Buenos Aires’ Ailín Grad aka Aylu hustles sweet, gritty and playfully curious confections of lower case art-pop somewhere between Lucrecia Dalt, Mister Water Wet and Foodman on her gently fractious debut with Mana.
‘Profondo Rosa’, or ‘Deep Pink’ hears Aylu pucker small sounds into deceptively naturalistic arrangements that work in the cracks between experimental instrumental electronics and loosely footwork-related forms for those who appreciate metaphoric music. She’s earned a cult rep for a handful of rekkids with Chile’s Cumshaw and US labels Sun Ark, Memory No. 36 and Orange Milk over the past decade, building a quietly distinctive style of peppery, rhythm-based constructions with a fine ear for micro sounds that give her work a lysergic animation.
The fizz of a tin opening or a fly buzzing by her ear become subtle ingredients in her spritzed, ephemeral arrangements, recalling the sedimentary detail of Lucrecia Dalt, but more carbonated, and flickering with the agility of Foodman’s footwork adjacent flux, replete with elements of Japanese environmental music to lend a refreshing and often surprising sensuality to her music. While there are no vocals to speak of, her rhythmelodic suss carries the narration in its free spirited plies and chattering froth as the album sloshes from latinate percussion to thimble-piano and harpsichord on ‘Lilla’, thru the theremin-like vocal warble of ‘Argento’, via moonlit grog on ‘Grigio’, the effervescent splash of ‘Cremisi’ and nervous waking dream scenes of ‘Francine’, to ruggeder echoes of Mattias Aguayo on ‘Bianco’, or Madalyn Merkey’s lustrous synthesis in ‘Blu’.
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Buenos Aires’ Ailín Grad aka Aylu hustles sweet, gritty and playfully curious confections of lower case art-pop somewhere between Lucrecia Dalt, Mister Water Wet and Foodman on her gently fractious debut with Mana.
‘Profondo Rosa’, or ‘Deep Pink’ hears Aylu pucker small sounds into deceptively naturalistic arrangements that work in the cracks between experimental instrumental electronics and loosely footwork-related forms for those who appreciate metaphoric music. She’s earned a cult rep for a handful of rekkids with Chile’s Cumshaw and US labels Sun Ark, Memory No. 36 and Orange Milk over the past decade, building a quietly distinctive style of peppery, rhythm-based constructions with a fine ear for micro sounds that give her work a lysergic animation.
The fizz of a tin opening or a fly buzzing by her ear become subtle ingredients in her spritzed, ephemeral arrangements, recalling the sedimentary detail of Lucrecia Dalt, but more carbonated, and flickering with the agility of Foodman’s footwork adjacent flux, replete with elements of Japanese environmental music to lend a refreshing and often surprising sensuality to her music. While there are no vocals to speak of, her rhythmelodic suss carries the narration in its free spirited plies and chattering froth as the album sloshes from latinate percussion to thimble-piano and harpsichord on ‘Lilla’, thru the theremin-like vocal warble of ‘Argento’, via moonlit grog on ‘Grigio’, the effervescent splash of ‘Cremisi’ and nervous waking dream scenes of ‘Francine’, to ruggeder echoes of Mattias Aguayo on ‘Bianco’, or Madalyn Merkey’s lustrous synthesis in ‘Blu’.