Piratón Records Fights Stereotypes Through Compilations

RRayen

Rrayen

In 2015, Carlos Huerta, formerly known as electronic/rap artist Josué Josué, and currently a music journalist, founded Piratón Records in Mexico City. Huerta had no intention of focusing on any particular genre, but wanted to create a platform for experimental outlier-type artists. He chose the name “piratón” (“pirate”) for the label to reference the idea of illegal recordings as well as the Spanish-language sense of something that is underground.

The first two releases focused on experimental rap and hip-hop beats, but the following veered into different territory. Titled No Hay Más Fruta Que La Nuestra and featuring only female artists, the label announced that the compilation sought to “break away from segregation, centralization, prejudice, machismo, double standards, classism, cultural exoticization, and other anachronistic expressions.”

Piraton-Planta-Carnivora_Chile-600

Planta Carnivora

Highlighting the work of artists from all over Spain and Latin America (Mexico, Cuba, Chile, Argentina, and the Dominican Republic), that first compilation and its followup, released in May 2017, share a wildly varied and fresh range of musical styles—folk, experimental electronic, hip-hop, punk, psych-pop, noise, and shoegaze.

Both compilations’ titles, which translate to “There is No Fruit Other Than Ours,” are a play on words riffing on a famous quote by revolutionary Mexican muralist David Siqueiros: “No hay mas ruta que la nuestra” (“There is no other route but ours”).

We caught up with Huerta in Mexico City to chat about the curatorial path from Piraton’s first release to the compilations, which also took him to create a column for Thump/Vice called “El Eterno Femenino (The Eternal Feminine).”

The conversation with Huerta took place in Spanish, so we share both the original discussion and the English translation below.

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Mulatu Astatke’s “Ethiopia” Is A Love Letter To His Homeland

Mulatu Astatke

When Mulatu Astatke created his now-famed take on Ethio-jazz, his intentions were simple: to shine a light on himself and other musicians from Ethiopia, a country whose sound had been neglected far too long. To do this, Astatke took his favorite parts of other genres—Latin music, funk, and fusion—and concocted a fresh recipe. Before Astatke released Mulatu of Ethiopia in 1972, he still hadn’t found the right blend of genre and musicians to realize his vision. It finally clicked on that release.

Full of layered drums, floating horns, and infectious rhythms, with Astatke’s vibraphone fluttering across scales, the sound was considered revolutionary. “This music hadn’t been done before, so there were no reference points,” Astatke recalls.

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Dub Phizix: A Rebel With A Cause

Dub Phizix

Manchester drum & bass artist Dub Phizix is feeling refreshed and energetic. In the last six months, he’s released two remarkable EPs on Metalheadz and Exit Records, which show more breadth and musicality than all of his previous work put together. From the jazzy flurries of Spotlight / Rotate last December, to the grunting halftime lollops of “Hack” on this month’s Rebel Spirit EP (his first in three years on dBridge’s Exit Records label), Dub Phizix’s already broad palette has expanded widely.

Talking to Dub Phizix (real name George Ovens), you feel that same energy; his perennial quest to build on his reputation for unique takes on drum & bass has led to a complete reconfiguration of his creative and technical approach. It hasn’t been the easiest transition. In his own words, if he wants “to make something that genuinely sounds new and different, then it should feel different making it, too.” Continue reading

The Best Jazz on Bandcamp: June 2017

Jazz

“Jazz doesn’t sound like jazz anymore.” That’s the criticism most often leveled at the modern jazz scene. It’s also the reason why the scene is as exciting as it’s ever been. Every day, a new album hits the shelves that takes a shared language in new directions, creating combinations of sounds never previously given voice. Still, that criticism isn’t entirely accurate: Traditional jazz is still there, it’s just hidden beneath tempos that sometimes choose not to swing, and melodic development that’s a little different from what you might hear at NYC’s Village Vanguard. You’ve just got to listen closely for it. Here are 10 new releases that proudly straddle the old and new sounds of jazz.

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Album of the Day: Larkin Grimm, “Chasing an Illusion”

Larkin Grimm has cited jazz saxophonist Ornette Coleman as an inspiration for her latest, Chasing an Illusion. The album doesn’t really sound like free jazz, but then, it doesn’t fit neatly into any other genre, either. Grimm’s songs are pretty and fractured, moving from acoustic lyricism to clanking dissonance and feedback, as her lyrics slide from personal confession to semi-occult oddness. The opening track, “Ah Love Is Oceanic Pleasure,” sounds like a Gaelic keen against atmospheric pulsing, hissing, squeaking horror movie backgrounds—like Enya slowly being driven mad by Syd Barrett. “Ah love is oceanic pleasure / No race to finish life / And if I love you at my leisure / Give it time,” she sings, before launching into tarot card references.

“Beautifully Alone” is completely different—like folk via Motown, a pop song about longing for solitude rather than some guy. “When I’m alone with you / I realize our love isn’t real,” she sings cheerfully before “doo-doo-doo”s come in, and the track swings back and forth between praises of love and “dreaming a dream of my own.” “So many images tangled in my head,” she wails, throwing in an incongruous rockabilly growl. It’s sweetly innocent and unsettlingly desperate all at once.

“Fear Transforms into Love” is a psychedelic lament, with feedback hum, a slow Eastern-tinged beat, horns squiggling, and Grimm declaring, “Love turns into pain / I will try not to love you again / I will try not to care.” “I Don’t Believe You” is about sexual assault; last year, Grimm accused Swans frontman and former collaborator Michael Gira of rape. The track is beautifully layered, with Grimm’s own voice multi-tracked, as she sings bitterly, “I wish that I could die / I wish that you would die too.” She touches on similar material in the title track, where her dissonant roars open up: “My heart is empty / My soul is empty too / I feel dead inside / Don’t you?”

Chasing an Illusion feels like a record that shattered and then was reassembled painstakingly from its jagged bits. The result is cracked and misshapen, but more precious for its fissures.

—Noah Berlatsky