Tuesday, February 14th, 2017

Chano! – Carnavalintro

No, the answer is no.


Thomas Inskeep: This Argentinian cumbia track comes off like a poppier reggaetòn record, with Chano! singing somewhat sweetly yet still sounding like his tongue is in his cheek. 

Alfred Soto: An amiable reggaetón/cumbia hybrid with too emphatic a vocal. Is it because all involved knew the beat wouldn’t pack the dance floor?

Edward Okulicz: If I tried to dance to this I would fall flat on my face from trying to latch onto the beat and possibly throw up. Given that, the hammy, seemingly desperate vocal from Chano feels completely natural.

Iain Mew: He’s just about charming enough to carry the goofy, loping verses, but on a song that tries to fit so many different emotional modes and tempos he really doesn’t have the range.

Will Adams: The Lonely Island-esque video lays bare the fundamental flaw in “Carnavalintro”: here we have an uncompelling vocalist deploying gimmickry to make up for both his and the song’s lack of spark.

Juana Giaimo: It’s easy to be against Chano and make fun of him, especially for his slightly bragging persona in the songs of his former band Tan Biónica. But since 2015, Chano’s life seems to be going down which may be why when listening to his only solo song, I suddenly feel empathy for him. “Carnavalintro” may be an upbeat cumbia track, but his trembling voice isn’t as flirty as it was in Tan Biónica. It is instead the voice of a disintegrating man in his deepest loneliness, putting together lines that hardly make any sense until he is enlightened by the purest words of nostalgia: “I dream of never dreaming again.” In years when cumbia has been represented in the Rio de la Plata by repetitive and rather superficial bands like Marama, Agapornis and Rombai, Chano’s cumbia feels truly genuine.  

Tim de Reuse: There’s a little rhythmic wonkiness on the standard reggaeton beat here that adds a surprisingly engaging lilt to things; merely decent lines like “Tengo que tratar de no esperar / Lo inevitable mas, te vas, te vas” turn bittersweet and catchy when they sound like they’re just barely not falling over. Every other aspect blends into a haze of gloss and overproduction that doesn’t have quite as much going for it.

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