i’m going somewhere with this one, but follow along, it may be a bit long.
i hated this review lmao. (you can click it and read it yourself, but please, in the case where somehow the actual writer reads this, i sincerely apologize, there’s nothing personal and i too, was just trying to make a point)
frankly i don’t know the writer. i have not read other reviews they’ve written. i do not know whether they have deep understanding of the latin indie rock niche—but the review certainly reads like they don’t. but i do, appreciate how subjective this review feels, from the lede to the last paragraph. that’s something i don’t dare to do for a long, long time now.
but oh my god i was dumbfounded, flabbergasted, when i found out the writer spent most parts of this review trying to make a point about how overwhelming, lost, overstimulated the album feels and get this, oh my god get this—
“Last Spa on Earth feels like a cake that had all the right ingredients, just added in the wrong order.”
SURE! HAHA THEY WENT THERE!
but i laughed because after this sentence—which was pretty far into the review—the writer finally started to talk about specific songs, *out of order*, then f i n a l l y, reviewing the strongest track (which was, admittedly, what drew me to search for album reviews for this album), last. and then actually praised how structurally important “Nos Soltamos” is to the entire album.
My brother in christ, that’s track 02 on the record.
i closed the tab, still laughing because the irony quite literally, wrote itself.
—but going back to “Nos Soltamos” real quick.
this was one of my favorite songs from 2022. and probably still one of my most played songs (like top 5) from 2023. does it have a really un-serious intro? absolutely. does it feel very tongue and cheek? yes. at the same time, does it also have a thematic, poetic twist that defines the whole record? abso-fucking-lutely.
the reviewer captured all of these points so intellectually in a way that i can wholeheartedly respect, which then, in my humble AND subjective opinion, should’ve naturally led them to understanding the record, and where the band’s true intention lands.
but they didn’t, they just didn’t! because they had their own point to make, at least my farfetched led me to believe that this was the case. and it led them farther than it should’ve ever been possible from understanding the band’s thesis statement.
i hope at least one person reading this finds the situation as entertaining as i do—because, well, i’m sure i’ve done the same thing at some point as a journalist myself, doing all the work step by step, then missing the mark with the final landing. and hell aren’t i lucky that no one ever dissects my work like i just did (again, sorry).
as i transition from a music journalist to a publicist this year, i started actually reading a lot more reviews. and i started to understand the subjectivity of it all is what makes music journalism so special, so inherently journalistic—if, you want to get into the syntax of it all, the word is rooted in “journal,” after all.
and the sense of responsibility for objectivity was what trapped me the most as a writer. the search for total objectivity, to become a vessel, to bear witness, to temporarily not be me (although of course there were moments of letting go’s, like the time i compared the hails to dua lipa gomiwillyoueverstoptalkingaboutthis).
but objectivity and becoming a vessel is actually something i do for photography and do it willingly.
almost every time i show this photo to someone—including when i showed it to pablo—i’ve said, “i almost didn’t take this.”
i say it with an excitement that at times feel like only i understood, because to an extent it is a completely standalone moment for me. by the end of this show i was mesmerized for so many different reasons, a main one being this was the best inner wave show i’ve ever been to, despite its technical difficulties, the venue’s bizarre fuckups, and my firm belief that an outdoor show is just inferior to an indoor one (ask me in person about this).
i’m gonna try to make this sound as not vague as possible—but, umm, as a photographer, there are these trance-like states that you just, fall into, once in a very, very long while, then you take the best photo possible with just one tradeoff—i just, for the life of me, never remember physically being there for that very instance.
do other kind of artists feel this? i’m sure they all do.
and i was just delirious with this set, going in and out of that state, and whenever i was out of it i get completely absorbed into the moment—which also theoretically shouldn’t be possible, but it did happen, and it felt like all those years ago when i saw this band play for the very first time, the reason for all those “don’t text me for an hour i don’t want to accidentally fall in love with anybody i’m at an inner wave show” posts from all these years.
the band had left the stage by then. it was just pablo thanking the fans in attendance. in every definition i was just another one of them seeing my favorite band wrapping up a set that i will from now on remember in my bones, and every urge of me was asking me to just live it, just fucking live it for yourself.
but then i felt that feeling overtook me and i put my camera up. and well, this time, magically, it felt as if i still, felt it as much as my photo did.
let’s go back to “Nos Soltamos,” one more time.
the truth is i don’t know spanish and despite my attempts at looking up the lyrics for this song many many times in the span of a year, no one has taken the time to translate it properly yet. which, doesn’t make a big difference as i’m such an instrumentally driven listener that most of the times, i barely know the right words to my favorite, favorite songs.
so in the span of a year it meant so many different things because i felt so many different things while spending time with it. but there’s one defining quality about the song that hasn’t changed: it’s instantly catchy in an exhilarating, major-chord, joyously liberating way. i’d give it my highest, very journalistic praise—it feels like a song i’ve met before.
i’ve come to realize that could be interpreted in the wrong way, often by musicians themselves. lately, mostly against my will, i’ve been realizing that a lot of my praises do not land the way i intend them to land. something about me being a music journalist, and forever having that music journalist brain regardless of who i am becoming, there’s a sharpness to my words that is beyond my control that critiques—and often, and it breaks my heart to know—attacks the unsaid magic of music, whether i like it or not.
and i feel so guilty, and helpless about it. sometimes it feels like just another thing i need to hyper-monitor myself for, becoming very sensitive about what i say and do, not really for the sakes of i don’t like those parts of myself but that i know others would not. and to feel less hurt, by default i used to inherently believe that i should just fabricate, swallow those words, don’t do those things, keep it on the inside, away from the outside, so at the end of the day, even though the world sees one less side of me, it prevents a lot of double-edge hurting.
back in the green room, about twenty minutes after i took that photo of pablo and coming to this realization, i told jean about it.
alongside with a conclusion: “but then… something about seeing you guys playing my favorite record/a ten-year old album in full, there was something about that set, that just made me feel like, maybe, i don’t need to worry so much about protecting me from the world, anymore.”
and for all my love for serendipity i can’t believe he said this in response.
“it’s funny that you said that, because when we were making this album, we were also trying to make peace with the outside world, while learning to understand who we are on the inside—so that’s really cool that you felt that.”
and i think it’s even cooler, because he doesn’t know how i still, barely know the right words to most of the songs—though if i could tattoo melodies, i would. through this album, i’ve lived so many seasons of my one short life.
“Nos Soltamos” means, we let go. and that’s what i’ve chosen to do after everything that has happened this year.
to say “let go” in chinese, literally, you’d say: “free [another’s or own] hand.” i’ve let go of many guiding hands this year. mostly unwillingly. and it took all my strength again and again.
much of this year has been an attempt in explaining the why’s.
that’s too ambitious for being 24.
i feel young. so young among everyone in my life. the youngest in most conversations—then in the rare cases where i’m surrounded by 22 years old’s feeling extremely out of place—always so marooned by the questions about purpose, purposes, lack of it, the falsity of such thing.
i’m starting to see how my craving, and doings of freedom, can be so hurtful sometimes.
but i love it i think.
i’ve probably learned nothing new this year but i sure voiced a lot of nebulous beliefs out loud. i’ve stared at everyone’s stunned faces, the ones i’ve loved. in the two cities i love. one where i play limitless. the other i let it swallow me whole.
sometimes all i want to do is to pull you back into a tight hug and tell you i think you’d be alright. but i’m coming to realization that i only wish that to happen because i love you too much. and i find it so inexplicable that i will never be enough to save anyone.
if i don’t embrace the temporary of it all, i wouldn’t feel the serendipity of it all—that’s a fair trade.
one day, one day i’ll be back to the place where everything about me makes sense.
for now i’m trying to make sense of all of it for myself. it’s a stupid plan. but i’m not ready to find out all of it yet. still. a few more years. still.
what a pleasure and honor it is to be in love with feelings that will never cease.