CDMX’s own Azul Análoga treats us to a double-single EP in “Crisálida”, making a great case for the mexican shoegaze circuit, and reminding me of Bong Joon Ho’s imploring advice in overcoming the one inch barrier that is subtitles and the foreign language.
Atmospheric and danceable as hell, the first of the singles “Cisne Negro” guides us with a voice of relative suave accompanying lively drums in very memorable passages that capture gazy atmosphere with near break rhythm sections. What’s not to love?
Right off the bat, I’d say the first song marks a change in Azul’s discography, since it takes a chance away from the slower, vibey songs in their repertoire so far. The drums are more playful and dynamic, and the voice even seems closer, like it shed its natural reverb and talked to you in a way a friend would at a small house party. It’s insanely captivating and will probably have you singing along and moving around at least a little. I think truly catchy voice lines have become something of a lost trade in a sea of releases. Even if the cut between the two songs is a hard change, it never lets the energy wane for even a second. Very akin to a live show, the first song ends on pure feedback before launching into the second part. It’s slower, but still a distinctly new experience. “Morenita” reads an endearing and poignant show of affection to conclude the short experience.
The golden tint cover art is one of my fave aspects of the record. I know most artists have associated some type of cold/nighttime palette for a long time in any of these upcoming genres, and the absolute beam emanating from Marco Silva’s photography for Crisálida’s cover seems to scream the search for oneself, for authenticity, and change.
If you do find yourself behind a language barrier, take a time to familiarize yourself with the terms. The EP title “Crisálida” means chrysalis, which is a time of change and transformation between the larvae and butterfly states. Track one “Cisne Negro” means black swan, and track two “Morenita” means a brown-skinned woman: the suffix -ita is a diminutive and denotes it an affectionate term. The most striking and charged name in this project might be his own, and the artist explains “Azul Analoga” as follows:
“The name comes from a personal relationship to the color. What irks me is that because of the way I see colors, I’m drawn to many shades that I interpret to be blue, but are actually the analogous colors around it. I feel this also happens in music: I rarely perceive things as absolutes; I’d rather move through hues, nuances, and even tastes and smells.”
When reading his name while reaching out, I erroneously thought the translation would be analog, and not analogous. When I asked him about it, he digressed:
“The word (Análoga) has many meanings for me. On one hand, it’s a reference to those colors that neighbor blue, a constant search of something I recognize without being able to completely identify. I also chose the feminine spelling because I did not want a singular gender identity to be tied to the project. Traditionally, some colors have been associated with either feminine or masculine, but my intention is to inhabit a space beyond that journey, where both energies, sensibilities, and forms of experimenting this world can coexist. In my vision, “Azul Análoga“ is an imperfect yet human vision: a search for what we love, even when we don’t know how to name it accurately”
The titles and the songs are a deep dive into how many decisions go into a project, and how art is intention, if anything. The release shines on so many fronts and reads insanely human, which in these times, I feel is of paramount importance. In a way, the misconception behind translating as analog became an acceptable alternative read into the project.
Take a listen to “Crisálida” below.
Written by Charlotte Lacambra
