Mars Volta

Finally, something new from The Mars Volta. They had already tried to venture into uncharted territory with the “pop turn” of their previous self-titled album, their first LP after the reunion. But the result, though unexpected, could hardly be called exciting—especially for longtime fans, who have always appreciated the labyrinthine nature of the band’s compositions above all.

But with “Lucro sucio; Los ojos del vacío” (“Dirty Profit; The Eyes of the Void”), the unfamiliar terrain isn't just theirs. The album’s blend of enveloping electronics and progressive mazes truly brings something unheard before, making it unique even beyond the ever-recognizable personality of the expanded lineup’s production.
The murky synths of “Cue The Sun” sound more like something you'd expect from Alessandro Cortini with Nine Inch Nails, or Radiohead, but their melodic tension is jagged and visceral—just like everything Rodríguez-López and Bixler-Zavala have ever touched—steering the track far away from predictability.
On “The Iron Rose”, the synthetic textures are, if possible, even more menacing and shape-shifting: a glacial, saturating, and pervasive haze that, at times, seems to melt in real time. And the floating, piercing, pearly keys dominate the closing track “Lucro Sucio” as well, intertwining with jazzy piano moves to form an eclectic and disorienting inlay.

Even though this is a surprisingly quiet and restrained record by the band’s standards, the more furious and hyperkinetic Mars Volta can still be seen in the background.
In “Reina Tormenta”, the foregrounded electronics aren’t an obstacle but a launchpad to reinvent their trademark alien fusion of Latin rhythms, oblique jazz-rock trajectories, and sharp, enigmatic, heavily processed vocals.
And the psychedelic-jazz textures built on hypnotic basslines and Rhodes arpeggios return in full force on “Celaje”, whose metamorphic flow sways between density and rarefaction, between sudden voids and organ stabs, brass flourishes, Mellotron layers, and excitable drumming.

“Alba del orate”, halfway between the old and the new, might sum up the whole metamorphosis better than any other track: an old identity resurfacing in a completely different musical shape—less frantic, but just as restless. The track brings back the guitar—almost absent elsewhere—letting its distorted tones clash with detuned synth flickers.
“Un disparo al vacío”, on the other hand, feels like a bit of a letdown. It plays the all-in Afro-Cuban card with a mid-track reversal, only to cut short the rhythmic developments of montuno and tumbao before they can erupt into a new “L'Via L'Viaquez”.

It’s a record that reopens the Mars Volta’s creative workshop with more ideas than certainties, but finally without filters: fragmented, fascinating, in transit—and all the more compelling precisely because it still feels like just a first step.

(English version created with AI-assisted translation)

20/04/2025