LOS AMIGOS INVISIBLES THE VENEZUELAN ZINGA SON, VOL. 1
After three years of denying the world their deliciously lascivious, jiggle-worthy music, Los Amigos Invisibles return with their third album—and somewhat disappoint. Sure, The Venezuelan Zinga Son, Vol. 1 is the aural equivalent of an up-all-night fuckfest, with tracks seamlessly thrusting into one another despite glistening over an orgy of dance-floor genres, from endless disco blips to wistful bossa nova to scorching salsa. And the sheer irresistibility of the Los Amigos sound remains—you will slam your ass against another the minute this album kicks in. Sorely missed on this record, though, is the piss-out-loud humor from their previous two efforts that pegged the Venezuelan sextet as the most enjoyable group of sexists since the Adult Video News trade show. No more clever, eminently hummable odes to doggy-style lovin', S&M-practicing cops and facial zits—since most of The Venezuelan Zinga Son's songs run upward of four minutes per the club aesthete it successfully tries to re-create, the beats take precedent over the message, resulting in rather limp reflections on girls, their asses and bikinis that titillate. And still . . . those beats—dreamy electronic swirls, jams that could last a thousand nights, all the stuff of club favorites. If you approach The Venezuelan Zinga Son through this purely grooving standard, then it's a goodie—and history's finest scintillator is "Esto es lo Que Hay" ("This is What There Is"), a number whose off-the-Richter congas and serpentine keyboards are emblematic of the best example of tropical music since Batista was ceding Cuba to the mob. Too bad Los Amigos couldn't throw a dick joke in there to liven things up, though. (Gustavo Arellano)
Los Amigos Invisibles perform with Volován, Zoé and Un Chingo De Bandas aboard The Queen Mary, 1126 Queens Hwy., Long Beach, (213) 351-1387. Sat., 8 p.m. $40. All ages.