Debit's Desaceleradas: A Dub-Infused Exploration of Cumbia Rebaída's Darker Side
Mexican-American producer Debit has long demonstrated a knack for reimagining historical sounds through her unique production style. On her latest album, Desaceleradas (Decelerated), she delves into the 90s trend of cumbia rebajada, slowing down Afro-Latin dance genre cumbia to a sluggish tempo that's more akin to dub-influenced noise than traditional party music.
The result is a sonic landscape that's both eerie and ethereal, as if William Basinski's Disintegration Loops had spawned a cousin in Debit's soundworld. Tracks like La Ronda y el Sonidero and Vinilos Tranacionales retain hints of the signature cumbia shuffle and twanging synth melody, but are transformed by Beatriz's judicious application of tape hiss, reverb, and melodic warping into unrecognizable ambient territory.
What's striking about Desaceleradas is that it's not just a exercise in slowing down sounds to create a haunting atmosphere – although that's certainly part of its charm. Instead, Debit forces us to confront the raw strangeness of the present moment. Her arrangements are deliberately dissonant and jarring, conjuring up images of a nightmare fairground midway or a fever dream.
The granular dissection of sounds in Desaceleradas creates a sense of unease, akin to sea sickness. This is music that's more discomfort than background ambiance – it's an experience that demands your full attention. And yet, despite the chaos and dissonance, there's a strange beauty to Debit's approach, a testament to her skill as a producer.
Desaceleradas may not be for everyone, but it's a remarkable feat of sonic manipulation that will leave even the most seasoned noise enthusiasts taking note. It's proof that slowness and subtlety can be just as unsettling as the chaos of traditional noise music – and that Debit is one of the most exciting young producers working in this space today.
Mexican-American producer Debit has long demonstrated a knack for reimagining historical sounds through her unique production style. On her latest album, Desaceleradas (Decelerated), she delves into the 90s trend of cumbia rebajada, slowing down Afro-Latin dance genre cumbia to a sluggish tempo that's more akin to dub-influenced noise than traditional party music.
The result is a sonic landscape that's both eerie and ethereal, as if William Basinski's Disintegration Loops had spawned a cousin in Debit's soundworld. Tracks like La Ronda y el Sonidero and Vinilos Tranacionales retain hints of the signature cumbia shuffle and twanging synth melody, but are transformed by Beatriz's judicious application of tape hiss, reverb, and melodic warping into unrecognizable ambient territory.
What's striking about Desaceleradas is that it's not just a exercise in slowing down sounds to create a haunting atmosphere – although that's certainly part of its charm. Instead, Debit forces us to confront the raw strangeness of the present moment. Her arrangements are deliberately dissonant and jarring, conjuring up images of a nightmare fairground midway or a fever dream.
The granular dissection of sounds in Desaceleradas creates a sense of unease, akin to sea sickness. This is music that's more discomfort than background ambiance – it's an experience that demands your full attention. And yet, despite the chaos and dissonance, there's a strange beauty to Debit's approach, a testament to her skill as a producer.
Desaceleradas may not be for everyone, but it's a remarkable feat of sonic manipulation that will leave even the most seasoned noise enthusiasts taking note. It's proof that slowness and subtlety can be just as unsettling as the chaos of traditional noise music – and that Debit is one of the most exciting young producers working in this space today.