Ela Minus – Día Review

Artists must put their lives on the line and into their work. It feels mandatory at this point. A degree of separation from the music, a step away from the goings-on of a song or subject, is rare. Ela Minus pulls back the curtain and provides listeners with Día, a release filled with personable effectiveness which elevates itself beyond the usual drum-beating of strife or struggle. No, that will not do for Minus. Following up Acts of Rebellion with an uprising against what is expected of artists, what we listeners hope and hold out on what they will and will not do, marks Día as a half-hour revolution. Continue with the cold gaze, the lived-in experiences and the matter-of-fact reality which is usually dressed up as a lesson to learn from by other artists. Nothing of the sort from Minus here, whose brutal talent comes in waves.  

Subverting what expectations there were for her follow-up album, Minus plays with the drone rock and tech-like tones on opener Abrir Monte, a song which slowly eases into its drum machine brilliance. Time is taken to set the mood. Minus would do us no favours just jumping into this sense of electronic sophistication, time must be taken to get there. But these are not moody moments from Minus, there is an incredible club bounce which bounds through the instrumental continuation, the vibrant lyrical punch, of Broken. Día is an album which questions why a pretence must precede our true selves. Those sinister tones heard throughout Día are remarkably unnerving, and constant, too. The body of a truly great album, peppered with inspiringly harsh instrumentals and a monotone, cold vocal lead. Glitch-like crackles and splutters from IDK bring on this continued feeling of shifting necessities. Finding your place is what Día gets at, but it acknowledges not knowing where has a charm of its own. 

Question yourself. That is what Minus does, and her message carries into that abyss her songs are set in. Elevated, club-like moments on QQQQ are magnificent. A real high for the album and leaning into Minus’ Colombian roots effortlessly. Holding this energy across the album is not just a bold choice but a challenge to keep consistent. Onwards keeps things kicking on, the lively spirit and cold stares which come from those masks we wear in clubs and pubs torn through by Minus with wilder moments right around the corner. It is the suggestion of spontaneity which keeps Día roaring as one of the best club adaptations of all. On and on it goes, finding new life and a vibrant, in-your-face appeal all the way through.  

Those moments of bubbling over, the kettle boiling electric rise of And into Upwards is a stellar moment, one of many to be found on Día. Hold onto the energy it brings, the confidence and instrumental choices pair so well with one another that it is hard not to feel yourself taken away by the bouncing, constant noise. Día articulates a feeling of daring and often out-there essentialism, this need to connect with the world around us not through touching grass or staring at the sun, but by flailing ourselves around, by articulating the impossible through a new medium. Exciting, vibrant, all those usual words are thrown around when an album gets to grips with its theme, holds it in firm view, and roars through with an essential sound evolving throughout.