A gigantic and complex reptilian structure zigzags on the cover of “The Burning Place”the debut album of South of Palmapseudonym of Milton Castellar. The piece, signed by the artistic duo Robuche, suggests the dreamlike surrealism of Dalí or Yves Tanguy: desert places that seem infinite, inhabited by shapeless, illogical and disturbing creatures and constructions. It is a good representation of the project: an experimental film of just half an hour where prog-rock, post-punk and even some flamenco episodes intersect to narrate a kind of feverish and tortuous hero’s journey.
Conceived precisely as a transformative pilgrimage through a universe inspired in equal parts by names like Alejandro Jodorowsky o King Crimson, “The Burning Place” is an exercise in textures that functions almost exclusively as the sum of its parts—with the exception of a couple of tracks with clearer and more direct structures, the album moves at a languid pace, like that of a dying animal, and with ample reverb. , downcast guitars, electronic percussion and cascades of synths describe nightmarish, vast and barren environments. An ominous explosion of metal or distant clapping occasionally crosses the cavity, like a momentary dazzle, but generally the themes crawl and merge with each other, drawing eerie and intriguing silhouettes in equal measure.
Lyrically, dePalma plays the card of Cocteau Twins and his musings are mostly obfuscated by strange pronunciations and intense modulations, sounding like bewitching gibberish, like the language of snakes—instinctively moving, but textually meaningless. When his voice filters and becomes intelligible, the artist speaks of a vicious and tormenting past, of regrets that manifest themselves as a shadow that one cannot avoid and that threatens to engulf the present. The same reflections appear here and there—“I keep seeing your bitter emptiness / And I don’t want to obey / Please, take a long shot at me / I’m going to be silent,” he sings in “de la Isla” and then again in “cielo quemao,” this time in a more indie rock key—conferring weight to the feeling of going through a dream, where sequentiality is either non-existent or unimportant.
Although in its final section “The Burning Place” seems to give in to the darkness with the mournful moans of “Snakes and Doves,” the outbreak of “artificial torments” traces a path toward the light, a permanent awakening in which dePalma understands that his executioner is nothing more than an invention, an extension of his fault. This last track is a liberating song that, in addition to redeeming the protagonist, invites us to follow him on his new and luminous journey. It only remains to see how South of Palma will confront her.