Murcof
Cosmos

June 2007. Time, for yours truly, to prepare for the final exams. As a diligent student, I was there amidst the sweltering papers (I remember that summer was anything but forgiving) tormenting myself with integrals, the hypocritical Italian literature of the late nineteenth century (no names mentioned), Virgil and his pastoral passions, and (going by memory) an English writer whom my subconscious wisely decided to drown out. My only consolation was my stereo, which diligently continued to play throughout the afternoon.

After a couple of days, I realized that, regardless of which album I chose, as soon as I pressed the play button, my work slowed down dramatically. I had to choose whether to appreciate more the tomb-like silence in my room or in front of the exam commission. Then there was light. I discovered this album. Inserted in the stereo, it sneaked into my room timidly, almost as if asking for permission. Like a chameleon, it seemed to mimic the summer breeze that, in a kind of soft dance, flirted with the curtains of my window. It was silence. And yet it moved. This recipe continued for the first six-seven minutes of “Cuerpo celeste.” At this point, a sudden explosion, then silence again. It almost felt like approaching an incandescent body that, in the most absolute darkness, could suddenly reach me with lethal flames. Following, a dirty beat (with a bitcruscher scent) supported a long and “boreal” sustain. It was too late for me to turn back. Once “Cielo” started, I was already captivated and slipped into the flow of the six compositions without almost noticing it. I could return to my books without, at the same time, diverting from what I was listening to. Everything intertwined.

That summer, I listened to that album more and more times, but by then, I was so imbued with those sounds that I couldn't observe with a detached eye. Murcof had seduced me. And I was already suffering from retroactive jealousy. I had let “Remembranza” (two years older) slip away and thought I would remain unpunished. But, despite the 2005 work being considered his peak, it is for “Cosmos” that I remain attached to this Mexican musician. Everything in this work seems to find its right place. There is a sense of measure, a use of samples, a “pictorial” ability that makes these six episodes impeccable (see “Cometa” and its simply perfect textures). At the end of the album, the feeling is like having taken a little safari around the Milky Way. Everything seems to have remained still during the entire hour of listening. Like in a hypothetical tour around the solar system, life (as we understand it) appears as something distant. Occasionally, flames reach our ears (as at the end of “Cosmos II”), but they seem to be rather distant echoes. Voices roaming among the galaxies from who knows how many light-years ago. “Oort” slowly fades away.

The visit among the stars is over. Another round, another ride.