Stormy reports from AEMET aside, the current calendar forces us to have our heads on sand, towels, sea and skewers. However, and as these people from Malaga with past taste and poetic soul show us, not all summers have to have the same tone and flavor. His, specifically, seems to be imploring the annual charts for a truce of syncopated radio-formula hits in favor of recovering something as feline and stimulating as groove and overloaded basses thanks to his new work, “Sheriff Playa” (Sound Boy, 23).
It is clear that making a simple garage pop record was not part of the plans of The Trinity, and his long-awaited second LP shows us that the imaginary of Sixto Martín and company, once again, does not understand chronological lags or generational barriers. In a brave way, these “butaneros del rock” scratch at the marrow of the most primitive art-punk, immersing themselves in delicious stylistic anachronisms with which to bring to the surface a proposal capable of building successful and brilliant bridges between yesterday and today like few others faces of our current scene manage to do. The threads in the production of a playful and ladino Carlangas will give us that immutable and permanent need to rock our hips throughout its ten fleeting cuts, which, by the way, will fly past us between serious bailongos, rough arrangements and crude costumbrismo.
Covered in their corresponding overalls, as if they were DEVO from the Costa del Sol, the boys from La Trinidad display a sovereign delight of startled drums, dry riffs, and thick bass lines with which they will transport us from one point to another. within its exquisite referential geography: from drawn-out and laconic laments in the key of ska (“Old Europe”), to undisciplined looks with the smell of two thousand year old garage-rock and salary criticism (“6,30”), without missing the opportunity to reinforce his already traditional traditional and vintage influences (“On This Side, On This Shore”). His particular choice of instrumentals, added to those encrypted lyrics in which the obvious side of pop is subordinated to the more reflective face of its creators, will allow us to understand a little better the summer cool that the band offers us, walking through chapters ranging from a low color temperature (“Let the Words Sprout”) to dense experimental passages that find light despite their thick clouds of melancholy (“We will continue burning our bodies in the sun”, they sing in “Cement Garden”).
Between the vehement percussion of ESG (“Many Principles and Little Desire”), the expressive cataclysm of the Fat White Family (“Turn into Statues”) and the unpredictable eclecticism of A Certain Ratio (“Sheriff Playa”), the quartet from Malaga connects the dots until they find their own place. And if it was still necessary for them to verify before the respectable the unique faculty of their proposal, the band ends up convincing us completely with a work between the literary and the profane, which is already one of the national records that should be overlooked least by anyone. throughout the upcoming summer.