Mixtape Review: Xclusiva by MXKA
Singing mostly in Spanish over a sound she calls R&B tumbados, MXKA turns a romance lane built for men into one about flipping the power.
Corridos tumbados thrives on male bravado—the big names and packed rooms all belong to men who’ve earned bragging rights. MXKA works on the romantic, softer side of the genre, singing about love and the long process of moving past it. MXKA was born in Oakland and grew up in San Leandro. She does most of that in Spanish—she’s the daughter of a mother from Mexico City and a father from Louisiana, with English only entering the equation when her emotions demand it.
When she wants someone, she wants forever. “Cositas” opens with her describing the flutter she feels when he’s around, how the world stops for a moment, then she escalates to the much more serious “Tu destino es mo desde que nací” (Your destiny has been mine since birth). That’s a bit of a high bar for a guy you get butterflies around, but she means it. “Tu X Yo” also calls for permanence, but she can’t seem to decide if he or she makes the first move: The hook repeats “quién va primero, tú o yo?” while her English comes out to admit “You got me in love with your body.” The shortest thing here, the sung sketch “Algo En Ti,” catches the feeling one step before that, falling for a voice before she even has a name to give it: “No se tu nombre/Pero si es tu voz” (I don’t know your name/But I know your voice). A minute of wanting and then it’s over.
She keeps on surprising men and keeps collecting on it. The man in “La Vuelta” thought she would fall for him, but she didn’t, and she tells him exactly that: “Pensaste que yo iba a enamorarme, pero no” (You thought I was going to fall in love, but I didn’t). Then she drops the phrase that holds the whole stance together: “Las malas no caemos así fácil” (Bad girls don’t fall that easy) and judges his exit as a power move: “la vuelta, amor, se te volteó.” She’s not trying to rescue anything; she just shrugs him off with “La neta, me vale madre/Si te vas,” then explains that getting over him was as easy as a celebrity divorce: “Te olvidé fácil como Beli a Lupillo” and gives her coordinates: “Del Bay a LA,” the East Bay kid taking up territory traditionally belonging to men. “Tattoo” reverses the possession; she’s the indelible mark he can’t remove: “Pegada como tattoo/Asi te quedaste tu,” half a boast and half a warning: love easy come, easy go. “Xclusiva” swaps hurt for pure brag, an evening out in “Fendi, Balenciaga” with an ex waved off with “Pero yo las baddies ya no estamos puestas para el,” and JM4C replies to her bilingual flex with one of his own. It’s the most joy she allows herself at a man’s expense, one who is no longer in charge.
Her quietest songs inflict the most pain. Guitar strums and violin plays under “Cómo Te Va?” as she tells an ex and admits the coldness of an empty night, “La noche es fría sin tu calor,” and accepts her share of blame, “Y si te fallé, no fue la intención.” She attempts a majestic image and lets it fall to pieces, lovers falling down “Como dos torres” before the line trails off into “se desvaneci.” Here, her singing becomes more open, more pleading, less guarded than it is in the flex songs. “Fantasmas” is the worst wound, an injury of love that doesn’t heal, “Las heridas en el amor no tan fácil sanan,” and a ghost that won’t disappear, “Y tus fantasmas me visitan/Por las noches me gritan.” Here, she lays down a rule: no second chances, “Los chances no se dan dos veces,” and she sings it with a quietness that is somehow more compelling than a shout.
Desire receives its own language, a more straightforward and physical one. Here too, the regional influences begin to thin. “Nectarine” desires the other person owned and to own in return, “Sabes que te pertenezco/También soy consciente/Que me perteneces,” then plunges into a repeated hook, “Juicy like a nectarine/Break you off a lil piece.” The song is both sensual and mobile, but the guitar-and-brass identity fades. In this context, the song is more like standard bedroom R&B than the other regional tracks on the album. “Mi Confesión” delivers the confession more effectively: the Spanish admission and the English want are not split between verses, but combined within one melody. “Esta es mi confesión/Te pienso sin razón/Y ya no lo puedo negar” immediately morphs into “Touchin all on yo body/Kissin all on yo body” in the same breath. These two songs are both easy to listen to, but sound like they could belong to a hundred other singers.
Then there’s “Afraid Of,” a song from a separate breakup. In English, it sounds slower, colder, and the hurt has completely transformed into a threat. “A liar hates the truth,” she sings to him, and unlike in her other breakup songs, she doesn’t let him off the hook, but follows him out the door and ruins everything, “I’ll make sure that I/Kill the dreams you had/Get you back.” A few bars of Spanish in the middle, “Hoy es tu despedida,” deliver the sentence. The danger is palpable, and she sings it more aggressively, with more venom, than in any other song on the album. It’s the only track that fights against the album’s overall tone, and it ultimately loses a bit; the revenge feels almost a size too large for the song to contain.
Her best moment is “Me Cansé,” where she finally turns the mic over. She is tired and through with the pursuit, with chasing and backtracking: “Me cansé/De buscarte una y otra vez/Ya no vuelvo a caer en tu red,” cries the hook.
“Me cansé de llorar, y llorar, y llorar, y llorar.”
When Low Clika takes the other mic, where she had conviction, he has remorse; he wants to be the one who puts it right: “Y creo que ese puedo ser yo,” implores he, “Sabor a MXKA/Que me provoca.” It is the male corrido singer she has been singing about the whole time, but when he gets the mic, he’s going to lose the fight. She sounds worn, definitive. He is still trying. She is gone.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “Cómo Te Va?,” “La Vuelta,” “Fantasmas”