Rulitos is the freak-folk inspired work of Chilean-American musician Daniel Sanchez Chicaguala, who, at the close of last month, let these curious songs loose into the world from his base in Austin, Texas. The obliquely titled EP 01 is one full of soft, acoustic atmospheres – clearly inspired (but not simply emulating) the sort of finger-picked introversions given tender, timeless urgency by Elliott Smith. It borrows too from more ambient and electronic source material and manages over its sometimes uneasy four tracks, to craft the ‘cozy dream soundtrack’ of its creator’s imagination- though some of its lyrical details may alter the course of what those dreams might end up being.
Cancion Uno starts things off, a song originally written in Spanish and then translated (hence the title); you can hear its linguistic roots embedded within its rhythmic flourishes. It’s the best song on the album – reminiscent at times of some of Jose Gonzales’s earlier recordings, another artist toying with the energies found between and within heritage and influence. It’s a melody that’s as beautiful as it is hypnotic – giving the curious details of the lyrics an arresting ambiguity. Certainly, those double-tracked vocals are in thrall to Smith but Rulitos begins to tread new paths with those additional vintage synth warbles and what sounds like a stone being dropped once onto a gravel path. It’s these moments that lift the EP as a whole.
Caramel & Chocolate explores in its lustful asides the sexualisation of imposed otherness – its melody queasy and almost uncomfortable; despite the delicacy of the song’s individual elements, together somehow they craft something more claustrophobic in tone. Though its words don’t always hit their mark- the ambient textures that build have their own special potency. En Vuelto En Tus Uñas is slow and lilting and full of shimmering sonic mirages as strangely gliding synths ripple. A song about sex, it’s a meandering and sun-dappled thing whose vocals seem time-lagged and fractured by humidity . Its aim to capture a specific intimacy with sensitivity is bolstered by woodblock-evoking percussive moments which adds to the almost new age atmospheres built.
Holy Moly is a sinuous thing too- the influence of early Devendra Banhart evident in those tremulous warbles and the Bolan-emulating vocal strut. Things are at their most interesting in the instrumental sections where surprising and sometimes surreal textures bubble, skitter and pop. Lyrically (though consciously so), things occasionally feel a little overdone; I love a surprise sexually charged moment as much as anyone but at times this feels a little forced (or perhaps in need of a more considered edit) though pleasure was no doubt found in its creation. That said, this is clearly a collection designed as personal expression – the isolating shadow of lockdown’s past still clinging to its creators bones – and sometimes, (and perhaps it’s too easy to choose not to) you’ve just got to let the cat out the bag. There’s certainly a lot to love here.
Written by M.A Welsh (Misophone)
Music | Misophone (bandcamp.com)
