Qvasi Naves EP Qvasi Naves EP


BFlecha BFlechaQvasi Naves EP

7.4 / 10

For a guy like me, full of prejudices and not very inclined to listen to Spanish stuff, once in a while it’s good to be taken down a peg or two. I have no problem admitting that my blind faith in foreign electronica and my extreme “no” policy to Spanish products have been a bit shaken. Only slightly, but they have been shaken. And it’s all due to Belén Vidal - that is to say, BFlecha - the first woman in the Arkestra group and one of the artists with the most potential on the platform from Vigo. Her second EP, “Qvasi Naves”, is a splash of freezing water in the face of Spanish electronica, an infallibly refreshing drink for the heat, a demonstration that futuristic beats and pop sung in Spanish need not exist in separate dimensions. The formula works.

The secret is resorting to a sweetened mass of bass, R&B, garage, synth madness and underground polyrhythms - dusting off a record collection full of 80s Spanish electro pop, and coining passages sung with melancholic flashes. This sonic movement from Madrid “ movida” to wonky is interesting for those looking for new sensations. “Qvasi Naves”, the cut that gives its name to the EP, is a blend of 2step, rave sounds and dizzying keyboards that gets your guts moving and makes it perfectly clear that this lady knows her way round the studio. In “Razas Salvajes” she shows her more melodic side, applying her sensual voice to a cushion of bass, dubstep and cosmic. This is one of the most successful attempts that I’ve heard in Spain to bring contemporary R&B to Spanish palates.

“Salacot” continues in the same vein; suggesting the old pop groups that left Tierno Galván and Janelle Monáe with their mouths hanging open. Once again the synthesizers become hypnotic waves at the service of a choppy, digitalized, current beat. The EP is topped off by a remix of the same track done by Noaipre speed garage-style; it is a nervous, danceable cut adorned by pianos, lush choruses, and bursts of house to wear down the dance floor until you reach the cement underneath it. It smells like triumph.

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