by David Wilikofsky
In the press materials accompanying A time to love, a time to die, Mexico City’s Amor Muere are referred to as an experimental supergroup. Those in the US may be most familiar with cellist Mabe Fratti, an artist who’s gained some attention from mainstream music publications over the past few years for both solo and collaborative works. Joined in Amor Muere by Gibrana Cervantes, Concepción Huerta, and Camille Mandoki (each accomplished experimental musicians in their own right), the quartet first came together four years ago in Mexico City’s improvisational scene. Showcasing material honed through years of live performance and collective experimentation, their debut album is a mishmash of ideas and genres that fit together seamlessly.
The music Amor Muere create together defies easy classification. At times they sound like a classical chamber group; at others they’re purveyors of warped avant-pop or pulsing soundscapes. What’s most striking about their music is how effortless it all feels, how these disparate ideas and influences all melt into one another. Perhaps closer “Violeta y Malva” is the best showcase of this fluidity (a track that hits all these reference points and more over its eighteen minute runtime), but the album’s four shorter tracks are the ones that I’ve been drawn towards. “Shhhhh” is the opposite of its title, filled with flurries of notes and stuttering beats. The rhythmic pizzicato and wordless vocals of “Can We Provoke Reciprocal Reaction” mutate so slowly that you might not notice the radical transformation happening in front of you. The chamber pop of opener “LA” is perhaps the most song-oriented track here, building to a frenzied climax before dissolving into the ether. Each track has its own distinct character, but they’re all tied together by a shared sense of sonic adventure.
Amor Muere is a musical collective rooted in the friendship between its members; even the group’s name (which comes from an inside joke between its members) is an artifact of that camaraderie. But perhaps the strongest evidence of this fact is the music itself. Music that feels this natural and lived-in necessitates a deep psychic connection between its creators, one that this group clearly shares. Whether they’re flirting with pop structures or going full on experimental soundscape, there’s a sense of playfulness and collective joy to everything they do. A time to love, a time to day manages to make the avant-garde feel accessible and downright fun without watering down the group’s artistic ambitions, no small feat for a debut album.