LPR Presents: Diles que no me maten — live event
Founded by brothers Raúl (drums) and Gerardo (guitar) Ponce in 2017 in a CDMX scene set to bubble over, Diles bonded over a shared improvisational language that grew more complex and fluid with each revelatory rehearsal and electric live performance. The fiery mix of raw elements that fueled their 2020 debut EP Cayó de su Gloria el Diablo and LP Edificio coalesced into solid-built but shapeshifting entities on their breakout album La Vida de Alguien Más and its free-flowing follow-up Obrigaggi. Together with the Ponces, Andrés Lupone (bass), Jerónimo Elizondo-García (guitar, clarinet), and Jonás Derbez (vocals, saxophone) have crafted a sound that’s as unpredictable as it is distinct. In a makeshift studio space in their hometown’s Santa María La Ribera neighborhood, Diles created Escrito en Agua through a process of intense experimentation and refinement, guided gently by their longtime collaborator turned producer Sebastián Rojas. This setting gave these recordings a scrappy mutability; unencumbered by the hi-fi confines of an official studio, they were free to tinker with their unruly creations, breaking them down and reassembling their best parts in a way they’d never done before. It’s evident from the opening notes of Escrito en Agua that Diles have entered a new chapter. Instrumental intro “Las Noches Que Dormimos en Sillas” (“The Nights We Sleep on Chairs”) was first conceived as a “Goth Duke Ellington arrangement” by Andrés before some technical malfunctions and a guest performance from legendary saxophonist Alain Derbez (Jonás’s father) led the band to realize the song would sound better an octave higher. Thus, its lugubrious tones became less moody and more spiritual. They leaned in, injecting elements of funerary music from Oaxaca’s Sierra Mixe that elevate the song far beyond its playful original premise. The track sets the tone for an album that, while possessing no airs of religiosity, is as transcendent as gospel. This aura is put into words on lead single “Hiriku,” which finds Jonás interpreting José Vincente Anaya’s epic poetic vision quest Híkuri (Peyote) over frenetic krautrock instrumentation. “La mitad que soy no existe, y la mitad que existe no soy,” he repeats with mantra-esque calm in the song’s second half (“The half I am doesn’t exist, and I am not the half that exists”). This egocidal phrase, ripped directly from the poem, is a gauntlet of sorts; leave your previous self behind as you enter this record. “Cierro los ojos para ver un lugar donde no estoy,” he sings elsewhere (“I close my eyes to see a place where I am not”). Sonically, the high-octane “Hiriku” is an exception on a record full of unhurried reflection. Escrito en Agua’s languid tone is due in large part to Raúl’s decision to pare down his drumming to its most minimal form. “I wanted to make all the drums on the album really tame,” he says. “I really like that feeling of having less things so you can concentrate on all the other things that are happening at the same time.” Gerardo took a similar tack in his approach to guitar on the album. “Silence is a big element of the record,” he says, “the spaces that you take in silence and the silence you make after you play.” If “Hiriku” is Escrito en Agua’s thematic looking glass, “Perquisidor” is its encryption key. Translating roughly to “Investigator,” the song’s title character is more of an observant wanderer than a traditional detective. “It’s wandering not in the sense of being lost, just in the sense of seeking something,” Jonás clarifies. “But you're not specifically seeking something that is a goal. You're only seeking details. I think of it as wandering with a clear vision of something that you cannot discover. You're on the trail of something that you know you're not gonna figure out, but you're still paying attention to these clues.”
Starts: 2026-11-12T20:00:00Z
Ends: 2026-11-13T12:00:00Z
Where: 80 North 6th Street, New York 11249, United States
Price: $0.0