Words: Ayfer Simms
Xenia Rubinos ‘Black Terry Cat’
LP released by ANTI-
Abundantly funky, the album is a fist raised high above the head, above the wild mane of the singer, the sound folks, a fist that says it is time to assert our being, here and now because we are drenched: 100 years, 200 years, 300 years of history latched onto our corpses, we must not shut our lips.
Xenia Rubinos wants to bite, deep. She sings like an intimidating snake in the outback, her venom appears thick and long, like a spitted chewing gum from the mouth of another, yet she is like candy. She must understand the coarse skin of the enemy, perhaps teach a few lessons, she must not fear but simply face it, sing with it, groove with it, with tunes that make our tendons tremble.
The music vibrates all over the streets, green fields, through reinforced concrete buildings, while something in her gaze shows assertiveness; she is like a one eyed titan who whispers “swallow your pride human child”. She is a primitive aura, she scatters free lyrics, her power of coolness, some strong footsteps, and she scoffs a little, to plague built up values; she is a pas de dance for those who get sent off without a letter of recommendation.
Rubinos chooses distortion, a brave hop of the finger to who ever, and while she flares, up in the air, her sweet face, smiling, adorn the perfect racy street kitten cape to greet you. She is a woman created by Picasso in his own image, huge, enormous, present, Rubinos, a nude from 1906. Hip, Hop and soul, nutty, bold, uncurbed, a fierce voice, with spasmodic rhythms, familiar though. Disguised in an urban daredevil, there’s no real grudge here, style and subjects are up to date, the banter is mutual, the succeeding embrace even stronger. Her battle of the raised fist is to boost consciousness, for the better and worse but really for the better.