by Maria Bobbitt-Chertock (@mariab4christ)
Minimal, but far from demure, Hibiscus is a marvel of creeping synths and echoes. J. Zunz – the solo project of Ensenada, Mexico’s Lorena Quintanilla – conjures speculative and hypnotic soundscapes on her sophomore LP, out via Rocket Recordings.
Hibiscus feels more cohesive than J. Zunz’s previous solo record, Silente. In her new work (now three years in the making), trance elements move together more organically; they well up from the same kind of soil. The album plays out beautifully as a whole, as each song feeds into the next, building a strange and disorienting ecosystem. Although a few tracks are separated from each other by abrupt silences, such ruptures occur often enough throughout the album that they too become thematic. No track stands out too much from the rest of the project; each track relies on the others for context.
The album’s single and opener, “Y,” introduces the hypnotic mood that pervades the rest of the album. Minimalist, looping parts are interrupted by static and noise toward the end of the track, like an overcast sky succumbing to rain. Then “Four Women & Darkness” begins with a monophonic synth playing an octave siren. Quintanilla’s voice comes in, drenched in effects like the wind is sucking her away. A slowed-down bed squeak becomes the pulse of the slow-burning, six-minute piece as Quintanilla’s chants intensify.
Quintanilla’s voice is well-suited to her compositions. She sounds both world-weary and eager to strike the world down. Sometimes she screams, and when she does, it doesn’t shock the listener – a scream is latent in her whispery tone of voice, just as there is noise latent in her ostensibly toylike synth melodies. Harshness lies just beneath the surface, bound to break for air at any moment.
Quintanilla has said that when she was writing and recording Hibiscus, she had just finished reading a biography of John Cage and felt “very charged with ideas.” The word “charged” perfectly describes the allure of her music: on the one hand, it is emotionally charged, buzzing with barely-repressed anger, and on the other hand, it sounds electrically charged, buzzing with static and sparks. An electric current compels and propels the listener through a record that, because of its spareness, might otherwise come off as disaffected.
Hibiscus’ second-to-last track, “America Is A Continent,” is charged with rage in the face of U.S. exceptionalism and imperialism, but the listener infers this almost entirely from the title. Mood comes first – then language gives context. The lucidity of political dissent is important, but it’s not the album’s primary focus. It’s the hypnotic rhythm of a general, politicized dis-ease that inspires J. Zunz’s work. Its pulse never really changes, but sometimes, its latent energy spikes.