Los Lobos
Kiko
Anytime you see an album that just about every genre-specific music publication is trying to claim as one of their own, you know that you've got something really special going on: sometimes that special may also mean that whatever piece it is, it's going to make for difficult listening. Bridging gaps, fusing different strands of music--these aren't always things that make an album the most accessible piece of music in the Wurlitzer. In the case of Kiko, an album that can be found all over the internet with listings like "Prog-Rock," "Latin Fusion," "Classic Rock," "Rock N' Roll," "Latin Country" and the current personal favorite, "R & B?"
If you happen to be one of those people who uses the computer for any extended period of time to determine whether you want to listen to an album, than you gave up on checking Kiko a long time ago: there's such a mountain of bizarrely conflicting reviews of the album that you're sure to have found one that matches a prescriptive ideal of "an album that you would not enjoy." Of course, than you've missed out one of the two best kept secrets of 1992. (Which, if you like foreshadowing, should indicate that you probably haven't heard one of the three albums coming this week.)
The first time you hear Kiko, it might sound vaguely experimental--but you'll probably reel back and forth, wondering why it gets treated with such hyper-textual reviews. After all, this is a driving in the hot sun record, this is a cold beer record: this ain't Kid A. Sure, some of the lyrics might be a bit beyond Don Henley, but if Los Lobos doesn't remind you of a Latino versed in Cream or The Byrds, than you've been drinking lattes for too long. Kiko, as pretty as it'll become upon repeated listens, is a rustic piece of equipment--it's as extravagant as Cormac McCarthy's plots while hiding within a Pretty Horses sunset. While it's deservedly compared to masterpieces of Americana like Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Kiko isn't born out of a nostalgic falseness (which, like it or not, is what every piece of the new American folk/country/rock is gestated in,) Kiko comes from a different place. It comes from the same group who had made stars out of themselves because of La Bamba and responded by diving back out of the spotlight: that's where Kiko came from, and that's what it sounds like. A group of musicians who had rejected easy success, accepted the horrendous criticism, and then made the sort of album most bands dream of--a subtle work of genius.
-Tucker Stone, 2006
Los Lobos took three years to follow up Kiko, and when they did, they released Music From Papa’s Dream, a children’s album with Papa Lalo Guerrero, “the father of Chicano music.” Music From Papa’s Dream ran from traditional Mexican music to “Wooly Bully” and “La Bamba.” But this only made plain what was evident on Kiko—that Los Lobos was a band in love with innocence, viewing a beguiling world through youthful eyes. “Kiko and the Lavender Moon,” from which the album takes its title, describes a boy (presumably) who sleeps until dark, comes out when no one else is around, and dances until he falls asleep again. The song itself creeps along with a Latin rhythm, keyboards and even accordion—essentially, it’s a lullaby, albeit a somewhat creepy one. “Dream In Blue” opens the album astutely, with singer David Hidalgoasking at one point, “Am I real or still in a dream?”
As great albums go, Kiko doesn’t do a whole lot to call attention to itself. When people talk about it, they either mention that it’s “wildly experimental” and that Los Lobos utilize the best parts of rock & roll, blues, and traditional Spanish music to create their unique sound. All of this is true—the mystical airiness that producer Mitchell Froom brings to the record can also be found in Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot—but none of it is what immediately draws you into the album. No, it’s the sense of mythology and fairy tale. Los Lobos not only sing about nymphs and saints, but the songs themselves sound like otherworldly stories. On Kiko, Los Lobos push rock & roll out of the mundane and into the fantastic. They do so simply and profoundly. A casual listen might yield a description like the one offered by Los Lobos on their 1993 collection—Just Another Band From East L.A. But anyone who has listened intimately to Kiko, will hear it with the same mystery and wonder as when we all heard our first fairy tales.
-Marty Brown, 2006
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