Berlin via Argentina band's new album reveals a core love of Alan Vega's Suicide
Richard Foster
19:35 8th July 2019

Un dios me ha concedido
Lo que es dado saber a los mortales
Por todo el continente anda mi nombre
No he vivido. Quisiera per otro hombre

It’s not often that you feel the need to quote the great Argentine poet Jorge Luis Borges writing about Ralph Waldo Emerson in a rock review. But bear with me. The lines translate as:

I have been allowed
That which is given mortal man to know
The whole continent knows my name
I have not lived. I want to be someone else

The reason for all this poetry is that these lines could be written for Borges’ compatriots, Mueran Humanos. The duo embody these sentiments, and many other contradictions of the human spirit. Escapists and fantasists who feed their art practice with reconstructing beautiful memories that are forever out-of-reach, their music also toys with destruction and decay.

The emotional juxtaposition implied in the LP’s title is classic Mueran Humanos and can be taken as a fair summary of their music over this past decade. Despite being based in Berlin, Mueran Humanos’ music is South American Gothic. Tracks like the stately single, ‘Le Gente Gris’ operate as grande masques; ones that display sentimental sort of droit de seigneur. These are often contrasted with cuts that are mutable, mercurial demonstrations of raw power and virility. The duo seem obsessed with the idea of beauty as a mask that forever slips. Maybe it’s a sonic invocation - and perversion - of the baby blue, cerulean skies depicted on their native country’s flag. Or “fair winds” hiding something.

Many of the tracks on Hospital Lullabies have all the potential of being huge pop songs in the classical tradition. Drawing on 80s high gloss independent pop, goth and Europop, there is a calculating hauteur about ‘Detrás de Una Flor’ or ‘Alien’ that is very moreish. Songs like the magnificent ‘Guardián de Piedra’ often take the form of stately processions, displaying their sonic plunder as baubles and sequins on a court dress. The sort of mannered ostentatious peacockery that seeks thrills in the gutter, when no-one is looking. The band’s dark side is never far away. It’s their calling card; ‘Los Problemas del Futuro’ is a classic gothic oratory and harks back to tracks like old single, ‘Amuleto’. ‘Alien’ also kicks off, the band’s incipient anger with pretty much everything that surrounds them providing the launchpad for the track’s ending.

This release, more than anything, maybe (to this reviewer at least) reveals a core love of Suicide. The new material feels more supple and stretched, no longer acting as set pieces, but sequences in a story. But, Caliban - like Suicide, - these pieces are only groomed so far, enough to brazenly flaunt imperfections, to mutate into something more sinister. The opener ‘Vestido’ is a case in point. A lovely cooing vocal that rests gently on a synth refrain quickly becomes something much more unsettling, courtesy of a nagging voice and guitar loop. Who is dressing, and for what ordeal?


Photo: Pilar Gost