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"text": "Depresión Post Morten – Soy una Gárgola (Post-Punk Version) is a darkwave/post-punk reinterpretation of a reggaeton track reimagined by the Mexican outfit Depresión Post Morten. Rather than an original composition in the traditional band-formed sense, this version transforms the dance-oriented reggaeton song Soy una Gárgola into a shadowy, guitar-driven piece that leans into goth and post-punk aesthetics. The band has become known for taking upbeat Latin urban tracks and filtering them through a duskier, alternative sound that emphasizes atmosphere over club rhythms—part of a broader trend where genres like darkwave and post-punk intersect with Latin music scenes online. \n\nMusically, the Post-Punk Version replaces bright reggaeton production with angular guitars, echoing vocals, bass rumble, and minimalistic percussion. The result feels more introspective and haunting, even as the lyrics still reference nightlife, dancing, and reggaeton culture—creating a compelling contrast between content and mood. By slowing down and darkening the original, Depresión Post Morten invites listeners to reconsider familiar verses through a lens of nocturnal melancholy. \n\nThe track was released as a single in 2021 and can be heard as part of the band’s ongoing exploration of genre fusion, where gothic sensibilities meet urban Latin roots in unexpected ways. \n\nLink: https://soundcloud.com/depresion-post-mortem/soy-una-gargola-post-punk-version"
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"text": "“Huir” (to flee) is explicit in both concept and execution: the song is built around the feeling of needing to get out, and it does not hide behind abstraction. Red Ulalume place the track in a post-punk frame—steady motorik insistence, melancholic chord movement, and a vocal delivery that sounds like it is pushing through a closed throat rather than performing “pretty.” On the recorded version, the arrangement stays disciplined: it does not chase constant surprises, because the lyrical drive already provides momentum. Instead, the band uses repetition as pressure, letting the same rhythmic idea return until it starts to feel like a corridor you cannot exit. In the available lyric excerpts and summaries, the narrator describes leaving, building another reality, and escaping loneliness—straight talk that fits post-punk’s long tradition of plain-spoken emotional crisis. The production is not glossy; it keeps edges intact, which helps the song’s urgency feel believable rather than stylized. “Huir” also functions well as an entry point into the larger release context (it appears on the album Remains of pleasure), suggesting a project invested in mood continuity and emotional atmosphere. This is not escapism as fantasy; it is escape as necessity, given a beat you can march to.\u2028Listen: https://redulalume1.bandcamp.com/track/huir"
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"airdate": "2026-01-06T05:28:42Z",
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"text": "Valentina” arrives as a late-2025 single, and it lands inside Atlantis Waterfalls’ stated aesthetic: Mexican post-punk with an urban, melancholic tone and an interest in everyday life as a battleground. Even without overreading the lyrics, the band’s own framing—fighting routine, resisting repetition—sets expectations for the song’s emotional temperature: motion with a shadow behind it. Post-punk is often about turning restraint into drama, and “Valentina” fits that logic: a steady rhythmic foundation, a forward-driving bass presence, and guitar or synth textures that color the edges rather than dominate the center. The vocal line tends to carry the narrative weight, while the instruments create a city-night environment around it. What makes the track effective is how it balances clarity and haze: you can feel the structure, but the atmosphere stays slightly blurred, as if the song is happening under streetlights rather than stage lights. As a single, it reads like a chapter rather than a summary—something that points back to their earlier catalog and forward to their conceptual ambitions. It is not maximalist; it is focused, mood-forward, and designed to stick through repetition, the way post-punk often does when it is working. \u2028Listen: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_kYwjsGZipxIEtaQQPy_38nH0p6Dyd0kqE"
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"name": "Mátame el Recuerdo de Este Amargo Amor"
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"text": "“Mátame el Recuerdo de Este Amargo Amor” is a compact, emotionally blunt statement: a song that refuses to soften its language about heartbreak and depression. Released as a 2021 single and later associated with the project’s EP context, it is credited in platform metadata to composers Adrian Garduño (and, elsewhere in the catalog, David Garduño appears as well), which suggests a small, author-driven act rather than a large collective. The track’s short runtime contributes to its impact—it feels like a flare rather than a slow burn. Lyrically, the narrator circles intrusive memories and the urge to erase them, using stark images and direct phrasing; even when paraphrased, the emotional content is unmistakable: remembered intimacy becomes an active injury, and the mind searches for a switch to shut it off. Musically, that intensity is typically served best by a tight arrangement—clear chord movement, a steady pulse, and a vocal recorded close enough that you can hear strain. The song is not written to be “mysterious.” It is written to be felt immediately, as if said aloud in a moment when politeness is no longer possible. It is catharsis without ornament, and the title tells you exactly what it wants. \u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/2iMSCqJT58njsNxGwfPqwe"
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"comments": [
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"text": "“Mátame el Recuerdo de Este Amargo Amor” is a compact, emotionally blunt statement: a song that refuses to soften its language about heartbreak and depression. Released as a 2021 single and later associated with the project’s EP context, it is credited in platform metadata to composers Adrian Garduño (and, elsewhere in the catalog, David Garduño appears as well), which suggests a small, author-driven act rather than a large collective. The track’s short runtime contributes to its impact—it feels like a flare rather than a slow burn. Lyrically, the narrator circles intrusive memories and the urge to erase them, using stark images and direct phrasing; even when paraphrased, the emotional content is unmistakable: remembered intimacy becomes an active injury, and the mind searches for a switch to shut it off. Musically, that intensity is typically served best by a tight arrangement—clear chord movement, a steady pulse, and a vocal recorded close enough that you can hear strain. The song is not written to be “mysterious.” It is written to be felt immediately, as if said aloud in a moment when politeness is no longer possible. It is catharsis without ornament, and the title tells you exactly what it wants. \u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/2iMSCqJT58njsNxGwfPqwe"
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"name": "Kawaramachi-Doori"
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"text": "“Kawaramachi-Doori” is a 2025 single by Ventanas Tristes, released October 19 with a runtime around 3:35–3:36, and distributed broadly (including official topic audio on YouTube). The title references a specific place name—Kawaramachi-dōri is a well-known street designation in Japan—so even before you hear a note, it signals a track built around location, memory, and imagined scenery. That geographic anchor is valuable for radio: it gives you an immediate narrative handle to introduce the song without inventing backstory. Public profiles show Ventanas Tristes as an active project with recent releases and an audience footprint on streaming platforms, but detailed, widely published liner-style notes are limited in the surfaced sources. The safest and most accurate framing, then, is to treat “Kawaramachi-Doori” as a scene-setting single: a song that asks listeners to step into a specific corridor of time and place, whether literal or symbolic. In programming, tracks like this do well when you want to shift the “camera angle” of a set—moving from personal confession to world-building, from interior emotion to exterior environment. Place it after something rhythm-forward to keep pacing consistent while changing the story space, or use it to open a late-night segment where titles and atmospheres can do more of the speaking than big choruses. \u2028Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuOs6kkBYeQ"
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"name": "Sueño A Marte",
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"name": "Aqui estan tus recuerdos",
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"name": "Silencios"
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"text": "“Silencios” is a 2024 single credited to Sueño A Marte and Naranja Agria, and it appears across platforms with a runtime in the 2:45 range. Apple Music categorizes the release as Indie Pop and lists an October 2024 release date, which gives a clear frame for how to introduce it: not as a brand-new discovery, but as a recent-era collaboration that sits in a modern indie-pop ecosystem. The title (“Silences”) suggests negative space as a primary musical and lyrical tool—what is withheld, what is implied, what lingers after the line ends. Because deep, reliable biographical detail is limited in the surfaced sources, the most accurate approach is to focus on the collaboration and the theme. Collaborative singles often work like a shared mood board: one artist brings the melodic DNA, the other shifts the color palette, and the result is a track that belongs to both catalogs. For programming, “Silencios” fits best in the middle of a set where you want to pull listeners inward without dropping energy to zero. It is also useful as a “bridge” track between guitar-led indie and more electronic pop, because the platform categorization and release packaging position it as contemporary, playlist-ready, and emotionally legible. If you introduce it on air, lean into the title: the song is about what happens in the gaps. Apple Music - Web \u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/0Xt5hYcMixcTvxRohl5pxj"
}
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"airdate": "2026-01-06T05:11:00Z",
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"name": "Porter",
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"name": "Moctezuma",
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"text": "Porter’s “La China” sits at the mythic heart of Moctezuma, the band’s concept-heavy album that threads pre-Hispanic imagery, colonial rupture, and origin stories into modern art rock. On Spotify, the track runs about five minutes and forty four seconds, giving it room to stretch from hypnotic groove into widescreen chorus. The official video, directed by Jorge G. Camarena, was released as part of a run of connected visuals for Moctezuma; commentary on the project describes it as the third in a consecutive series, with each video representing ideas behind the album and engaging themes of Spanish colonization and life before it. In other words, “La China” is not just a single: it is a chapter, designed to be read alongside “Huitzil” and “Rincón Yucateco,” and to deepen the record’s narrative arc. Musically, Porter balances indie rock songcraft with synthetic textures and ritualistic momentum, letting repetition feel ceremonial rather than static. Listen for the way the arrangement cycles and accumulates, mirroring travel, searching, and prophecy in the lyric framing. It is a track that rewards context: play it alone for its pulse and hooks, then revisit it inside Moctezuma to feel the story click into place with unusual clarity.\u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/5LmGA5Osj6YT2IKbgVBo4p"
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"name": "Estación Sin Sol",
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"track": {
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"name": "Estación Sin Sol"
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"text": "“Estación Sin Sol” is a late-2025 single that aligns with Los Que Visten Flores’ self-description as a psychedelic and experimental rock band from Querétaro, Mexico. The track moves at the pace of a long exhale: steady drums, roomy guitars, and a mix that lets ambience carry meaning. At about 5:46, it builds a scene rather than chasing a quick hook. The title reads like a location and a condition—an interchange where light never arrives—so the arrangement emphasizes suspension: repeating figures that slowly thicken, then pull back, like breathing in a dark room. Instead of sharp stop-start dynamics, the song favors gradual pressure, making small shifts feel consequential: a change in drum emphasis, a new guitar color, a vocal line that appears more as texture than proclamation. It fits the band’s framing of “music to awaken” and “music to fly,” but here the flight is nocturnal. For programming, it works as an immersion piece—after shorter songs, before the peak—because it resets attention and invites the listener to inhabit mood. Headphones reward it with reverb tails, harmonic overtones, and a groove that refuses to resolve too soon until the final minute finally opens up.\u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/5j6Wd48L1Gv1ssicr6TIEc"
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"track": {
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"text": "“Dilación” appears as track three on Corporal, Lorelle Meets The Obsolete’s 2025 album released October 10 under license to Sonic Cathedral. The group is widely described as the long-running Mexican duo of Lorena Quintanilla and Alberto González, and their catalog reputation is built on psych, shoegaze, and post-punk-leaning textures that prioritize atmosphere without sacrificing propulsion. The word “dilación” translates to “delay,” a theme that fits the band’s strength: building tension through repetition and slow changes rather than abrupt, dramatic pivots. As an album cut, “Dilación” reads like a structural joint—placed early enough to establish the record’s emotional temperature, but not so early that it needs to serve as a thesis. In programming terms, it is the kind of track that rewards sequencing. Put it after something rhythmically rigid and it will feel like the room has widened; put it before something harsher and it becomes a fog-machine, softening edges while keeping pressure on. Bandcamp listings for Corporal underscore the album’s formal release structure and label context, while streaming listings confirm the track’s placement and the 2025 release cycle. If you are programming contemporary psych-adjacent music from Mexico, “Dilación” is a strong example of how the duo translate heaviness into texture rather than volume—patient, immersive, and quietly forceful.\u2028Listen: https://obsoletelorelle.bandcamp.com/track/dilaci-n"
}
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"name": "Air break"
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"airdate": "2026-01-06T04:50:43Z",
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"track": {
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"name": "Holandés Vanderlindes"
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{
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"text": "“Holandés Vanderlindes” is a 2025 track by Mexico City duo PERRA BRAVA, released on October 2 as part of their EP Silabo Tatequeda. Bandcamp tags it across punk, garage punk, and garage rock, and the message matches: direct, confrontational, built to be shouted back. The lyrics focus on extraction and hypocrisy—knowledge being stolen, landscapes being appropriated, and displacement being justified by legality rather than morality. That refrain (“it doesn’t matter if it’s immoral, only that it’s legal”) is the song’s engine, repeated until it stops sounding like commentary and starts sounding like a warning. The writing sharpens its target with imagery of predation and disguise: the “coyote” in “sheep’s clothing,” and the line about nothing being more dangerous than an idiot with power. The chorus escalates from observation to vow, promising no mercy when the tables turn, which gives the track stakes rather than generic anger. Musically, that lyric works best over a lean, propulsive arrangement. PERRA BRAVA keeps it tight and fast, leaving space for the words to land cleanly. For programming, it fits in punk blocks where you want politics without preaching—clear slogans, real heat, and a hook listeners remember after one spin in the pit.\u2028Listen: https://perrabrava.bandcamp.com/track/holand-s-vanderlindes"
}
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"airdate": "2026-01-06T04:49:25Z",
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"name": "Segundos Auxilios",
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"track": {
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"name": "Enfrentamiento"
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"text": "“Enfrentamiento” is track three on Sacontrafa, the 2025 digital album by Segundos Auxilios. On Bandcamp it is listed at 1:15, short enough to function like a refrain, long enough to deliver a complete hit of rhythm and texture. The band describes itself as a duo from Zacatecas, Mexico, based in Fresnillo, and tags its work across alternative rock, egg punk, noise rock, and post-rock. That wide map helps explain the track’s feel. “Enfrentamiento” has the forward snap of punk, but it also treats sound like material: tones are allowed to scrape, blur, and spike, as if the mix is part of the confrontation implied by the title. Album credits list recording and mixing by Eduardo Pichardo, with mastering credited to Yaza, and you can hear that edge control: the sound is abrasive, but not muddy; tight, but not polite. For radio or DJ use, its length is an advantage. You can deploy it as a hard cut between two longer songs, or stack it with other one-minute blasts to create a fast montage. Either way, it reads as decisive—no wasted bars, no filler, just impact. It leaves the listener suspended, ready for whatever lands next immediately.\u2028Listen: https://segundosauxilios911.bandcamp.com/album/sacontrafa"
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"text": "“Arde” is a 2025 return single from Teresa Cienfuegos y las Cobras, released on October 29 as a one-track release. It runs a little over four minutes, and platforms tag it broadly in the new-wave/alternative lane, which fits the song’s emphasis on pulse, atmosphere, and attitude. Because fully verified background notes for this specific single are limited, the most reliable frame is what is clearly public: the release itself, and the band’s catalog approach on earlier recordings. Their Bandcamp releases show a group comfortable with tight rhythm frameworks, guitar-led hooks, and arrangements that leave room for percussion and movement. “Arde” continues that through a driving backbone and a mood that feels nocturnal rather than celebratory. Promotion around the lyric video leans into film-noir imagery and references “La Zona del Silencio,” so the track reads like a scene: heat, shadow, and pursuit. The chorus energy is less about sing-along sweetness and more about insistence—repeating the central word until it turns physical. In programming, “Arde” works well after dance-adjacent post-punk or synth rock, where its forward motion keeps bodies moving while the mood stays dark. Built for late sets and foggy streets outside.\u2028Listen: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcmdnYBKr5ib9hpyI-FsaCg"
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"text": "“El baile y el salón” is a foundational Café Tacvba song from the album Re, released in 1994, and it remains one of the clearest examples of how the band turns everyday scenes into emotional cinema. The lyric premise is simple—a dance-floor moment observed under social pressure—but the songwriting makes that simplicity feel dangerous. You can hear why it endures: it is structured like a slow reveal, with melody and tension rising together until the listener realizes the “story” is really about intimacy under surveillance. For radio, the track’s value is its universality. Even first-time listeners can follow it because the imagery is direct, while repeat listeners keep finding nuance in the way the song balances tenderness with discomfort. Production-wise, official releases credit producer Aníbal Kerpel on the album version, and the track’s runtime (about 5:08) gives it space to breathe without drifting. When you place it in a set, it works as an anchor: a song that can calm a loud block without lowering emotional intensity. It also bridges generations easily—classic rock listeners recognize its craft, and newer audiences hear the same vulnerability and tension that drives contemporary alternative music. \u2028Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sX79JY9O_5k"
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"name": "Los Wálters",
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"name": "Señales",
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"name": "Señales"
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"text": "“Señales” is a late-December 2025 single by Los Wálters, released via their Bandcamp and distributed across major platforms. The duo—Ángel Figueroa and Luis López—describe Los Wálters as a long-distance music project that has existed since 2011, created while living in different cities across the world and writing/recording material in multiple locations across Latin America, Europe, and the United States. That long-distance identity is not just trivia; it tends to shape how a song feels: arrangements that favor clarity, portable emotion, and hooks that travel well rather than hyper-local references that require context. “Señales” (signals) is a title that naturally suggests reading between lines—small cues, patterns, and messages that arrive indirectly. Even without leaning into unverified musical specifics, you can program it as a reflective modern pop cut with narrative pull: a song that invites listeners to project their own meaning onto the word “signals.” At roughly three and a half minutes, it is also an efficient radio fit—long enough to establish mood, short enough to keep pacing tight. In a set, place it after something percussive to let the room breathe, or before a bigger chorus track to act as a clean runway.\u2028Listen: https://loswalters.bandcamp.com/track/se-ales"
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"name": "te vi en un planetario",
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"name": "te odio",
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"name": "te odio"
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"comments": [
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"text": "“te odio” is presented on Bandcamp as part of a release titled demos, which is an important clue: it sets expectations around immediacy, rough edges, and emotional directness rather than polished finality. That demo framing often means the recording is meant to capture the core of the song—melody, mood, and message—without sanding off its urgency. The title (“I hate you”) carries a bluntness that can be literal, ironic, performative, or defensive; the track’s power, in practice, is usually in the tension between that headline emotion and the more complicated reasons underneath it. Because reliable, widely published background information on the project is limited in the sources surfaced here, the most accurate approach is to treat “te odio” as a self-contained statement: a short, repeatable piece where the hook is the feeling itself. In a radio context, this is the kind of cut that benefits from placement. It can read as catharsis if you put it after something tender, or as escalation if you put it before something louder. If you are building a set around modern independent Spanish-language songwriting, it also works as a contrast track—simple language, heavy emotional temperature, and a demo aesthetic that feels intimate rather than glossy. \u2028Listen: https://tevienunplanetario.bandcamp.com/track/te-odio"
}
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"name": "RONCO",
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"name": "Vicio Mortal",
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"track": {
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"name": "Vicio Mortal"
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"text": "“Vicio Mortal” is a 2025 single by RONCO, released on May 16 via Discos Panoram. At a little over three minutes, it is structured for impact: a direct opening, a tight verse-to-hook cycle, and a close that lands as a final statement. Public lyric excerpts frame “vicio mortal” as both temptation and self-diagnosis. The narrator points to ego rising “in every step,” admits to self-sabotage and overthinking, and returns to the addictive “effect” that keeps pulling them back. That push-pull makes the song easy to program: it carries a clear emotional hook (desire versus control) without requiring the listener to follow a long plot. Musically, RONCO keeps the arrangement lean, so the vocal message stays legible. The groove leans rock-alternative, with enough rhythmic drive to sit next to modern indie rock or Latin alternative selections. In a set, “Vicio Mortal” works as a momentum builder: it has a chorus-like return audiences can latch onto, yet it stays concise, leaving room to pivot into a longer track immediately after. In short, it is a focused single designed for replay—clean, urgent, and consistent. It also pairs well with darker synth cuts and guitar-led punk.\u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/6WZUEC3aYtMST6u5UJxYTQ"
}
],
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"artist": {
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"name": "Plastilina Mosh",
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"name": "Aquamosh",
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},
"track": {
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"name": "Monster Truck"
},
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"comments": [
{
"commentid": 2004481617,
"text": "“Monster Truck” sits on Plastilina Mosh’s debut album Aquamosh (1998) and captures the group’s early “Avanzada Regia” spirit: genre borders treated as suggestions. Clocking in at about 4:18, the song rides a chunky, dance-ready groove while letting the band’s collage instincts peek through—hip-hop attitude, rock bite, and electronic sheen braided into one lane. A retrospective aptly calls it a “digital blues stomp,” which is useful shorthand for how it feels: grounded, physical, and slightly synthetic at the edges. Rather than building toward a single chorus payoff, “Monster Truck” keeps shifting emphasis, swapping rhythmic ideas and timbres as if it’s editing on the fly. That restless motion is the point; the track is designed to stay entertaining on repeat, because small production choices—dropouts, accents, and quick fills—keep re-framing the beat. In programming terms, it’s a dependable jolt: playful without being novelty, and heavy without being dour. Place it after something sleek to roughen the air, or before something punk-leaning to keep energy up while changing texture. Even decades later, it reads as confident and weird in equal measure—exactly the lane Aquamosh opened for them. Made for sweaty rooms and late-night drives too.\u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/41RNicfrKIHrGShpF44RHe"
}
],
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]
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