American rock bands don't have the kind of guts it takes to make an album like this. British rockers understand it, from The Beatles and The Who down through XTC and Spinal Tap, and now Radiohead and Blur and The Boo Radleys. And hip-hop has always understood the importance of reinventing oneself from one album to another. But when Café Tacuba, clearly the greatest rock band in the history of Mexico and one of the ten greatest bands in the world right now, got bored with their own shtick, they didn't hesitate one bit. They said goodbye to everyone, holed themselves up in a secret Mexico City location, and just played weird music they liked. It wasn't for release, it was for fun and for a challenge. But the demos they made were kind of cool, so they decided to release them; when the record company balked, they said fine, and kicked in another disc of poppier songs, all of which sounded okay to them now that they were invigorated. And god bless WEA Latina for releasing both together, two sides of the same coin, intriguing and competitive and undeniably one of the most exciting albums of the last thirty years.
But you're not going to buy this album. You're going to be a weenie like all the other gringos up here: "Oh, it's in Spanish, no way." "I don't like all that mariachi stuff." "If they were any good they'd be singing in English like Ricky and Enrique." Fine; be that way. But be advised that you're missing one of North America's classic albums, and when your little espańol-friendly grandchildren ask you "Were you, like, totally into Café Tacuba?" you'll have to blush and hang your head like fucking Tomás Dooley. Snap out of it, man - these guys have more creativity and chops than any U.S. rock band I can think of. (Only The Flaming Lips and The Roots might be close.)
Let's look at the albums. Yosoy is the "pop" disc, which means that most of the songs have lyrics and discernable melodies. But it is no one's idea of a simple album. The snaky melody lines get right into your heart, with songs like "El Río" and "La Muerte Chiquita" seeming like you've always known them. The lyrics are not too difficult to figure out, should you have more than one year of high school Spanish, but you don't even need them to get the sense of what CT are doing here. They have absorbed Everything, they love Everything, and they give you Everything in their songs. "La Locomotora" (the one they did on Conan O'Brien) is just a flat-out great rock song, with just as much CCR as anything else in it, and "Guerra" hits even harder; then they'll turn around and hit you with the aching "Dos Nińos" or "Arboles Frutales." Rubén - who here calls himself "Amparo Tonto Medardo In Lak'ech" - has a voice like a power tool, and the band are even tighter than they were on Re, if you've heard that, which you probably haven't, which is your loss.
But it's Reves that is the more interesting of the two albums here, mostly because it's the "weird" one without many lyrics at all. The second you hear the 5/4 stomp of the opening song, "11," you know you're in the prescence of greatness. (Oh, yeah, all the song titles are numbers like that, except "5.1," a clarinet quartet version of "5," and "M.C.," which is the Kronos Quartet sawing away at Yosoy's "La Muerte Chiquita"). Café Tacuba locks into that math-rock thing like they own it, making a sound like Tortoise would sound if they weren't firmly committed to being boring. But by the fifth track, "3," they're throwing jungle beats, surf guitar, ambient space, and dissonant metal at you until you submit.
And this is not the most, well, "exciting" album you've ever heard, then just groove to the melodies, of which there are plenty, and accept that the best band in North America isn't the one everyone else says it is. These two albums will never leave your shelf; hell, they might never leave your changer.
If you like Café Tacuba, check out:
Café Tacuba Re
Los Amigos Invisibles New Sound Of The Venezuelan Gozadera
Los Amigos Invisibles Arepa 3000
Caetano Veloso Livro
La Ley Heaven's Dust
Ozomatli Ozomatli
The Flaming Lips The Soft Bulletin
Radiohead Kid A
Maldita Vecindad Maldita Sea
