Quieren censurar la crítica. Hacen listas de opositores. Quieren construir más penales. Quieren de presidente a un policía. El policía es parte de una de las dinastías más brutalmente represoras del país...y dicen que no son facistas...
Quieren censurar la crítica. Hacen listas de opositores. Quieren construir más penales. Quieren de presidente a un policía. El policía es parte de una de las dinastías más brutalmente represoras del país...y dicen que no son facistas...
Mientras Morena censura a medios nacionales, paga millones a extranjeros por propaganda.
Pervierten el lenguaje para crear una ideología. Una ideología que es dogma e impide pensar. Así la "patria" y la "soberanía" que llaman a defender, es el partido en el poder y los privilegios de la clase gobernante. El "pueblo" son aquellos en el poder.
El gobierno juega a engañar con los números para ocultar la realidad. Cambiaron la metodología de conteo en marzo. Reclasificaron los homicidios y abrieron otras categorías de forma que aparecen menos homicidios dolosos en el conteo, pero crecen en los otros rubros agregados. Esos homicidios que se supone "redujeron", ahora se ocultan en otras categorías.
No se confundan. Cuando Morena habla de "defender la soberanía", en realidad pervierte el lenguaje para convertirlo en ideología. Lo que en significa en realidad "soberanía" para ellos es: "defiendan la permanencia, impunidad y privilegios de la clase gobernante en el poder"
Arca’s music is the music of a true outsider. Arca is an artist who builds sound from a place where few dare to stand. Her music is not popular in itself. It never has been, and I believe it never will be. It is popular because it reached millions as a Trojan horse through Björk, Kanye West, FKA twigs, Rosalía, and even Madonna. Few are familiar with what she does on her own, with her true music. And yet countless people have felt it without knowing it. They carry it inside them. It changed something in their bodies, and few ever noticed.
Arca’s music is not listened to. It is felt. It is endured. It is inhabited. It is meant to be felt, not understood, like a David Lynch film. Her rhythms are more like arrhythmias. They break free from the known, the comfortable, from what the brain expects to receive. They disrupt the step. They force you to experience time differently. She establishes the rules of her own sonic universe.
She has made some more accessible approaches to pop with her KICK series, five albums in which Arca, besides creating hallucinatory sounds, produces deranged vocalizations processed to the extreme. There is melody there. There is something to hold onto. But most of her best known works, Mutant, Xen, or the album simply titled Arca, are abstract pieces not designed to attract casual listeners. They are extraterrestrial sound architecture.
XXXXX is no exception. XXXXX is another sonic labyrinth built to trap and not let go. It is part body horror film for the ears and part biomechanical transhumanist treatise for the brain. A horror tape that doesn’t enter through the eyes. It enters through the eardrums, settles under the skin, and stays there, vibrating, biting. It is, once again, a wild experiment by Alejandra Ghersi, one of the most radical and interesting musical creators of recent decades. Savage electronics. Very savage. Music that hits the body hard and penetrates the mind like a virus. Extraterrestrial mantras repeated until they stop being sound. A journey not suited for the uninitiated. A deep immersion into a sonic world close to that of Aphex Twin, Autechre, or Oneohtrix Point Never.
Armed with a cover inspired by the Swiss designer H.R. Giger, that architect of the biomechanical and the disturbing, and approaching at times what is called intelligent dance music, IDM, XXXXX feels like a living organism that breathes, mutates.
Willow is direct, merciless blows to the body. There is no courtesy. There is no warning. A web of distorted noises that take on a life of their own, that twist, that envelop. Arca lays the foundations and the sound escapes her hands. It transforms in the air. It becomes something else. In Eidolon she puts us inside a house of horror. She seats us in front of our greatest fears and forces us to look. There is no exit. There is no pause. Arca’s sonic magic at its fullest.
Heart makes it clear, in case anyone still had doubts, who the mastermind behind that masterpiece called Yeezus by Kanye West really is. The signature is there. The DNA is there. Recognizing it hurts a little, because it means accepting that what we considered one person’s genius was, to a large extent, another’s vision.
Syncope is the mind of a video game set completely free to wander the streets. No rules. No mission. Pure drift, emotional glitch, an artificial intelligence strolling alone through a city it does not understand. Fxck is pure rave created by a mind that is at once abstract and sinister. It is the party in the basement at the end of the world. It is dancing while everything burns.
Taconeando brings us back to the avant pop experiments of Kick. One of the most direct pieces on the album. A brief, almost deceptive breath, just before the dense witch house of Futurality swallows us whole. Grip is Arca’s magic deployed at full force. Abrasive. More physical than everything that came before. In a single blow. She had never been so direct. She had never aimed so squarely at the center of the chest. So lethally.
On XXXXX, Arca holds nothing back. Not a note. Not a silence. Not an intention. She delivers everything, and she delivers it broken, bleeding, beautiful in its violence. Only God knows what could come after this. And that, exactly that, is what makes her impossible to ignore.