Momentos Subterraneos

Formed in Santiago de Chile in 2016, “Flores Silvestres” take us towards a state of anesthetized transcendental
meditation, songs built with harmonious melodies on heavy bases, dancing rhythms that weave a folk lysergy. The
languid soundscapes created forgot production, emotional turmoil or anything overly dramatic. Their music explores
the sadness of pleasure, and the pleasure of sadness, and with each song they deepen this inquiry a little more.
“Momentos Subterráneos” is responsible for reclaiming the dark side of psychedelia, exemplified by more relaxed songs,
giving life to music with sinuous contours that embraces the most classic psychedelia and folk-pop, although it also
encompasses quite well the dissociative design typical of the 80s and 90s heard in bands like Rain Parade, Jesus and
Mary Chain or Galaxie 500. The succession of the album's songs seems to take us from the abyss of the nightmare to the
luminous awakening, from despair to the maternal whisper.
The most noticeable changes they make here are adjustments to lighting and angles. They have stripped back the
booming drums of the first album (“How The Story Goes”) and boosted the synth and guitars, giving a new physicality to
ethereal sounds. On this second album, the vintage-organ keyboard patch is dissonant, mixed right up front, and a little
uncomfortable (“Hondo en el Interior” and “La Flor”) the guitars have a brittle edge, the vocals are mixed a few inches
closer, so they sound less like a celestial choir than an earthbound crew of worried voices whispering secrets and
underpinning everything (“Serpent’s Call” and “Beauty Path”), as always, is the drone proffering the same combination
of psych, blues, folk, and art-pop touches that made their earlier releases so captivating (“Love We Shared”) and the
soft-landing conclusion, (“De Salida”) a bit of a church hymn in its own way, thanks to the organ-led melody.