So, I’ve had a lot on my plate lately. Filled to the brim, fit to burst, one might say. I’ve been missing out on a lot of things regular Los Angeles folk take for granted, like going to the Getty, getting drinks at Star Shoes, cow tipping, etc. When the new Rafa album finally dropped I didn’t have time to dilly dally in line outside Sam Goody with all the other giddy lil’ youngsters. However, I was able to free up a few spare moments in order to snag a jpeg of the record cover, so I decided I’d just review that….

rafa

What is he trying to tell us? What secrets lurk beneath that devil-may-care hairdo and piercing glare? Peel the onion…

First off, notice the paintbrush. Now take a look at the font in which his name is written–WAIT! That’s no ordinary font! He appears to have painted his name in the air (a magical feat in and of itself) and is directing his gaze towards it. I think what he’s trying to say is that there comes a time in every person’s life when they must come to grips with their true self and their identity. Yes. Give your name the eye, Rafa! Let it know that you know.

Now the title, Te Estoy Queriendo. According to the Babblefish it translates to “I am loving you.” Well who is he loving? His record-buying public? Nay, I think not. If he really loved us he’d be shining them puppy dog eyes in our direction. But no, he’s fixed on his own levitating name! Ahhh, it all comes together: narcissism! He’s calling out the pop star status quo and putting their vanity under the microscope. Oooh, how very subversive! Hats off, Rafa. Hats off.

But really, Rafa is cut from an entirely different cloth than his self-worshipping counterparts. Because when you’re as down-to-earth as this young turk you go barefoot. You say, “Hey, shoes! FUCK YOU! I’m removing myself from the shackles of your oppression! I wanna feel connected to the pristine, 30,000 thread count white sheets my size 7 feet walk on!”

Furthermore, this cover reads like a celebration of the DIY ethos. This ain’t no pampered, pre-fabricated entertainer. This is a self-made man, dammit! He painted his own name from the ground up using his own two hands (and a brush he found in the alley behind the photographer’s studio along with the necklace he’s wearing.) You can almost smell the blood, sweat and tears…mmm…smells like independance.

This is not an album cover. It’s a work of revolution.

Yours,

Torquil Crossingham