I've been hoping to hear this album for a wee while. I liked the sound of the jib I heard described in articles about the Catalan man.
"El Oeste" and "Oro y Sangre" could soundtrack a great 8-bit Western. I can see the giant pixels of Monument Valley now, basking in a glorious bloody two-colour sunset. The first is slow and impressively mushy and cloud-bound. The second is more cheerful VHS territory, even beginning with a schlocky video nasty scream.
I'm struck by a strange sensation of a mumbling robot Kriss Kross at the beginning of "Missing You", telling me in their tiny voices that they'll make me "Jump! Jump!". Some robot warbling kicks in and a tensile snap of an elastic bassline. Sleek and appetising stuff. I imagine myself in some seriously swanky urban, ocean-side bar. Like in an imaginary SuperPorto. Where the port flows like wine.
"Last Land" has a lovely, warm party feel, a chopped-up samba party made into a good vibes smoothie. A happy wee voice bobs about in the mix. This is the second time I've thought about little voices. "Estiu" has them dancing around big disco machines as well. I suppose that is the scale of it. These disco machines have glinting, laser-planed edges on them too, whirring balletically. It ends with a sensitive little bacon-y crackle.
There are no trite sounds on this album; it's all pretty fresh. Fresh to my ears at least. But it can also drift by before you've really starting listening. I'm back in that ocean-facing bar again. "When The Past Was Present" is bumping fists with House's early Gospel-soaked movements, shivering in an echo chamber. "So Will Be Now" also rolls around the same area, but with a more Depeche Mode feel. Music I could be persuaded to do Cocaerobics to. Provided I'd first dibs on the leotards.
Rating: Beach Party out of Record Collection