There are pop artists whose theoretical depths can never be done justice by our short biographies, and Lucrecia Dalt is one of them. The artist, who lives in Berlin, actually comes from Colombia, and (insert one more “actually”), she is, or was, a geotechnical engineer. These interests have given rise to both the themes and the title of her newest and sixth album, Anticlines. An anticline, as the internet teaches us, is a geological arch, a bulge of layered rock created by years of folding. It’s striking how aptly this term describes the artist’s sound. Loops and alien signals bend, lurch, and bow into curved trajectories on the surface—a surface upon which Dalt then gives shape to her free-wheeling repetitions with spoken, more than sung, words. In her lyrics, Dalt digs deep into the unusual symbiosis of pop music and geology, telling of meteorites, Mars, Earth, Antarctica, minerals, tar, and, naturally, the Heliopause. The fact that the album acts as an equivalent to a introductory course in geology is par for the course—its real themes, though, are borders and their dissolution, metamorphosis and change, present and future; the world amidst those processes and the people in it. Dalt’s music is as thoroughly premeditated as it is enchanting. Its combination of theoretical poetry and mesmerizing sound make for a uniqueness of tectonic proportions.

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