Remedios by Le Parody

Ya no se usan remedios. Se buscan soluciones, medidas urgentes, pero no remedios. Remedios suena a otra época: añeja, lenta. Desde el inicio de su nuevo álbum Le Parody reivindica ese tiempo más denso. Ante la emergencia, Remedios.
La lógica de la hiperproductividad aplicada a la creación no va con la filosofía de Le Parody. Cinco años han pasado desde Porvenir (2019), el disco más complejo y profundo de la compositora y productora andaluza. Media década atravesada por una pandemia y los calores de la crisis climática, dos hitos que no pasan desapercibidos en Remedios. Un álbum donde nos deslumbran soles sintéticos, donde podemos tumbarnos en jardines de polietilieno y en el que las noches hiperiluminadas no dan tregua.
Si en Porvenir Sole Parody quiso contar emociones complejas con palabras muy simples, en Remedios ha sudado haciendo el ejercicio contrario, rebuscando en el lenguaje para contar historias sencillas. Para Hondo (2015), su segundo disco, se arropó del silencio de una casa solitaria en medio de un olivar en Jaén. El silencio que ha acompañado a la gestación de Remedios es uno bien distinto, más frágil: el de una casa en la que un bebé duerme.
En esos ratitos impredecibles escribió Sole Parody las letras de Remedios y así es cómo le dio la vuelta a su proceso de creación. En este nuevo disco son los versos los que han guiado los pasos de la música y no al revés. Con ellos ha tratado de responder a una pregunta: ¿cómo habitaremos el postapocalipsis? Hay genuina curiosidad en ese interrogante: ¿cómo nos vestiremos? ¿cómo será el folclore? Y la más importante, ¿cómo será la vida buena en el apocalipsis? Remedios podría parecer así una celebración de la distopía, pero es sencillamente una manera de vivirla. El gran remedio es una verbena.

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Remedies are no longer sought. Solutions are pursued, urgent measures, but not remedies. Remedios sounds like something from another era: old, slow. "How monstrous is haste, and the protest that tames." From the beginning of her new album, Le Parody has defended that denser concept of time. In the face of urgency, Remedios.
The logic of hyperproductivity applied to creation does not align with Le Parody's philosophy. Five years have passed since Porvenir (2019), the most complex and profound album by the Andalusian composer and producer. Half a decade marked by a pandemic and the intensifying heat of the climate crisis—two milestones that do not go unnoticed in Remedios. It is an album where we are dazzled by synthetic suns, where we can lie down in polyethylene gardens, and where hyper-lit nights offer no respite.
These 10 new songs place us in a strange landscape, akin to a metaphysical painting, where the order of classical architecture contrasts with the irruption of futuristic elements, coexisting under skies of saturated colors. Central to Le Parody’s work are the beat’s presence and forcefulness, sharing space with her roots (in this case Andalusian, yes, but also Iberian), the relentless sound of drums and trumpets. To fill everything with color are her meticulously polished lyrics, which capture simple ideas with precision.
If in Porvenir, Sole Parody sought to express complex emotions through simple words, in Remedios, she has labored to do the opposite—searching through language to tell simple stories. This is her most carefree album; it is Le Parody’s most joyful work. She acknowledges that it is the first time she hasn’t suffered while making an album, and the rhythm that governed it has a lot to do with the lightness that permeates the songs. Whereas for Hondo (2015), her second album, she cocooned herself in the silence of a solitary house in the middle of an olive grove in Jaén, the silence that accompanied Remedios’ gestation was of a very different, more fragile kind: that of a house where a baby sleeps.
In those unpredictable moments, Sole Parody wrote the lyrics for Remedios, and in doing so, she reversed her creative process. In this album, the verses guided the music, rather than the other way around. Through them, she sought to answer a question: how will we inhabit the post-apocalypse? There is genuine curiosity in that question: how will we dress? What will folklore look like? And most importantly, what will the good life look like in the apocalypse? Remedios might seem like a celebration of dystopia, but it is simply a way of living through it. The great remedy is a verbena.
Once the cataclysm was accepted, Sole embraced the joy: after spending years immersed in production, she wanted to sing again. Thus, the songs on Remedios boast a shamelessly pop sound, with an intention rooted in popular song—the pure art of storytelling through singing. Tongue twisters, riddles, or even spells conspire to celebrate that primal pleasure.
Another twist to the process: before recording the album, Sole Parody knew how she wanted it to sound live—voice, electronics, and two trumpets. The ones heard on the album were performed by the Italian Ersilia Prosperi, and they were, in fact, the first elements to be recorded. At the other end of the process, we find the collaboration of Brazilian producer Kiko Dinucci, who brought the weight of a musical culture in which the boundaries between pop and tradition are blurred. The powerful voice of Miguelito Garcia (a.k.a Dandy Piranha, from Derby Motoreta's Burrito Kachimba) is also a pleasant surprise, as is the boldness of Puttaneska, the festive solemnity of the Transfeminist Fanfare of Madrid, and the audacious arrangements by Julián Mayorga.
This constellation of references and collaborations makes Remedios a place where folklore is not confined to an exact root but aspires to universality. Le Parody is inextricably connected to a scene that modernizes traditional codes, but after more than a decade dedicated to the art of creating songs, she can proudly say her music breathes in a world of its own. Remedios, with its pain and beauty, is the confirmation.

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