Mankind, before science, ran on myth. We’ve always tried to explain the seemingly inexplicable, stretching imagination to fill the gaps: the sun is pulled to and fro by flaming chariots, eclipses are tragic lovers meeting briefly in the sky. This impulse toward legendary expansion is very much present in HAGEN, the second collaboration between Venezuelan guitarist Héctor Tosta, who releases music as I. la Católica, and celebrated Guatemalan experimental cellist Mabe Fratti. Together, they make up the duo Titanic.
This power couple of Mexico City’s contemporary avant-garde combine classical training with a punk approach, garnering a reputation for challenging, mind-melting music. (The same could be said of Fratti’s acclaimed work as a solo artist.) Titanic, led by Tosta, plays with sound and silence on their second album in the way one might a rubber band: stretching it almost to its breaking point before propelling it forward at full strength. The new songs feel heavy with esoteric weight, in their titles as well as in the way they unfold. Maybe bloom is a better word: Take “Escarbo dimensiones” (“Digging Dimensions”), which grows from just a sparse drumbeat and a few chords supporting Fratti’s voice. Into this silence, the song gradually flashes new sounds—a loud drum, a soaring riff. Halfway through, its parts collide, locking into a fast-paced duet between electric guitar and plucked cello. It feels like the supernova that births a world.
Fratti’s cello is a key presence throughout. On “Pájaro de fuego” (“Firebird”) it entwines itself with sparkling synth keys, courtesy of Oneothrix Point Never’s Daniel Lopatin and Nate Salon, that rise to the pitch of an angelic chorus; perhaps the namesake bird is preparing to be reborn. Lead single “Gotera” (“Leak”) has a raucous chaos at its center, fuzzy and pattering in a way that feels less like a slow drip and more like a torrential downpour. Moments like these are grounded by Fratti’s tremulous voice, a shimmer that intones in time with her strings.
The levity in her vocals is a welcome guide through a musical environment that can get quite dense, though never to an extent that makes one want to pull away. “La Gallina degollada” (“The Headless Chicken”), a grimy bass-driven track seemingly referencing Uruguayan writer Horacio Quiroga’s classic short horror story about a sister murdered by her siblings, makes use of her voice as a spritely instrument, venturing bravely into the storm and coming back with a wink. She can get cheeky, too. Opening track “Lágrima del sol” (“The Sun’s Tear”) starts off HAGEN with a simple request: “Don’t ask me for the last cigarette when the world ends.”
Still, the world Titanic has made here isn’t all Genesis and Apocalypsis. The throughline, like in any good myth, is cyclical. The music on HAGEN isn’t impenetrable, though it is gargantuan. Its scale calls to mind Fratti’s recent appearance on “I Can Go,” the closing track of Blood Orange’s new Essex Honey. Again, she’s a psychopomp guiding us back toward silence as Dev Hynes concludes a journey through grief. She sings in Spanish about the fear we feel when our real path opens before us. Even a route as winding as the one she and Tosta trace on HAGEN can be maneuvered: The height from the top of the mountain where the path leads is nothing short of divine.
