Ernesto Ferreyra Ernesto FerreyraEl Paraíso De Las Tortugas
“Mil y Una Noches” arrives at a trot and from far away. The rhythm oozes Latin disco champagne –galloping, with a graceful hoofed tam-tam, bubbling up like a fart in the bathtub—then it lets itself be caressed by some very, very distant trumpets, progressing without entirely exploding, promising more pleasure for later. This is the label that defines the sound of Ernesto Ferreyra: minimalist, hypnotic electronic music, with Latin traces hidden in the production, summery percussion, a nostalgic landscape, minimal trippiness, and dance-floor elegance cubed. After being toughened up like a nomad travelling all over the world—from Mexico to Canada, by way of Berlin and Ibiza—and after DJ-ing at the most high-class clubs on the Blue Planet –Panoramabar, Yellow, Watergate– and leaving little gold nuggets with labels like Mutek, Musique Risquée or Crosstown Rebels, this Argentine born in Córdoba has finally found time to put out his debut LP on the label that best suits him. It’s no coincidence that Luciano has accompanied him in his sessions. Ferreyra’s danceable oscillations are pure Cadenza cadence.
He handles the minimal periodical table with a rainy spirit. He has a gift when it comes to recreating the melancholy that enters clubbers when the last song of the night is playing. “Los Domingos Vuelo a Casa” is a perfect cut, floating, thrilling: it’s hard for this micronized house, with those echoes that come and go, not to absorb you and send your mind flying. It’s the perfect song to close a session and send people to bed with glassy eyes. One of the songs of the year, hands down. In this line, Ferreyra manages to cause long-lasting, subtle, pleasurable tantric experiences. The feline basses and clapping of “Lost” enter your body like a slow-acting flu. The unexpected baroque quality of “El Comienzo de Todo” –cosmic, trippy, abstract– sends you travelling through the same intestinal tract of a worm as Jodie Foster in “Contact”. The sampled voices of “The Mystery Is Gone” trap you in a web of dreamy electrohouse. I don’t want to leave out the more ambient outbursts either, embodied here in the magic of “Back Pain”, a reptilian, hissing, suspenseful development; so that we understand each other, it’s as if Pink Floyd had recorded “Amber” (Autechre). Pure arrhythmic dreaming that culminates in the eight minutes of “Acequia (Nos Salvamos)”, a mysterious trip through artificial paradises to a dimensionless Ibiza in the midst of a galactic twilight.
Ernesto Ferreyra’s music has the vibe of glamorous after-hours clubs, the ones on private beaches with expensive bottles, not the ones in industrial complexes full of vulgar people high on cheap coke. Its aroma is trippy, for the people who are surfing on the morning microwave sound of Cadenza, clubbing until it’s time to go to work the next morning: beautiful people, tranquil people, people who drug themselves like everybody else, of course, but who aren’t scary. The sound is like sniffing cotton candy, like sucking on a lollipop sprinkled with the best ketamine on the market. Yes, it’s minimal in a state of trance, but with elegance, smelling recently showered, just like it should be. Three syllables: QUA-LI-TY.
Ernesto Ferreyra - Acequia (Nos salvamos)