Los Cogelones – Hijos del Sol

The whites in my eyes reflect on the wet smelling road, glistening asphalt turned to sea floor by a barrage of rain tracks out of the thin ether. It’s getting bad now. Old man told me a storm was coming, I felt it so in a previous pulsing migraine, only I didn’t listen with intents nor willful purpose but blissful ignorance and intense arrogances. The worse the storm got, the more I thought pulling over was futile. Because, as it were, this squall was only getting stronger. I was never no seaman, but nary on I carried, through the brutal eye, watering never wondering. Now all I could see were the lights of the car in front of me. That was, in between the strikes of lightning, which caused multiple seconds (felt like seasons) of static television and white noise.

The car in front of me ended up turning. I didn’t. This is when the panic set in. It was fight or flight. I went with the road less traveled and ventured for both by slamming my face into the steering wheel in an attempt to knock myself unconscious. I was gonna go to a place where the sun shone in or I was gonna blank the slate until it came to me. This did not work. All I got was a new blood precipitant, reigning down like red velvet curtains for my cranium crown. I looked to the lane next to me, a young chap with a “be patient, student driver” bumper sticker looks head on into the mess, desperately trying to avoid the one unfurling to his left. He made a quick and regretted glance my way, I lunged my head toward the passenger window and splattered blood all over it, I laughed and spit while the tike pulled over and hyperventilated in defeat.

Satisfied with myself I rolled down the window to wash the blood off my face. I didn’t even have to lean out of my car. The christening reoriented and over-invigorated. I felt aligned with the tempest, like I existed parallel to its rolling thunders. I thought for a moment that I was the mortal son of Thor with powers akin to my Godfather. I wanted to wreak as much havoc as the hurricane. The ultimate disturber from peace unknown. Then “Hijos de Puta” comes on and I drive the car into a fucking ravine.

Los Cogelones’ debut album, Hijos del Sol, is a category-four album despite its translation. It hits hard and drowns your lungs via ancient Aztec rock ‘n’ roll. I believe it the rightful soundtrack to Apocalypto. It’s not a sacrifice to the sun god, but the result of his spiritual vengeance on the nonbeliever. The music is completely unique and any comparison pales and fails. The only band I could attempt to compare them to would be Os Mutantes or Los Saicos if they drank blood straight from the skull in the holy name of the Turquoise Prince.

Los Cogelones make music for their ancestors – everything down to the regalia and the instruments are an homage to the Aztec civilization, most notably the indigenous percussion and whistles which are featured in nearly every song. They also sing in a mix of Spanish and their indigenous language Nahuatl. It brings the ritualistic approach to experimental garage rock, and it makes you realize that you belong to somewhat of a tribe yourself when amidst the mosh pits. These guys are virtually unknown outside of their home, with their only real spot of light being a feature on Vice Mexico’s “Noisy” channel. This review is the first word of these guys to be published on US soil. I sincerely hope they make it to Atlanta so that I may have the pleasure of seeing the ritual live. You can make this dream come true by picking up the album and listening to it and going on and on about it over tapped phone lines.

May Hijos del Sol possess you to puncture yourself with dead feathers and squawk bloodily to the call of the coyote king under a waxing gibbous.

As you were.

Los Cogelones
Hijos del Sol
[Piccolo]