"It's impossible for Laferte's voice to ever be boring, even during a surplus of ballads that fulfill similar functions on a long album. Even when all she's doing is remembering, she preserves the joy and pain with touches that make the past feel urgent, like the slight, uncanny Auto-Tune on "Mi Hombre." When she confronts the memory of an abuser as a coward on "El Gran Señor," the fear in the glass-shattering note as she sings "miedo" fills the room."
"At the album's midpoint, "1:30" breaks the slow bolero-and-ballad structure with a frenetic free-jazz spoken poem: the actions of masturbating or making toast are interrupted by memories of "la cotidianidad de los abusos" ("the everyday nature of abuse")." In fits and starts, the piano trails off and punctuates Laferte's shaky repetition of "mientras lloraba" ("while I cried") as she describes writing a previous song about an abuser as a detached narrator."
Laferte's voice remains vivid and compelling across a long set of ballads, preserving joy and pain with precise, evocative touches. Subtle Auto-Tune on "Mi Hombre" and a glass-shattering note on "miedo" in "El Gran Señor" create urgent emotional texture. The midpoint track "1:30" disrupts the bolero-and-ballad flow with a frenetic free-jazz spoken poem that links banal actions to memories of "la cotidianidad de los abusos." Fragmented piano and repeated phrasing like "mientras lloraba" collapse time and perspective, blurring person and performance. Later tracks, including "La Tirana," transform heartbreak into jubilant, theatrical reclamations of agency.
Read at Pitchfork
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