Contemplating the tenderness of Natalia Lafourcade’s De Todas las Flores

Natalia Lafourcade’s newest album De Todas las Flores (2022) is Lafourcade’s first full record of original music in seven years. Her last album containing original work was Hasta la Raíz which was released in 2015, and since then she has released multiple cover albums of famous Mexican and Latin songs.  Lafourcade reflects on such themes as grief, love, and sexuality on her latest album, which is twelve tracks long and spans an hour and six minutes. Lafourcade and collaborator Adán Jodorowsky both produced the album with elements of Mexican folk music and Latin American culture, notably variations of Mariachi and Cumbia music. If I were to use one word to describe the entirety of the album it would be tender. There is a vulnerability that shines through the album, especially in Lafourcade’s lyricism and stylistic production choices.

The record starts with the track “Vine solita,” which begins with a lengthy instrumental before Lafourcade sings her first phrases: “A este mundo vine solita / Solita me voy a morir,” which translates to “I came to this world alone, alone I am going to die.” This line cements the type of energy Lafourcade emanates throughout the entire album—solemnity and vulnerability. Her words ring somewhat morbidly, yet honest; it is a truth that Natalia Lafourcade comes to terms with as she furthers into adulthood and evolves into a wiser, formed musician. Lafourcade’s vocals are stripped down with only a classical guitar to accompany her at the beginning of the song. The production quality is clear and a bit echoed—listeners can hear Lafourcade’s inhalations and exhalations clearly as percussive elements and a simple piano accompaniment pairs lusciously with her voice. 

In my opinion, one of the most instrumentally complex songs on the record is “Llévame viento.” The song starts with a piano instrumental that is reminiscent of Claude Debussy’s “Claire de lune” or Erik Satie’s series of “Gymnopédies.” Slowly, Lafourcade’s voice floats into the track, as she softly sings the first line of the song. The instrumental production of the song slowly intensifies, with a rapid classical guitar picking pattern and quick drum cymbal rhythms. My favorite line of the song is when Lafourcade sings, “Viento, hoy necesito un abrazo que rompa el hielo” which translates to “Wind, today I need a hug to break the ice.” She pleads for the wind to comfort her. It is a simple line that highlights the complexities of loneliness, of desiring comfort from something completely intangible.  At around the four-minute mark of “Llévame viento,” the song shifts into an instrumental with a heavier beat, the percussion ringing in clearly through the track while Lafourcade repeats the chorus to a different melody. 

One of the more upbeat songs on the album is “Mi manera de querer.” It is a song about how Lafourcade chooses to show her love; she describes it as simple, yet profound, and without bounds. The track takes on a bossa nova-esque instrumentality and serves as a cathartic moment in the album. Instead of reflecting on the seeds planted by death, understanding how Lafourcade loves is at the forefront of her mission in this song. The beginning of the chorus is one of my favorite parts of the album, wherein Lafourcade sings “No me importa si eres hombre o si eres mujer / Yo te veo como un ser de luz de cabeza a los pies” which translates to “I don’t care if you are a man or a woman / I see you as being of light from head to toe.” Here, Lafourcade reflects on the fluidity of love and sexuality. It is a statement sung proudly, without complexity; just openness to the abilities of love. 

The longest and last song on the record is “Que te vaya bonito Nicolás.” On her website, Lafourcade gives some context to the meaning of the song, stating that Nicolás was her nephew who passed away in 2021. She said, “this song was dictated to me by [Nicolás] so that I could deliver it to his mother, my sister, and all his loved ones.” It is a song of saying farewell and coming to terms with death. Lafourcade solemnly sings that she hopes that Nicolás passed onto the afterlife easily, finally finding the strength to leave the world behind and relax. 

I have something to confess: Natalia Lafourcade is my namesake. I have been a fan of hers since I was a child, which may or may not question the unbiased attitude a writer should maintain while reviewing an album. However, if she were to release a record with unlistenable tracks and vapid lyrics, I would probably still listen to it and find something to like about it. Fortunately, this record is beautiful from start to finish. The lyrics are genuine and vulnerable, with complex themes that range from coming to terms with the rigidity of death to understanding the intricacies of falling in love after heartbreak. My homework for anyone reading this is simple: lay down, find some time, close your eyes, and listen to De Todas las Flores. 

Article by Natalia Girolami