Hello Ocho: In Portuguese

More often than not, highly virtuosic music sounds mad masturbatory. That’s because this thing people call “musician’s music” can often start to feel like that kid who shoehorns in complaints about the inauthenticity of calling nachos “Mexican food” after everyone drunkenly decides they want Chipotle. I mean, there’s a lot of truth to what they’re saying, and on a different day I’d probably agree. Fundamentally though, when will I care? Because seriously, when will I not be in the mood for Chipotle? So I’ve got to look at it like a gift when I hear an album as steaming, musical and approachable as Hello Ocho’s sophomore album In Portuguese.
The rhythmic intricacies that leave In Portuguese captivating but accessible let the band play the mellow lounge-y card as uniquely as they do, while also managing to play up the more frenetic and morbid feelings that their songs illicit. There are as many sides to the record as a whole as there are sides to the individual songs. The first three quarters of the nearly seven-minute long opening cut “Irish Wrist Watch” bathe you in this ethereal shimmering pool of gasoline before a shriek stops the song and promptly sets you on fire. It really makes a point to set the tone for the rest of this charming and visual descent into hell.