June 5, 2021 by A.S. Van Dorston

Crammed Discs remastered Juana Molina’s classic second album for it’s 21st anniversary. It took a few years to catch on, when Domino distributed it and David Byrne invited her to open for his tour in 2003. According to this week’s All Songs Considered podcast on NPR, most reviewers didn’t know what to make of it, awkwardly and patronizingly celebrating the exoticness of her being from Argentina. Was it that bad? Was no progress made since the first “exotica” crazes in the 50s? I dug up my old review, and I think it holds up okay.

In retrospect, Molina has shown she’s made of similar resilient, adaptive stuff as Bowie and Madonna, transitioning from a TV comedian to a freshly signed major label artist dabbling in folk pop (Rara, 1996), to an adventuress independent artist creating trailblazing music, a major influence on global trends in folktronica, art pop and ambient pop. She’s still going strong, having most recently released the live album ANRMAL last year. Her fifth and most recent album of new material was the well regarded Halo (2017).

Original review:

A first impression of former Buenos Aires television star Juana Molina’s twee, breathy vocals and understated pastoral electronica is that it’s more charming than impressive. While language is somewhat of a barrier if you don’t know Spanish, a closer listen reveals deeper depths of talent. For example, the highly acclaimed Beth Orton received hyperbolic accolades for essentially draping Nick Drake-inspired folk with superficially decorative electronic flourishes. Yet Segundo‘s production reveals sonic details expertly interwoven into the fabric of the songs, much like recent Matmos-assisted Björk, Boards Of Canada and Broadcast. “Mantra del Bicho Feo,” for example, is a digital jungle of robotic bird songs, melodic squeaks and swirling processed vocals. At over 70 minutes, there’s a lot to absorb, and while the styles and sounds are varied, they bleed into each other. Repeated listens offer new rewards each time, like the hornlike synths and rhythm track on “El Pastor Mentiroso” that resemble recent Notwist and just a touch of Another Green World-era Eno. The deft melodies reveal a Brazilian bossa nova influence (her household once hosted Chico Buarque and Vinícius de Moraes), making her work compatible with the flowering young Brazilian talent like Bebel Gilberto, Moreno Veloso, Otto, Lucas Santtana and Fernanda Porto. While somnambulist beauty is the main course, tracks like the atonal “Medlong” break the pattern, reminding you that this is art, dammit, not yuppie aural wallpaper. It won’t ward off the capuccino slurpers, however. Molina will seduce listeners from every walk of life, no matter what their lifestyle.