There is something suspicious about a band called Jejeje. It sounds like a laugh typed into a message you are not entirely sure how to interpret. Is it irony, politeness, mockery, flirtation, discomfort. In Spanish it can mean all of that at once. That ambiguity is not branding. It is thesis.
With "Ambivalencia Artificial", released on 12-inch vinyl by Kitchen Leg Records in collaboration with Repetidor and Sub Post, the Berlin-based trio delivers a debut that feels less like a collection of songs and more like a corrective gesture. Against flattening algorithms, against the smooth plastic sheen of consensus culture, against the idea that everything must be optimized and categorized, Jejeje chooses friction.
The bandâs roots stretch back to Barcelonaâs DIY constellation around OjalĂĄ EstĂ© Mi Bici, eventually crystallizing in Berlin after a house concert involving Geoff Farina of Karate. The members, Jordi, Itacate, and Zutoia, bring histories from projects that orbit punk, experimental pop, and noise. You can hear that lineage, but you do not hear nostalgia. This is not retro post-punk cosplay. It is a recalibration.
Musically, the album constrains post-punk into taut, almost mathematical structures. Rhythms twitch and pivot, shifting weight with a kind of nervous intelligence. Math-rock signatures appear, but without technical grandstanding. The guitars avoid decorative flourish. Melodies slip through cracks rather than sitting proudly on top. Everything feels deliberately lean.
The opener, "Evitacionismo", sets the tone with angular propulsion. It does not explode. It tightens. The drums snap into irregular patterns while the bass line traces a minimal but insistent contour. "Ser" and "Hablar con la pared" continue this approach, building tension through repetition and abrupt turns rather than through crescendo. The title âTalk to the Wallâ feels apt. There is a sense of communication attempted under adverse conditions.
Lyrically, the record addresses social homogenization, artificial intelligence, and the erosion of ambiguity. It would be easy to lapse into didactic slogans. Jejeje avoids that by staying oblique. Words are clipped, sometimes almost thrown away. The skepticism embedded in the bandâs name carries through the vocal delivery. It sounds like someone laughing at a system that insists it understands you better than you understand yourself.
On "Solas en casa" and "Patético", vulnerability slips in sideways. The minimalism amplifies small gestures: a vocal inflection, a sudden rhythmic pause, a guitar line that feels like it might unravel but holds. Even moments that flirt with catchiness, such as "Peces Voladores", remain slightly off-balance. Hooks are offered, then subtly distorted.
Side B deepens the unease. "Miedo" operates on a pulse that feels simultaneously mechanical and anxious. "Copa Triangular" plays with geometric rigidity in rhythm, as if structure itself were under examination. "Televisor" and "Rayos X" lean into surveillance-era imagery, musically echoing that theme with clipped patterns and exposed spaces. The closer, "Soccorista", leaves things unresolved, hovering rather than concluding.
Kitchen Leg Records, with its long-standing DIY ethos inspired by collage culture, riot grrrl energy, and Minutemenâs econo philosophy, is a fitting home. The limited black vinyl edition with lyric inserts reinforces the physicality of the project. In a landscape saturated with frictionless streaming, this is an object that insists on edges.
What makes "Ambivalencia Artificial" compelling is its refusal to comfort. It proposes that ambivalence is not weakness but necessity. That clarity can be oppressive. That a laugh typed into the void can carry critique. The trio does not provide grand answers to technological anxiety or social flattening. Instead, they construct tight, wiry songs that embody resistance through form.
It is a debut that trusts tension more than resolution. And in a cultural moment obsessed with optimization, that feels almost radical. (Vito Camarretta)