When diving into Latin American idioms, Uchis is unstoppable. Latina mode is fully enabled. For “Te Mata,” the Colombian-American returns to the bolero after first exploring the style through covers of La Lupe and Los Zafiros from Sin Miedo. Female bolero singers have been cemented in the cultural memory as hysterical, miserable divas, but with “Te Mata,” Uchis joins a rising wave of new artists reinterpreting the form as an expression of power. Over soft Spanish guitar and jagged string arrangements, Uchis sings about her role as “diabla” in the story of a selfish lover, only to realize she's much better off without him (the kicker: she finds her new autonomy so painful that might kill him ). While not quite as powerful a vocal force as La Lupe, Uchis' hushed performance is still lovely, channeling the wounded desperation and hard-won freedom of the women who came before her.
After a sad hour though, it's time for Uchis to burn down some old school reggaeton. Built on an updated instrumental by Andy Boy and DJ Blass “Dem Bow,” “Muñekita” enlists JT El Alfa and City Girls for three and a half minutes of knee-crushing magic fueled by Kali's feline purrs, El Alfa's temptation breakdown, and JT's astonishing levels of shade. He has a great collection of one-liners. I highly recommend adding “sana, sana, colita de rana, bitch” to your arsenal of slander. “Labios Mordidos,” featuring fellow Paisa Karol G, is a sapphic ode to a dancefloor diosa as sweet as arepas de choclo; His kicks are hard, his moans are orgasmic and his lyrics are devilishly welcoming.
Ventures into new genres are also exciting. “No Hay Ley Parte 2”, a remake of 2022 singles, adds a smutty dembow riddim to the original '90s production, courtesy of superstars Tainy, El Guincho, Jam City, Ovy on the Drums and Geeneus. The new arrangement also features a come-ons verse from Puerto Rican playboy Rauw Alejandro. His dirty talk is a fitting accompaniment to Uchis' breeze. Along with added reggaeton percussion, it lifts “No Hay Ley” to a blissful climax.
On closer 'Dame Beso // Muévete', Uchis indulges in '90s merenda. True to form, she puts her own pleasure at the song's thematic center, and you can practically imagine an icy President in your hand, sweat dripping down your back as Los Toros Band and Toño Rosario blast from a speaker. Halfway through, the band picks up the tempo to a full-on perico ripiao; it's an unexpected party trick and exuberant mission designed for Saturday morning cleaning efficiency.
Uchis has built her entire repertoire on stories of seduction and anguish, fantasies where women and women can be both evil and tender. On “Me Pongo Loca,” he spells out this bare truth: “Digo que a mí me vale cero/Pero tampoco soy hecha de hielo” (“I say I don't care at all/But I'm not made of either ice”). Orchids, the Kali Uchis Doctrine of Reina ideology—in which dead goddesses never need to send a message—is stronger than ever. Most importantly, its sound Orchids it represents the fluidity of being a child of the diaspora — even if the suits will never get it.
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