Lead single “K Me Maten” goes darker. Over distorted electric guitar and drums full of melancholy, Fay compares a relationship to a drug addiction: He begs his lover to consume him, spit him out, drown him in love, and break his heart, then turns around to ask for forgiveness and confess the flaws he can barely say out loud. It’s toxic and obsessive, and it works because he commits completely to the bit. “Socorro” explores the struggles the duo has faced, a look at an industry that rewards artists for rejecting their roots, with a nod to Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue tucked into its closing lines. It’s one of the gentlest tracks of the bunch, with an acoustic guitar loop and haunting atmospheric production. On the Nick León co-produced “Mémoire,” a more straightforward rap track, they check off the spoils of their newfound fame—Michelin restaurants, Herman Miller chairs—while admitting that success still feels strange.
The project is an intimate listen held together by acoustic textures and unpolished mixes. The vocals sit right on top of unfiltered guitars, with intense bass and reverb that make even the cockiest lines sound like they were recorded alone. That closeness makes their hedonistic whirlwind sound like an idyllic nightmare, dressing up stories about drugs, romance, and border culture in deceptively pretty sounds. Closer “Felina,” written by Malva, shows a softer, more delicate side of the duo. It’s another confession, this time to a “felina peligrosa” (“dangerous feline”) who’s with someone else, and it holds both sides of a toxic situation at once. “Quizás no te he escrito, pero te he extrañado” (“Maybe I haven’t written to you, but I’ve missed you”), he admits, in between promising to take off her Raf Simons and telling her to placate her boyfriend, and the line hangs there like an unsent text.
When Fay’s swagger and Malva’s longing share the same space, Corridos Ketamina land on something entirely their own. But when they lean too hard on their influences, a few moments feel more like a moodboard than a song. On “Mémoire,” the glossier beat and flow feel borrowed rather than absorbed, a nod to a scene instead of a song that needed them. The record comes back to its peak when the pair stop sounding like their references and let their humor and personalities lead.
Cktriz is Corridos Ketamina’s most complete statement yet, a tight and layered record that reworks Mexican American identity instead of simply reflecting it. Corridos Ketamina treat their roots as a palette, juxtaposing buchonas and Björk, Jalisco and Rick Owens, outlaw ballads and Midwest emo riffs, and refusing to give any of it up for an easier lane. By the end, the questions from “Modo Tarantino” answer themselves. Who produced it, who’s playing the guitar, who designed it? Two guys from Pomona and Phoenix who, at their best, refuse to sound like anyone else.
