It is striking that a 22-year-old boy would opt for such a format. vintage like the album. In a time where the sparks of TikTok burn the neurons of thousands of people related to social networks, the youngest Spanish pop star arrives and delivers Good night, an album of 18 songs with a duration of 56 minutes, an intention to treat music with pause, intensity and depth. The bad news is that it all remains an ambitious idea poorly executed.
Quevedo’s first album, Where I want to be (2023), I had the grace of listening to a young man telling how amazing and sometimes funny it is to experience a dizzying success like his, which skyrocketed when the fashion producer, the Argentine Bizarrap, decided to have him for the already famous Let me (real name BZRP Music Sessions, Vol. 52). Quevedo went from zero to a thousand in a few weeks, a humble class kid in a whirlwind of popularity. He told this with a certain charm in songs like I’m missing something o Where I want to be, located on your debut disk.
It is Good night paints differently. It starts well, with kassandra, a song about famous young people uncomfortable with fame with a bass line that keeps the musical tension untapped. Interesting. From there we get into a handful of easy topics about sex with a tendency toward the tawdry and, worst of all, with zero sense of humor. Some examples, without insisting too much: “We got into the Ford Transit, to hit it hard, hard, hard” (Stand); “I don’t trust it, I don’t fuck anymore, they just suck me off” (Equals); “Baby, to tell the truth, I was crazy to fuck you.” (125); “Sorry I’m going crazy I wanna taste ese toto” (Shibatto); “Then we fuck and you stay the night” (The days numbered). Listen, there is no problem with talking about that wonderful habit that is sex, but as long as it is done with a little more intention, and perhaps appealing to poetry, or with a little irony.
in the song Same Quevedo makes it clear that he belongs to that part of the population still anchored in past postulates: “All men are equal. / We just want to ride in a McLaren. / Money, women and abs. / I know it hurts you, but baby it’s the truth.” And, based on this gesture of sincerity, fuck…
There is some respite from this theme, as in How disgusting everything isa song that exposes the ugly side of notoriety over a good melody. Or in I failed you, a piece of heartbreak where the best verse of the album sneaks in: “I’m listening to Amaral’s old songs, number 1 everywhere except in your heart.” Musically, no great discoveries are heard either, except for those indicated above. There is reggaeton, electronic music for all audiences, hip hop, commercial pop… Nothing that hasn’t already been heard. The collaborators (Aitana, Rels B, Pitbull…) fail to raise the level, although it is always a pleasure to listen to the expressive Yung Beef.
And what seemed like a noble idea (a long album in times of no ability to concentrate) ends up being a mess.