Can’t help but feel the ghost of Remote Island on Shambhala, though the interpretations of pop couldn’t be further removed. The debut cassette from Erros Mágicos is far distant memories; the nostalgia of a time and place that never existed. Honestly, isn’t that the sort of nostalgia we’re all suffering from? Maybe this is the magic pill, the one to make those feelings stay without stooping so low as to think Charles in Charge or Fine Young Cannibals were quality entertainment. At least that’s how “Verão Está Aquí” makes me feel. By the middle of “Aves da Cidade,” I’m beginning to embrace my love of French pop without having to sneak listens to Alizée like I’m popping a different type of pill, and as “C’est Tout Noir” finishes its swirling psychedelia of Parisian couture, I’m hooked. An outfit as robust as Erros Mágicos usually lose sight of creating tightly knit pop, but Shambhala is just that amid its pharmaceutical flashbacks. Erros Mágicos should be taken outside the supervision of a doctor, no prescription needed, chase it down with a mimosa and laguiole on a side trip to Andorra.
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