Brazilian singer-song-writer-guitarist Vinicius Cantuaria is best known for spare, progressive bossa nova of the highest, most haunting order. Frisell? He's the Buddha of jazz-guitar timbre, with equally wise footing in country swing and bluegrass, with an ambient swell all his own.
They've collaborated in past outings, but Lagrimas Mexicanas, their first full-on teaming, finds them primed for weirdly atmospheric, Spanish-language pop that borrows from their musical and ethnic lineage without sounding like anything either (or anyone) has done previously. As the guitars intertwine with the brittle delicacy of a fresh spider web, Cantuaria's supple baritone saunters through the stunning array of (occasionally rough) textures and rhythms in a manner evocative of Joao Gilberto.
The ride is bumpier than bossa's usual cool on the dozily spaced-out, wah-wah-infused "Mi Declaracion"; the calm, watery wonk of "El Camino"; and the fuzz-toned "Calle 7," with its nuanced brand of norteno.
