“Oh, so you DO like music in Spanish?“

I definitely would expect my readers to ask that question. Also some skeptics certainly would claim that writing about one of the most famous albums of Latin rock, by one of the most recognized Latin American bands isn’t actually commendable when it comes to show interest for Latin music.

Anyway, Soda Stereo’s Canción Animal was and still is 30 years later, a cornerstone in the evolution of the genre in Argentina and the whole Latin American region. Its full embrace of distorted guitar, alternative rhythms and expansive instrumentation represented a shift in the new wave-leaning sound Soda Stereo had preferred during the 80s, all taken to a high level of excellence.

The results are amazingly succesful and the album is relentlessly popular. Single ‘De Música Ligera’ is probably the most ubiquitous latin rock song in history. And maybe you, like me, are a little tired of it, but as I revisited the album for this review I realized what a good song it is. A crunchy riff, a straightforward pop structure, a melodic solo and an unforgettable melody all add up to make an absolute behemoth of a song. Of course, it isn’t nearly the best in the album, and that’s why we’re here.

Opener ‘El Séptimo Día’ has a quite unique drum rhythm and a towering riff. Singer-songwriter and frontman, Gustavo Cerati, uses his powerful, grunge-leaning voice as he poetically describes things as if he’s awaiting for the biblical ‘seventh day’. It’s a punchy rock track that establishes quite well the direction the band was taking in this record. This kind of stadium-ready rock is present also in ‘Sueles Dejarme Solo’, ‘Hombre Al Agua’ and ‘Un Millón De Años Luz’, all of them became synonymous with utter catharsis in the band’s shows in the nineties and their brief return for a world tour in 2007.

Actually, this album is their main focus on that tour. Being that they were already a legendary band, morphing their sound to something bigger and wider would be immediately succesful, and being the talented musicians Cerati, Charli Alberti and ‘Zeta’ Bosio were, the tour was a towering success. All of the songs played from albums preceding Canción Animal were given a punchy outline, with more distorted guitars, powerful live drums and Cerati’s penchant for dramatizing his own vocals and even twitching the lyrics here and there.

Naturally, the sound was overwhelmingly well-recieved by fans, and the tour was documented in two CDs and a DVD, with highlights from many of the gigs. And Canción Animal was the beginning of this. The band was already a hit-maker in Latin America when the album came out. Its predecessors Doble Vida and Signos had positioned the band as one of the most important in Argentina and the region. But it’s safe to say that with Canción Animal they exploded.

That success was also driven by the universe-reaching style of the record. Cerati speaks to the heavens, describes love as a fleeting thing we must cherish and even oh-so-painfully croons about a love-triangle. His lyrics have been frequently drenched in a kind of surrealistic romanticism, influenced by mid-20th century Latin American literature and the post-punk movement in the US. In this album, the tracks are more straightforward, but they are not deprived of Gustavo’s epiphany-inducing lyrics.

The aforementioned love triangle is recounted in the beautiful ballad ‘Té Para Tres’ as a three-way tea party in which the narrator thinks he’s the one being left behind. In ‘Entre Caníbales’, Cerati demands to his loved one to tear him apart, as if she were a cannibal, in other to understand how he feels. ‘Un Millón de Años Luz’ with its Guitar Hero-worthy opening, sees a man asking to his ex-lover to not return, because he will be far away from home.

After listening Soda Stereo’s hits all my life, in my adolescence I decided to dive deep in their discography. My immediate conclusion was that the trio was a more compelling and intricate act than what their radio staples showcased. Canción Animal, while not their most musically groundbreaking effort (see their 90s output for that), was their climax. A perfect combination of arena-ready rock songs and an opportunity for the band to add nuance and texture to their music. The apex of a band that had already won the hearts of many in a continent; that had already left their mark in their country’s music, after starting in garages all around Buenos Aires only a decade before.

Closer ‘Cae el Sol’ is the more 80s sounding song of the album. A keyboard-driven ballad with big drums, in which Cerati passionately and with his unmistakable style describes what I can only think it’s a sunset in his native Buenos Aires. While his historical and boisterous home-city is a recurring theme in his songwriting, here it takes a more ethereal meaning. Is like if the band decided to return home after traveling far away into deep space (a place where, I figure, Gustavo Cerati now recides) with their big riffs and catchy melodies. A perfect ending to Canción Animal, an album that needs no introduction at this point and yet, three decades later, is a brightening and amazingly fun listening experience all the same.