You would expect an artist often designated (or perhaps saddled) with the ‘progressive’ label to continually evolve and reinvent themselves, and in this respect Omar Rodríguez-López has not disappointed. Over his decades-long career he’s upended, blended and salsified multiple genres, and as a result, nearly every one of his albums has shifted significantly in focus and tone, resulting in a hefty catalogue of aural delights.
And yet, or probably because of this, he still mostly defies the concept of genre. Azul, Mis Dientes falls somewhere between ‘weird pop’ and ‘kinda indie (whatever that even means), due in no small part to Teri Gender Bender providing the very best of her cryptic lyrics to support ORL on his guitar and keyboard/synths and related sequence/loops. Chris Common rounds off the trio to provide drums and percussion, including ‘pots and pans’, so it’s that kind of affair, with a credit to Marcel Rodríguez-López on “Trigeña”.
The recent vinyl re-release has a new album cover, and the Bandcamp description calls it an album as a description of a beloved person. And yet, for all its proud, shiny weirdness, there are long shadows running alongside. Most song titles are named for/about people – some complimentary, some a confusion of fear and longing, and some all at once.
“Isaac” flings the door open to a floodlit room and gradually introduces the kaleidoscope of shifting sound patterns. Understated, museum-trip psychedelic guitar, soothing synth loops and a solid but unostentatious beat allows TGB’s lyrical brilliance to stand out. She sounds truly happy even when singing about ‘pounds of filth on the back of myself…mounds of goo rotting in my bloodstream’ while noting ‘evil can’t smile / aren’t they nice?’ This shifts to the predatorial, scratchy texture of “Robert”, a song imbued with oblique violence. The eponymous drunk is both helpless and dangerous (‘but still his hands would find a way’) while the ur-woman crawls through piercing loops, trying and failing to hide from past trauma. Despite all this, the potential for healing is also present.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who assumes that these songs are about people called by those names. If this is the case, then “Marcel” raises some eyebrows, because it truly is a glorious burn. This is a classic 2-in-1 song, with part one a clappy smackdown spitting feathers and barked accusations, as TGB snarls the name with increasing venom and spite, insisting ‘you love no one but yourself, Marcel’. This builds into a hatefuck crescendo and a seemingly literal climax. The volte-face triggers a tempo change, shifting the energy, and the harsh lights are dimmed while the lyrics turn more insular, concluding ‘you kill me / you love no one but yourself’. It’s a tight song with messy lyrics, and I’m so here for it.
“Sandra”, a more traditional indie pop song, is another apparent diss track, though I can’t provide any more evidence for this assumption than I can about any other named songs. The short syllables and clipped cadence bring to mind the kind of confusing frenemies I made in school; I’m seriously projecting my crushes on the stupid, sexy girls who frequently bullied me and my subsequent furious arousal. The lyrics to “Kena” and “Victor” are less overt, tending towards a brighter delivery and adding a kind of tongue-in-cheek playfulness.
The titular blue teeth appear on “Merit” (but not on “Diente Azul”, which is fun), although the song aligns itself with the aforementioned long shadows dancing alongside the deceptive brightness. The starkness of the opening takes us on a journey where tragedy unfolds from the first note and one where I have to stop to appreciate TGB’s breathless urgency. In poetry, enjambment is the device where the end of a line is carried over to the next, sometimes adding a visual juxtaposition of thoughts or inserting two different takes across the same line. I’m not sure what the musical equivalent would be, but the lyrical flow brings to mind a prose poem written in a tiny, cramped script. The beat is thick and ponderous but never plodding, as running away from danger towards, if not true safety, a reduced or, at least, known danger. The tonal shift is masterful and acts like the other side of the coin to “Marcel”’s resentment; this is an obsessive love that devours. The final line ‘allowing me to skin you alive’ twists to a deceptively sweet delivery after several instances of a more severe one.
“Rojo” is not a song for fun-haters, being the aural equivalent of the oversaturated blues and pinks of Wes Anderson. Like “Merit”, the run-on quality of the lyrics once again brings enjambed poetry to mind. It feels like the lyrics are falling down stairs, following a tumbledown beat that feels almost tipsy, if not straightforwardly drunk. This description is entirely influenced by a holiday in Calpe, where I was lucky enough to stay in a flat in the Muralla Roja and experience the Escher-esque staircases for myself. This is a track that’s deceptively layered with a kind of sensual surreality, blending surprising imagery (‘rotten silhouettes’) with bald facts (‘my father was insane’).
I was very happy to hear elements from Weekly Mansions present on “Trigeña”; I’m always in the mood for this, and the crowded denouement is the best kind of controlled mayhem. Similarly, “Diente Azul” and “Hilo Por Hilo” sparkle with wibbly, psychedelic lights. Another version of “Hilo Por Hilo” features on Teri’s solo EP you were truly the one that made us laugh where it is given more reverb and a tinnier texture. Although billed as an ORL/TGB joint, her DNA is infused throughout Azul, Mis Dientes, and so I wasn’t surprised to hear this song appear under her name alone.
Recurring themes of toxic love, whether via abuse of power, dissolution of romance, or friendships gone sour sit alongside other less difficult memoirs on this excellent collection of genre-baiting songs. I could have chosen every track as a featured song; Azul, Mis Dientes is on regular rotation as one of my favourites and is highly recommended.
Track listing:
Isaac
Robert
Kena
Trigeña
Marcel
Merit
Diente Azul
Rojo
Sandra
Victor
Hilo Por Hilo