificent latest record, Fuerteventura (2011). Its heart-wrenching songs, sang by her enchanting voice seem to have come out from the definitive impulse of honesty. Fuerteventura is one of the most captivating records I’ve listened to this year: these songs refresh our feelings and relief our sorrows. This is art as a product of the sensibility of truth.

This is the video for I hate you but I love you