A few years ago, Amor Elefante seemed ready to cross over into the mainstream. After releasing the album Oriente in 2017 — a sumptuous collage of dream pop melodies and art-rock moods — the Buenos Aires quartet played SXSW in 2019, recorded a 2021 live session for KEXP, and even placed a song in an Oreo commercial. Seeped in longing and lush keyboard lines, Amor Elefante’s music was simply too beautiful to ignore.
But the band formed in 2009 by vocalist/guitarist Rocío Bernardiner, keyboardist Inés Copertino, and drummer Rocío Fernández, went quiet around 2022. There were hints of turbulence in Billetes Falsos, their last album from that era. It chronicled, in no uncertain terms, the romantic breakup between Bernardiner and Fernández, who had lived together for six years.
“We just stopped playing,” says Bernardiner from her home in the suburban neighborhood of Banfield. “We weren’t connecting, and I felt there was no point in doing gigs with that kind of energy. But I knew it was only a matter of time before we played together again.”
Few musical rites of passage are as exhilarating as the big comeback album, and Amor Elefante’s Amigas finds the quartet, now with new member Lucila Pivetta on bass, beaming with joy at the chance of reconnecting. The title — amigas, female friends in Spanish — speaks volumes about the group’s soul; three women who appear destined to play songs together.
“There’s so much chemistry in the air when we meet to make an album,” Bernardiner says. “It really is like a romance, when you fall in love with the person who fell in love with you, and everything is marvelous. We made the new record in six days, and this fifth album is the first that sounds like our live performances. We have an organic process, where everyone has the space to express herself, and we’re never bound to our respective instruments.”
“Many of the songs on the first albums were, quite literally, a declaration of love,” says Fernández on a Sunday afternoon, back in Buenos Aires after a brief stint touring with veteran singer-songwriter Hilda Lizarazu. “Billetes Falsos was tainted with the darkness of a breakup, but it was still a great record. This new album makes me feel so grateful that we can make music together and enjoy the process.”
“What I love about Amor Elefante is the quality of their songwriting,” says producer Juan Manuel Segovia, who engineered and mixed Amigas. “True to the band’s name, they invest a lot of love into their craft. Roki, Ro and Ine have a distinct timbre — when they sing together, the effect is magical.”
With its synth-pop whimsy and propulsive groove, opening cut “Hipnótico” is the pop equivalent of a breezy spring morning. In contrast, “La Vuelta” is languid and downcast — Babasónicos would be so proud — with a darkly hued bridge that shimmers with regret. The Eighties time capsule “Universal Hit” offers a brisk slice of new wave punch.
Growing up, Bernardiner would listen to the mixtapes featuring Sinatra, the Beatles, Patsy Cline, and Roxette that her father played in the cassette deck of the family car as they drove around the city. But he also loved classical music, which accounts for the singer’s instinctive penchant for elegant melodies.
“I started listening to classical music only about five years ago,” she says. “But stuff like Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez is in my DNA.”
During high school, Bernardiner would skip class and show up with friends at Charly García’s house. Argentina’s rock icon was known to receive unannounced visitors, as long as they were female.
“Charly would be lounging in his bed, smoking pot and playing the keyboards,” she says with a laugh. “Once, he painted over my school uniform.”
After playing with a couple of bands in the Buenos Aires underground scene, the singer felt the desire to form her own group.
“I didn’t want to be a solo artist,” she points out. “My desire was to be in a band with other girls. We spoke with Ine and Roki on MSN, met in person, and ten days later played our first gig – a handful of songs, including The Beatles’ ‘We Can Work It Out.’ The first day that Inés came to my house, I gave her a piece of paper with four chords in it. She picked up a guitar and played the exact same tune that I had envisioned. I couldn’t believe it.”
The timelessness of this intuitive rapport is celebrated on the cover of Amigas. It features a real life photo of designer Ludmila Rosenzweig’s late grandmother, taken during her arrival at a surprise party celebrating her 70th birthday.
“Her name was Noni, and it turns out that she was always talking about wanting to be a celebrity,” says Bernardiner. “Now she will be famous — not to say, immortal. Ine had doubts about naming the album Amigas, and I think the photo adds depth to the title. An older lady, wrinkled, not posing for the camera. We are all fed up with those fake photoshopped images on social media.”
As they anticipate their return to live performance, the members of Amor Elefante are also reflecting on their status as critically acclaimed indie darlings.
“Of course I would be happy if a million people listened to our music, but I don’t really spend too much time pondering those things,” says Fernández. “I live a life devoid of expectations, and I’m grateful for the good things that do happen. Since the beginning of Amor Elefante, everything has surprised me – it feels like quite a lot.”
“Now that the album came out, we presented flowers to many people associated with the band,” adds Bernardiner. “We prepared the bouquets and drove to deliver them ourselves.”
She pauses, then adds with a faint sense of irony in her voice:“Rosalía wouldn’t be able to do that. But we can.”
