There was a surreal moment in February when, scrolling through my feed, I became briefly convinced that Sting had cult-napped Ca7riel & Paco Amoroso.
The evidence was a deadpan video of the "Every Breath You Take" singer welcoming two traumatised-looking Argentine pop stars into something called the Free Spirits Wellness Centre. It took a sec to work out that this announced the new album from the smooth-voiced, mulleted, snarly-pouting Ca7riel and his friend since childhood, gravelly sounding and perpetually wide-eyed Paco Amoroso. What was going on?
If you're not yet acquainted, the duo exploded into the international scene via one of the most watched NPR Tiny Desk concerts (now north of 49 million views) and have been burning through Grammys, Glastonbury slots and their own nervous systems at roughly equal speed ever since. We've watched them stumble – first enthusiastically, then somewhat deliriously – through the aftermath in real time: a jazz-funk reworking of their debut, alongside satirical skits charting two local boys drowning in industry excess, impostor syndrome and the hedonistic lure of fame and the crushing realities it brings.
Free Spirits retains the chaotic energy of a band seemingly intent on collapsing the venue around them, but turns that slightly inward. Beneath the conceptual absurdity (and there is plenty), this is a more assured record: the production is sleeker, and the sound is settling into itself.
The duo’s taste for theatrical absurdity peaks early with “Goo Goo Ga Ga,” featuring Jack Black, a surreal detour into the faux wellness centre where infantilism becomes therapy. (Watch the video to see them stumbling out of a cryogenic chamber in babygros). Its kitsch bossa-nova and 1950s jingle pastiche suggest some kind of warped re-birth, and rejuvenation.
“No Me Sirve Más,” is a glitterball rejection of past selves that feels primed for a cameo from Madonna, while “Ay Ay Ay,” with Anderson .Paak, leans into caricature with stomping folk rhythms and knowingly outrageous bravado. “Vida Loca” drifts on a languid summer samba, charting the comedown from fleeting fame, with the lyrics: "Yesterday I was flying high, and today I'm falling / Before, I was head over heels for myself, look how time flies / Saturday in Hollywood / Monday I came back down to my hometown / And all that I lost, I'm only just now feeling it." “Nada Nuevo” (“nothing new to report”) and “Todo Ray” (“everything’s alright”) catalogue dysfunction – bankruptcy, insomnia, alcoholism – with a knowing, side-eyed shrug.
“Hasta Jesús Tuvo Un Mal Día,” bolstered by Sting, is the trio's Kumbaya moment with whispers of stadium rock and a refrain of "Even Jesus Had a Bad Day".
Elsewhere, the pair revel in stylistic whiplash: “Ha Ha” mutates from perfumed sway to glitchy unease, distorting into something low and unsettling; “Soy Increíble” channels Michael Jackson-style high-gloss with dancefloor handclaps, and “Lo Quiero Ya!” begins with something like a choral Aramaic prayer before Fred Again’s relentless minimal industrial pulse takes over.
Free Spirits is sharp, self-knowing and surprisingly well-behaved for two people who once army-crawled across party floors. The wellness concept might not be earnest recovery, but it is a clear-eyed, well-constructed meditation on carrying on regardless, made by two people who are, improbably, still exactly themselves.
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