Home Read Now Hear This: Fiesta Alba | Fiesta Alba

Now Hear This: Fiesta Alba | Fiesta Alba

Italians play mutated, mathy post-punk in wrestling masks. What more do you need?

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THE EDITED PRESS RELEASE: “The eponymous debut EP by Italian band Fiesta Alba takes less than twenty minutes to impress the listener with its international flair, vision, and freshness.

Inspired by math-rock and devoid of fucking virtuosity, the work undergoes the influences of minimalist afrobeat, ’90s-inspired electronica, post-punk, dub, and rap to arrive at a contemporary and decidedly personal formula. The tracks, 4/5 of which are performed by international vocalists, span across the peripheries of the planet, from Europe to Africa via the ghettos of New York. The guitar inlays are supported by acoustic and digital grooves, drawing colorful progressive geometries and geographical trajectories in the musical hemispheres of this part of the millennium. Possible references include Battles, Talking Heads, King Crimson, Fela Kuti, Steve Reich, Minutemen and Tera Melos.

A Track-by-Track Breakdown, In Fiesta Alba’s Words:

Laundry (feat. Welle) | The opening riff gives way to an irresistible groove, Welle sings like a 1920s John Lydon, duetting with the interweaving guitars. Colours blend kaleidoscopically, geometries chase each other, and angular riffs overlap. This is a manifesto of Fiesta Alba.

Juicy lips (feat. Tha Brooklyn Guy) | Rapid, obsessive electronic riffs move over square rhythmic scores. A Brooklyn hobo unwinds his unhealthy rap. Out-of-control arpeggiators and skewed riffs chase each other over the damask carpet of electronics.

Dem say (feat. Kylo Osprey) | From the overstretched heart of black Africa come sharp guitar sounds that balance minimal afrobeat riffs. Overall reigns the dissonant Nigerian voice that tells of hysterical tales of the mother of all lands.

Burkina phase (feat. Thomas Sankara) | Minimalist electronics embrace arabesques of guitars. Steve Reich dozes in the shade of a baobab tree, while the voice of a condottiere from a vanished world shouts unmentionable truths to the monsters of our millennium.

Octagon | Electronic geometries are interwoven in an intricate and obsessive weave, then comes a heterodox melody that reassembles the fabrics. Minimalism conceals an evolution, and the credits roll as in a concise closing theme song.

Fiesta Alba is Octagon, Pyerroth, Fishman and Dos Caras, four fighters who share a passion: They fight for a lifetime against the bullshit of musical conformism, the overwhelming power of the lords of discography, the decline of rock, the dictatorship of heavy rotation, the mystique of the auto-tune. Elegant by statute, cultured by nature, animals by necessity. Arrogant as they should be, they enter the wilderness of the post-pandemic streets. They have learned to move to the rhythms of the world, to serial music, to electronic beats. They break down the borders between the north and south of the planet, between cultured and popular music, acoustic, electric, and electronic.

They step into the ring of digital platforms revealing their true masks, and raising their fists they shout: “Lucha libre!” The fights are rigged, the opponents untenable. They know they are losers in an immense multitude, on a planet where nobody really wins, with only one, quiet certainty in their hearts: he who has nothing to lose cannot lose anything. Hic sunt leones: they have never left the Coliseum.


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