In hip hop is called flow to him, in flamenco duende, the Latin sounds flavor (that little I like this! ). Regustillo is that final that leaves to the works and the truly special authors. It is that slight flavor to magic which they have the works made under the shade of the talent, those made by love to the music in which it does not matter to arrive at, but to pierce in those few that listen to it. Those in which the success resides in really being able to express in them and not to touch the top of the Billboard. In short, those even unpollluted works of adolescent innocence of the corruption that supposes the maturity. Of that they make you recover him faith and draws a charicatured smile to you of admiration when it listening, and are that, in spite of the appearances, there is music that still is free, although already is left little.
For example, we like or no, the old films have that special touch, have an elegance, aesthetic and a bottom special, other people's to the boom of the present overproduction. Then Dirty Flamingo recovers that aesthetic elegance and special but applied to music and is that if a word catches perfectly the essence of this disc is elegance (never been so you have guessed right jaf) . It is an elegant disc of that no longer they have been made for years, of simple, minimalistic lines, but of so deep and intense content and trasfondos as addictive. It not even needs to that sound pseudo-amateur who does not make but accentuate his credibility and enrich his shades.
Leaving of side all the present musical tendencies, this LP recovers and centers their sound in the ancestral art of sampler. Low, pianos, guitars... any sound perfectly fits between the positive and the fluidity of texts of Serengeti but always under an influence and a common denominator, the Jazz. It sounds beaten but the assembly of the LP recovers the good taste of I so sample jazzistico come to less lately (that was going to us to say to ibamos us that to pass of the low atronadores of Low End Theory or Digable Planets or the first Premier to the vejatorios pianitos of the new Dre or the irrisorios experiments of infame Timbaland).
Lyrically, Serengeti is something disquieting, you do not know if their metaphors are so complicated that they are banal to the listening or that; simply, it does not try to go more far from the mere diversion that supposes the assembly of the LP. Speech of flowers, friends, porches, celebrations... but counts it from perspective that they urge to think that there is something behind the superficiality more than it pretends. I am not afraid that never we will know it, although is either something that it has to me excessively worried... while it sounds good that.
Clear examples of the smoothness and and musical gentleness of the LP are Black Giraffes, Paper Plates, Sun Tzu between many others. The minutes go between songs without as soon as we always realize but maintaining to us and expectant slopes of which kind us depara the following subject.
Still asi, behind as much piropo, comes the flaquezas. Its excessive duration, more than 70 minutes, and some smaller subjects reduce value to a solid LP in the style that it has tried to show, in addition to certain sonorous linearity (it is not that this bothers but of the passage of the minutes and listening it takes control more evident).
Really, a good album, moved away of the virulence of Jedi Mind Tricks, of the lyrical load of Dead Prez, of the theatrical sounds of J-Zone or the futurist ones of El-P, that is to say, a LP with own signs of identity that turn it a "than more recommendable one" for all lover of the sort.