The Singles Jukebox

How do we feel about Chilean neo-trip hop? Quite positively, it appears…

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Katherine St Asaph: The trip-hop revival continues, and continues to impress; this Californian-Chilean artist augments her loops and dust with the best percussion out of “Some Girls,” lyrics and voice designed to scale of cathedrals and the body electric, and a bang-awesome bit of synth freakoutery that recurs just enough.
[9]

Cassy Gress: Oooo, dirty trip-hop robot feminism!  Simultaneously zappy and spacey, while crunchy like gravel underfoot, this grinds and groans metallically as she denies religious morality and celebrates her own adaptive perfection.
[9]

Juana Giaimo: Even with four singles already released, Tajo abierto still has many upbeat tracks to choose from. “Catedral” is therefore an odd choice, not only for its darkness but also because it is introspective to the point of discomfort. Its lyrics are ambiguous, but it’s maybe the song that best represents the title of the album — “open cut.” The disjointed parts of the structure  — the steady, machinelike beat and the eerie unexpected noises of the chorus — introduce the listener to Francisca Valenzuela’s inner world through her wounds. Many would describe her vocals as powerful, but they can’t be free in such a mechanical atmosphere. 
[8]

Will Adams: I love the way the reverb tails on Valenzuela’s voice shimmer like desert heat, and the arrangement of wobbly synths and guitar create an appealing languor. The drums fail the rest, though: cheap and plodding, the most they add is a few booming snare fills. They don’t belong, and the song would do better to even excise them completely.
[5]

Alfred Soto: The distortions, echo, piston production, and religious imagery bespeak her devotion to trip hop, and while the production is fusty I gotta praise Valenzuela’s commitment to singing as if from the top tower of the cathedral.
[6]

Brad Shoup: This is the last of today’s songs I’ve listened to under a tent in a thunderstorm. And it’s the first one that’s been able to fight back: that drunken pipe approximant, the trip-hop rhythm, Valenzuela’s languid world-swallowing that reminds me of a Carrie Underwood showcase.
[7]

Iain Mew: I love the way this sets out foreboding and lives up to it. Valenzuela offers just enough floaty melody that when she goes on to rip it apart into judders and howls, it’s deliciously scouring and cathartic.
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