DEPRESIÓN SONORA

Marcos Crespo was born in Vallecas in 1997. The biographical note is not a whim: the themes of his songs explore the concerns of a twenty-something from the suburbs as he navigates the emotional turbulence of the life stage he faces. In the musical section, he draws on post-punk originating in past decades, but his speech x-rays a present that is his and that of an entire generation tired, anxious and pushed with no alternative to hyperproductivism. His lyrics have archival value, a testimony of his own time. If you have not grown up in this context of digital dominance and economic recessions, it may be a little more difficult for you to understand it, no matter how much you can still enjoy it.

Surely, this explains the early success of Depresion Sonora in Mexico and the sold outs of their first concerts in Madrid. The origins of the project date back to 2020, a fateful year in which Marcos, locked in his room, did everything while nothing happened outside. The situation determined the marked introspective nature of the five cuts that make up his self-titled EP. That debut, published on his own account first and recovered in physical format by Sonido Muchacho months later, revealed to us the virtues that he would later confirm in successive releases. The punch and melodic success of songs like “There is no summer anymore” showed that we were facing a diamond in the rough.

In 2021, “Sad Stories to Sleep Well,” a new five-track EP, extended his state of grace and confirmed Depresion Sonora as a sensation on both sides of the Atlantic. This work served to underpin a lo-fi sound dominated by chewy drum machines and hammering bass lines. Successes like “Virtual Apocalypse”, “You don’t have to save me” or “Gasoline and lighter” were fuel to propel the first tours through Latin America and Spain, hanging the “no tickets” sign wherever they went.

With the publication of his debut album came consecration. “The art of dying very slowly” can be understood as the nihilistic and sarcastic reverse of those self-help manuals to which Marcos and those his age have been overexposed. It is a concept album divided into three parts, each addressing different vital stages. “Part I: Introduction to Entropy” conveys a certain innocence that is not without bad temper. The second block of songs, headed by “Part II: I hug her tightly (letter to loneliness)”, has a more saturated sound. With the end of the work comes acceptance, “Part III: death and resurrection.” Thus concludes a chronicle that, as personal as it is, ends up challenging an entire generation. What is personal and non-transferable is the sound patented by Depresion Sonora: digital but with its feet on the ground, post-punk for a post-everything moment.