Play Public List
Information about plays
list: List of plays
retrieve: Information about a specific play by ID
GET /v2/plays/?format=api&offset=20
{ "next": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/?format=api&limit=20&offset=40", "previous": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/?format=api&limit=20", "results": [ { "id": 3606522, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606522/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:38:10-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "hachiko bangbang!", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "siempre no", "artist_ids": [], "album": "hachiko bangbang!", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": null, "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“hachiko bangbang!” is a late-2025 single by siempre no, released November 28, and its hook is as shocking as it is sticky: a pop-rock jolt that uses a grotesque, hyper-specific image to force attention. Coverage around the release explicitly highlights the provocative premise (“my mom killed my dog”), and the band leans into that discomfort with a chorus designed to stick—repetition that turns a headline into a chant. The track’s impact is partly structural: under two minutes, it doesn’t dilute the idea. It states the premise, drives it into memory, and gets out. That economy makes it potent for radio. It is the kind of song listeners either rewind immediately or talk about immediately—both are useful outcomes when you’re programming discovery. Conceptually, the Hachikō reference (the famously loyal dog) amplifies the emotional charge: loyalty and care flipped into betrayal and absurd violence, which can read as satire, catharsis, or a deliberately offensive fable depending on the listener. On air, it’s worth framing as “catchy but intentionally disturbing,” so the audience understands the band is playing with shock and narrative. It functions best as a pivot track: drop it when you want to break predictability. \u2028\n\nListen: https://open.spotify.com/album/0AVfmKOtfdzogRsDEcSKJR", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606521, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606521/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:36:35-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Rayos gamma", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Tórax y las extremidades", "artist_ids": [], "album": "EXTINCION PRESENTA", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2025-09-26", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Rayos gamma” is track two on EXTINCIÓN PRESENTA:, released September 26, 2025 by Tórax y las extremidades. The album format is built around short, high-impact cuts, and “Rayos gamma” fits that design: a compact statement that implies danger, radiation, and irreversible change in its title alone. Bandcamp credits confirm the release context, which is important here because the song functions as part of a sequence rather than a standalone single. In a record like this, track two often carries a specific job: it proves the opener wasn’t a fluke, and it locks the album’s tempo into place. “Rayos gamma” reads like that lock. Even without inventing musical specifics, the structure and packaging tell you what to expect: fast execution, direct intent, and minimal wasted motion. For radio or DJ use, it works best inside a punk block where short songs create momentum through accumulation. It can also serve as a sharp reset between longer tracks, especially if you want to shift into a harsher, more urgent register. If you’re building narrative on air, the “gamma rays” metaphor is a gift: invisible forces doing visible damage. The title alone gives you a conceptual intro, then the song does the rest quickly. \u2028\n\nListen: https://toraxylasextremidades.bandcamp.com/track/rayos-gamma-2", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606520, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606520/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:35:30-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "https://coverartarchive.org/release/62dcde85-5c60-4e63-a991-b1f806089a78/33481142998-500.jpg", "thumbnail_uri": "https://coverartarchive.org/release/62dcde85-5c60-4e63-a991-b1f806089a78/33481142998-250.jpg", "song": "Bedtime", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Prison Affair", "artist_ids": [ "85d53d76-8191-42b8-8512-88267cffa694" ], "album": "Demo III", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": "466a28a9-e9ee-4d41-b81b-d0340c29df5d", "labels": [ "Erste Theke Tonträger" ], "label_ids": [ "15f0dbde-4147-48a8-bf1e-d08282486465" ], "release_date": "2022-05-03", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Bedtime” is a one-minute jolt from Prison Affair’s Demo III era (released in 2022), a track that exemplifies the band’s reputation for concise, hyper-energized songwriting. The title is ironic on purpose: nothing about the pacing suggests sleep. Instead, the song hits like a last-circuit burst—fast, bright, and gone before you can overthink it. Bandcamp’s presentation around Demo III points to a DIY scene footprint (limited cassette runs, small-edition physical releases, and an emphasis on direct distribution), which matches the music’s stripped-to-essentials approach. For programming, “Bedtime” is a tactical weapon. It’s perfect as a transition between two longer songs because it punctures the flow without derailing it; or you can stack it with other ultra-short tracks to create a high-speed montage. Short tracks also heighten replay value: listeners often run it back immediately, which is a sign the song understands its own format. If you’re introducing it on air, frame it as “blink and you’ll miss it,” then let the groove speak. It’s also a good example of how “demo” doesn’t mean unfinished—it can mean intentional rawness, a sound that prioritizes energy and presence over polish. \n\n\u2028Listen: https://prisonaffair.bandcamp.com/track/bedtime", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606519, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606519/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:33:47-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Excusa Para El Pogo", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Fama y Guita", "artist_ids": [ "68806a98-3af3-4c02-ac9e-767c51438331" ], "album": "Excusa Para El Pogo", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": null, "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Excusa Para El Pogo” is a 2025 single by Fama y Guita, released as a one-track drop and credited with a collaborator (La Piba Berreta) on major platforms. At roughly a minute and a half, it’s engineered as a burst—more a spark than a long statement. The title translates to “an excuse for the mosh pit,” which is exactly how the song behaves: it doesn’t need to justify itself with narrative complexity; it exists to trigger movement. Short tracks like this usually live or die on immediacy: a hook that hits fast, a rhythm that reads instantly, and a structure that exits before repetition dulls the edge. That’s the strength here. For radio use, it’s a pacing tool. It can reset attention between longer tracks, or it can kick off a punk-adjacent block with a quick surge. Thematically, there’s also an implied satire: calling it an “excuse” suggests the mosh is the point, and everything else is pretext. That self-awareness can play well on air—especially if you frame it as a wink at rock scene rituals while still honoring the physical joy of noise and release. Keep it loud, keep it quick, and let it do its job.\n \n\u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/album/29q4dkyaMkys7t4r87bYlO", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606517, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606517/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:28:30-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Falta de Actitud", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Matando Quimeras", "artist_ids": [], "album": "Falta de Actitud", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2025-10-08", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Falta de Actitud” is presented as a punk-forward single: the title itself is a provocation, implying a refusal to accept passivity—either in oneself or in the scene around you. The track’s pacing and framing suggest direct confrontation, the kind of song meant to be shouted back in a small room rather than analyzed from a distance. It leans on urgency—tight rhythmic drive, guitar pressure that keeps the sound moving, and a vocal approach that reads like a demand rather than a narrative. Even if you don’t parse every lyrical detail on first listen, the emotional message is clear: impatience with complacency, and a push toward action or honesty. The single format helps the impact; it feels designed to hit hard without filler, which is consistent with bands building momentum through short, high-intensity releases. Publicly available info on the band’s broader catalog is limited in comparison to more established acts, so the most reliable read is through the track’s own cues: title, energy, and the way it stakes a position quickly. In a sequence, it works as a jolt—something you drop in when you want the room to wake up.\u2028\n\nListen: https://matandoquimeras.bandcamp.com/", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606518, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606518/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:27:44-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "comment": "", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "airbreak" }, { "id": 3606516, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606516/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:25:40-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Conurbeach", "track_id": null, "recording_id": "f27d61c9-7554-42a2-937c-6b8a0a6b0dbf", "artist": "La Primera Especie", "artist_ids": [ "77b1d829-45c0-43a2-b4e6-3ed4d9297510" ], "album": "La Primera Especie", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": "b583357f-cbe6-4c0b-ab2e-eac8e3d2fc8a", "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2018-12-07", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Conurbeach” feels like a scene report from the outskirts—surf imagery filtered through suburban sprawl, where the “beach” is more attitude than geography. The song’s strength is its indie/alt-rock momentum: it carries forward with a tight rhythm and a melodic line that suggests irony and affection at the same time. There’s an everyday realism in the title—conurbation life reframed as something you can mythologize, even if it’s messy. The arrangement favors clarity: you can hear the structure and the movement, with guitars that alternate between clean drive and slightly rougher edges as emphasis points. Even without overloading the production, the track implies a DIY ethos—songs built in rooms with friends, where the goal is feeling and precision rather than polish for its own sake. As part of the band’s EP context, “Conurbeach” reads like a statement of place: not merely “where we’re from,” but “how we process where we’re from.” If you’re programming music that connects Argentine indie, punk-adjacent energy, and a touch of beach-pop irony, this track fits neatly because it’s accessible while still grounded in a distinct local texture.\u2028\n\nListen: https://laprimeraespecie.bandcamp.com/album/la-primera-especie-ep", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606515, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606515/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:22:14-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Noche de Casino (This Gambling Man)", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Mala Gestión", "artist_ids": [], "album": "Noche de Casino (This Gambling Man)", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2025-11-28", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "Mala Gestión — Noche de Casino (This Gambling Man)\u2028“Noche de Casino (This Gambling Man)” presents Mala Gestión in a tight, late-2025 single format: one song, three minutes, built to feel like a fast scene rather than a full narrative. The title frames the track as nightlife realism with a moral edge—chance, compulsion, and the quiet self-destruction that can hide under charm. Even without extensive public-facing liner notes, the release context gives you the intent: a focused, radio-ready cut that sits alongside the band’s recent run of singles and an album-length statement from 2024. The song works because it balances motion with mood. “Casino” implies glitter and spectacle, but “this gambling man” implies consequences—someone repeating patterns they understand but can’t stop. That tension makes the track useful in sequencing: it can sit in a Latin alternative block, or function as a bridge between punkier material and darker pop-rock. If you introduce it on air, it lands best when framed as character music—less “party” and more “portrait.” It’s compact, hook-forward, and designed to linger just long enough for listeners to want the next track immediately.\n\nListen: https://open.spotify.com/track/5z1qOTwU2nCaGEv6zVsAUQ", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606514, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606514/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:19:56-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Olvidamos", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Sunset Images", "artist_ids": [ "12606bae-9da6-45b3-86f0-6fefae31e3c7" ], "album": "Olvidamos", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": null, "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Olvidamos” is positioned as the opening track for Oscilador (scheduled for release January 23, 2026), and it functions like a thesis statement: direct, rhythmic, and morally charged. The lyrics are striking in their simplicity—short lines repeated like a chant, with “Olvidamos” (“We forget”) acting as accusation and confession at once. A brief excerpt captures the core: “Olvidamos, la sangre / Olvidamos, las vidas / Olvidamos, nuestra humanidad.” The power here is not metaphor; it is insistence. By repeating the phrase, the song mirrors the very mechanism it critiques—how forgetting becomes routine, how repetition can normalize harm. Sonically, Sunset Images present this message with force: dense guitars and bass that emphasize pressure, plus a vocal approach that feels urgent rather than decorative. The broader Oscilador framing also points toward a more structured, mechanically influenced direction in the band’s sound, which makes “Olvidamos” feel like a deliberate opening door into that world. If you want a track that is both cathartic and sharply political in its emotional effect, this is an effective entry.\u2028\n\nListen: https://sunsetimages.bandcamp.com/track/olvidamos", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606513, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606513/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:17:49-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "comment": "", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "airbreak" }, { "id": 3606512, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606512/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:14:34-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "En algún lugar", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Duncan Dhu", "artist_ids": [ "60a14c16-ac69-4898-b0cd-12cb87e327c9" ], "album": "El grito del tiempo", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": "285db527-6d5b-3d91-8852-5af7220080d9", "labels": [ "Grabaciones Accidentales" ], "label_ids": [ "8552891b-5b38-43bc-a32a-fe8533afb65e" ], "release_date": "1987-01-01", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“En algún lugar” is one of the defining tracks of Duncan Dhu’s catalog, widely recognized for its opening image (“En algún lugar de un gran país…”), which immediately frames the song as social longing rather than simple romance. Historically, it is tied to the group’s mid-1980s breakthrough era, and it has circulated in multiple prominent versions across their discography and later compilations. Part of the song’s lasting power is structural: it uses a straightforward pop-rock framework to deliver a lyric that feels like a portrait of absence—home imagined as something that should exist but doesn’t. That “missing shelter” metaphor is why the track can read simultaneously as personal and political, even for listeners who encounter it decades after release. The band’s broader identity (acoustic-forward Spanish pop-rock with a melancholy, folk-leaning edge) supports the song’s emotional clarity: it does not need theatrical vocals or complex production to feel huge. For programming, it functions as a gravity anchor. You can place it as a moment of lyrical focus inside a rock en español block, or use it as a bridge from brighter ’80s material into darker post-punk-adjacent selections. It’s a classic because it remains direct, singable, and quietly devastating. \u2028\n\nListen: https://open.spotify.com/track/3UIENhLRdFIOuRan92cAQu", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606511, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606511/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:08:40-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Formas perdidas de la Máquina", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Caminatas Nocturnas", "artist_ids": [], "album": "Asfodelos", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2025-01-22", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Formas perdidas de la Máquina” sits inside a very specific release container: Caminatas Nocturnas’ Asfódelos EP, issued January 22, 2025 as a four-track, 15-minute project. That context matters because the song reads like part of a short, deliberate arc rather than a standalone single. At just over four minutes, it has enough time to establish a mood, repeat a central idea, and then tighten the screws—longer than a punk flash, but still disciplined. The title suggests a theme of mechanical failure or dehumanization: “lost forms of the machine” can be heard as broken routines, corrupted systems, or identity reduced to function. Without relying on unverifiable lyrical interpretation, the EP framing supports a darker, conceptual tone—music built to feel like pressure rather than decoration. For radio sequencing, this track works as a mid-set deepener: it can bridge faster material and more atmospheric post-punk because it implies motion and tension at the same time. If you introduce it on air, the cleanest angle is the EP itself—short, focused, and designed to be heard as a single statement, with this song as one of its central movement pieces. \u2028\n\nListen: https://open.spotify.com/track/2JFWBvskebawpLySdoL1rl", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606510, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606510/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:05:00-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Santiago II", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Depresión Post-Mortem", "artist_ids": [ "0d407f14-f1df-4fef-bec4-734e2d0dc76d" ], "album": "Santiago II", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2026-01-09", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Santiago II” is a new 2026 single release—formal rollout, one-track drop, with official video support and active platform presence. The title suggests a sequel or second chapter, which is useful because it frames the song as continuation: a return to a place, a feeling, or a narrative thread that wasn’t finished the first time. With limited long-form interviews or track notes surfaced in mainstream sources, the most accurate approach is to lean on what is verifiable: the song is positioned as a current single, and the band’s presentation emphasizes a post-punk leaning aesthetic—tight, moody, and structured for repeat listening. In that framework, “Santiago II” reads as city-music: nocturnal, tense, and emotionally contained rather than openly sentimental. Post-punk works best when it turns restraint into force, and a sequel title often implies exactly that—memory revisited with sharper edges. In programming terms, the track is a strong contemporary marker to place alongside Latin American post-punk and darkwave, especially if you want to highlight what is happening right now rather than leaning on classics. It functions well as a mid-set pivot: modern, direct, and built for momentum.\u2028\n\nListen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCqSM7FLmME", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606509, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606509/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T21:01:00-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "https://coverartarchive.org/release/e795c26e-772c-4389-9848-7ae5efab3ec0/16751219540-500.jpg", "thumbnail_uri": "https://coverartarchive.org/release/e795c26e-772c-4389-9848-7ae5efab3ec0/16751219540-250.jpg", "song": "Soledad y el Mar", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Natalia Lafourcade", "artist_ids": [ "2ceb4e66-4eaa-4dba-ad3a-30df3b742557" ], "album": "Musas: Un homenaje al folclore latinoamericano en manos de Los Macorinos, vol. 1", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": "1d072395-ecbc-4134-bad0-3e591569689c", "labels": [ "Columbia" ], "label_ids": [ "011d1192-6f65-45bd-85c4-0400dd45693e" ], "release_date": "2017-05-05", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Soledad y el Mar” by Natalia Lafourcade comes from the album Musas: Un Homenaje al Folclore Latinoamericano en Manos de Los Macorinos, Vol. 1, released in 2017.\n\nOn this record, Lafourcade revisits and celebrates traditional Latin American folk styles, working closely with the acoustic duo Los Macorinos to create arrangements rooted in bolero, son, and other classic forms. Soledad y el Mar is a gentle, evocative bolero that uses imagery of the ocean to explore themes of solitude, longing, and the bittersweet memories of love. Her expressive vocal delivery and the warm interplay of guitars bring the poetic lyrics to life, making it a standout on an album that’s both a tribute to musical heritage and a deeply personal artistic statement.\n\nIf you want to dive into that rich, folk-infused sound, here’s the official video link: \n\nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AqbjY02-ya0", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606507, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606507/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T20:56:31-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "https://coverartarchive.org/release/81f71194-0314-4f2f-ab78-41adc4e720c5/15674430914-500.jpg", "thumbnail_uri": "https://coverartarchive.org/release/81f71194-0314-4f2f-ab78-41adc4e720c5/15674430914-250.jpg", "song": "La bruja", "track_id": null, "recording_id": "093f989f-7ec3-4dd2-95ba-ea02e7385a66", "artist": "Tlen Huicani & Lino Chávez", "artist_ids": [ "dfd1aa26-929f-4b5c-b1fe-60844600dda4", "00fbb124-1096-43b5-9636-230fe9484933" ], "album": "Veracruz son y huapango", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": "9a106b32-8385-3483-8254-63959fef6a2b", "labels": [ "At Home International Music" ], "label_ids": [ "98803502-775f-456b-9512-485f24dbe223" ], "release_date": "1988-01-01", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“La Bruja” is a classic son jarocho standard, and Tlen Huicani’s recorded version is documented across platforms as part of their Pasión Jarocha release cycle (listed as a 2006 album on major services, with track duration around three minutes). In the son jarocho tradition, songs like “La Bruja” work as communal repertoire—pieces meant to be returned to, reinterpreted, and performed with a sense of ritual and momentum rather than “finished” in a single definitive take. This recording’s presentation supports that: it is credited cleanly, packaged as part of an album sequence, and circulated in official “provided to YouTube” distribution formats that typically reflect catalog management rather than informal uploads. For programming, “La Bruja” is extremely useful when you want tradition without museum-stillness. It carries rhythmic lift and melodic familiarity, making it approachable for listeners who may not already be deep into Veracruz repertoire. At the same time, it can serve as cultural grounding inside a modern set: it resets the ear toward acoustic clarity and collective pulse. If you place it between contemporary tracks, it acts like a palette cleanser that still maintains movement. If you place it next to other Mexican folk or experimental reinterpretations, it becomes a reference point—the spine of a lineage. \u2028\n\nListen: https://open.spotify.com/intl-es/track/0bw15M3CGlUUzmijGqcD5X", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606506, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606506/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T20:52:39-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Ojalá que llueva café", "track_id": null, "recording_id": "d204016f-e99f-42bd-bd0b-82341bcdd990", "artist": "Café Tacvba", "artist_ids": [ "c2b37a39-c66a-44b2-b190-a69485ae5d95" ], "album": "Avalancha de éxitos", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": "a62d4b1a-adef-349f-9660-2511bb20dd82", "labels": [ "Warner Music México" ], "label_ids": [ "93c32583-8fe1-478a-ba07-6e6679f1585f" ], "release_date": "1996-10-25", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "Café Tacvba’s “Ojalá que llueva café” is explicitly a cover of Juan Luis Guerra’s song, and it appears on their 1996 covers collection Avalancha de Éxitos, with track listings across discographies and platforms confirming its placement on that record. What makes the cover notable is not simply “rock band covers merengue classic,” but the way Café Tacvba reframes the piece through Mexican traditional textures and rhythmic feel—turning a widely known Caribbean pop standard into something that sits closer to son jarocho aesthetics, while still preserving the song’s original spirit of abundance and everyday miracle. In programming terms, this track is a perfect bridge: it connects audiences who know Guerra’s original to listeners who came up on rock en español, and it also connects pop songwriting to regional tradition without making the transition feel academic. The vocal and arrangement approach tends to emphasize celebration with grit—less glossy romanticism, more street-level joy. If you are building a set around reinterpretation, cover culture, or “songs that travel,” this is a cornerstone example: the melody remains recognizable, but the identity shifts, proving how arrangement can relocate a song culturally without erasing it. \u2028\n\nListen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iO5bmshzeg", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606505, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606505/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T20:48:26-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Luna (Live)", "track_id": null, "recording_id": "04da0025-07bb-47f4-aa60-32dda9c0dd55", "artist": "Zoé", "artist_ids": [ "5838185a-0ee6-4a0b-8d4e-76a6e15f7d4b" ], "album": "MTV Unplugged: Música de fondo", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": "3f3e7dd3-13e9-41c2-864a-b1a8457d53ef", "labels": [ "EMI Music Mexico, S.A. de C.V." ], "label_ids": [ "d912f261-d9d0-445b-8d30-32d53dc54f05" ], "release_date": "2011-01-01", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Luna” is one of Zoé’s most enduring songs, and the live MTV Unplugged/Música de Fondo version (recorded 2010, released 2011) reframes it with intimacy and theatrical clarity. The Unplugged setting pulls the arrangement closer to the bone: acoustic textures, softened edges, and a performance that highlights melody and phrasing over studio sheen. A defining element here is Denise Gutiérrez (Hello Seahorse!), who takes the lead vocal on “Luna” in this set. That change shifts the emotional perspective—her voice brings a different weight to the song’s longing, and it makes familiar lines feel newly fragile, almost as if the track is being remembered rather than performed. The band’s accompaniment is patient, letting resonance and space do the work, while the audience energy adds a quiet electricity that a studio cut cannot replicate. If you already know the original, this version is not just “the same song live.” It is an alternate reading: softer, more exposed, and arguably more cinematic—like a close-up instead of a wide shot.\u2028\n\nListen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vszj-zRHWf4", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606504, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606504/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T20:41:37-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Es así desde la era de los dinosaurios", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "acordeacorde", "artist_ids": [], "album": "La Idea", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2025-11-04", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "At nearly seven minutes, “Es así desde la era de los dinosaurios” stretches past typical punk runtimes, which makes its structure part of the statement. Released in 2025 on the album La Idea, it uses length to build a more narrative, sectional experience: repetition becomes insistence, and insistence becomes argument. The title is exaggerated on purpose—“since the age of dinosaurs” is a phrase people use to dismiss something as ancient or unchanging—so the song can be heard as a confrontation with inertia, tradition, or a stubborn cycle that refuses to break. Musically, the extended duration gives room for tempo shifts, tension ramps, or lyrical pacing that does not need to rush to the hook. Even if you come for the energy, the track’s endurance becomes the hook: it stays in the room long enough to test your attention, then rewards you with the feeling of having moved through something. It is also a useful reminder that punk is not just speed; it is posture—how a band holds a line and refuses to soften it.\u2028\n\nListen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aB0lvL4f9Y0", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606503, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606503/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T20:39:16-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "circuito exterior mexiquense", "track_id": null, "recording_id": "9aa170a0-27be-47bc-8ecf-f273d0684e21", "artist": "cacomixtle", "artist_ids": [ "f67d9e96-6b94-4bff-8834-8340453b2a24" ], "album": "Flora y Fauna del Estado de México", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": "e0eaa875-a398-44a3-833a-d0ce05ff8d82", "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2024-12-06", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“circuito exterior mexiquense” is brief (about 2 minutes) and intentionally understated in its presentation—Bandcamp describes it simply as “una chula canción,” and that minimalism leaves room for the track to speak through feel rather than explanation. The title references infrastructure and geography, which can immediately suggest motion, edges, and the emotional texture of commuting: loops, exits, and the strange mix of boredom and alertness that comes with being in transit. In that sense, the song’s most compelling feature is its implied narrative. Even without overloading the arrangement, it can still communicate an inner state: a fragment of memory attached to a route, a place-name that carries personal meaning, or the way a city’s perimeter can feel like both boundary and escape. The short runtime helps it land like a snapshot—one strong mood, one sharp color, then gone. That can be a strength for listeners who like music that feels diaristic: not everything needs a dramatic arc to feel complete. If you are building a playlist with rapid emotional cuts—songs that function like scenes—this track fits that role well.\u2028\n\nListen: https://cacomixtle.bandcamp.com/track/circuito-exterior-mexiquense", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" }, { "id": 3606502, "uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/plays/3606502/?format=api", "airdate": "2026-01-19T20:36:50-08:00", "show": 65702, "show_uri": "https://api.kexp.org/v2/shows/65702/?format=api", "image_uri": "", "thumbnail_uri": "", "song": "Guardia Nacional", "track_id": null, "recording_id": null, "artist": "Las Decapitadas", "artist_ids": [], "album": "Locomotora", "release_id": null, "release_group_id": null, "labels": [], "label_ids": [], "release_date": "2025-12-04", "rotation_status": null, "is_local": false, "is_request": false, "is_live": false, "comment": "“Guardia Nacional” carries the confrontational spark you’d expect from a contemporary punk cut: fast, pointed, and built to name the problem rather than dance around it. The title alone signals political friction—authority, intimidation, and the lived reality of being watched or controlled—so the song lands as a critique before the first chorus even arrives. The track’s intensity is reinforced by its compact runtime and punchy construction; it feels engineered for impact, with rhythm and guitars that move like a chant turning into a sprint. What makes it effective is the blend of urgency and specificity: it’s not vague rebellion, it’s a targeted statement, which gives the energy a sharper edge. The band’s broader context aligns with punk’s tradition of social commentary and refusal—songs that treat the personal and political as inseparable, especially when institutions press into daily life. There is also a visual dimension available publicly, reinforcing that the track is part of a larger moment for the group rather than an isolated release. If you’re building a set of Latin American punk that foregrounds critique and momentum, “Guardia Nacional” functions as a centerpiece—short enough to keep pace, strong enough to shift the temperature of the playlist.\u2028Listen: \n\nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAJEgVxAs6o", "location": 1, "location_name": "Default", "play_type": "trackplay" } ] }
