Kinky

Ok, yes, the name is great, and yes, why didn't any other band snag it before? Moving on, Kinky is a sexy, saucy collective of five Mexican members of the ever-growing global groove republic. Their spirited, hedonistic, celebratory Latin beat has the near-magical power to transport you to a Bacchanalian rave-up in the middle of a desert, complete with eclectic electronic sampling ("Great Spot"), disco-y funk ("Ejercicio #16), otherworldly vocals, mesmerising house ("San Antonio"), jazzy horns ("Soun Tha Mi Primer Amor") and earth-quaking bass ("Mas"). For a while this all keeps your feet kicking up clouds of dust with hips shimmying better than Shakira's, but soon the consistency breaks, the smooth transitions become choppy and drops of confusion seep in to mingle with the drops of sweat already covering your body. This is when the record leaps into sensory overload to the point of spontaneous combustion; a sonic onslaught of sounds pulled down from multiple genres, making you dizzy and bad-tripping like that jalapeno Homer ate one time. All of a sudden as the steel drums grow deafening at that bacchanalia, the shirtless, hairy-chested, buggy-eyed man next to you goes ballistic with a damned whistle in your ear, you leap away from him to fall into a huge cactus only to be bitten by the cranky Gila monster trying to nap. You crawl away into the sunrise with only that cryptic coyote as your guide, not sure if you'll ever make it home again from this hot, hot, hot soundscape.