There’s a line toward the beginning of The House on Mango St. where Sandra Cisneros is describing her father shaving in the morning, listening to records by dramatic singers who make “music like hiccupping.” Isaac Reyes has one of those reeling, all-in voices, which makes even the strangest Lenguas Largas songs (for instance, the ultra-catchy “Ese Culito,” which my shitty Spanish has me thinking is about wedgies) sound rooted in time-tested traditions. For their second LP, this Tucson band has streamlined their approach, taking the sprawling and flailing impulses that put their first album all over the map, and averaging them into a hit-after-hit rock’n’roll LP that maintains the cinematic scope, desert-fried weirdness, and classic melody that makes them such a fascinating band. This may be my favorite rock album of the year. PS: These guys slay live. I saw them in L.A. this summer and they had three drummers and four guitarists. I danced sexy when they played, “I Feel.” 

 –Chris Terry (Recess)