Joshua Chuquimia Crampton
Anata
Paste 91点相当
カリフォルニア生まれのアイマラ族の姉弟
Chuquimamani-Condori とJoshua Chuquimia Crampton
によるデュオ
Los Thuthanaka
の片方
For the uninitiated, comparing a weird, overstimulated spread of genre-agnostic feel, resistance, and ceaselessness made by two California-born, Aymara siblings to the pocket symphonies of the cleverest Beach Boy might feel unrealistic. But I implore you to at least give Chuquimamani-Condori’s recent Edits a try. “Breathe Kullawada Caporal E DJ edit” is a noisy pop racket that sounds like four or five radio stations at once, materializing in the chaos and pleasure of layering. That’s a hit song pulled apart and taped back together inside out. It’s music that, like the original cuts of “Surf’s Up” and “Heroes and Villains,” lives in the soul and blasts heavily out of it.
Crampton’s first full-length solo endeavor since 2024’s Estrella Por Estrella (a droning, Bolivian guitar tape with hues of Cheer-Accident) is great. Anata is a product of the Great Pakajaqi Nation and dedicated to the Andean ceremony of the same name, “where we celebrate the Pachamama (Mother Earth) before the rainy season, giving thanks for harvest with offerings & the principle of reciprocity (Anyi) between humans/nature,” according to the liner notes. The q’iwa/queer parts of the music are anti-colonial and anti-state, and the loud parts of this record are ceremonial—like noise clattering in the street, or the soundtrack of a passing parade. The ingredients of Crampton’s instrumental work aren’t parodied by the ego of singing. Anata, like Estrella Por Estrella before it, is a deconstruction. It’s spiritual, medicinal—Indigenous ceremonial music spun boundless by human activation. As Crampton said of the Great Pakajaqi Nation last month, “we’re all still connected no matter where we find ourselves in the world.”
Crampton opens a portal to his people by rewiring the compositional possibilities of guitar playing, and the elaborate “Ch’uwanchaña 〜El Golpe Final〜” is shredded noise captured in trance-y loops and crushing ascending lines. Surges of metal guitar couple with the acoustic backings of charango and ronroco, climbing into an overwhelming spate of texture. It’s blown apart and obscured, analogous to YouTube clips of Andean liturgies where the audio’s bottomed out. The energy of “Ch’uwanchaña 〜El Golpe Final〜” takes me to a different place. It’s an explosive, suspended tribute to Aymara music. Crampton layers his guitars and sometimes they sound like only one, and sometimes they sound like a thousand. “Jallu” is anchored by this static, chugging riff while Crampton noodles across piled instruments. “Mallku Diablón” opens with loose strums and glassy tones, before distending into a compressed, avalanching scorcher.