“I’ve been alone, both in the streets and my own life, since I was very young,” says Taichu. It’s a cloudy afternoon in Buenos Aires, and the 24-year-old singer-songwriter is sitting in the back patio of an apartment building, ready to talk about her much anticipated second album, HOTCORE. “In a way, it was those circumstances that led me to create the character of Taichu,” she adds.
She was born Tais López Miranda, the daughter of an actor and a flamenco dancer, but used her childhood nickname as an artistic moniker the moment she began to make waves in the Argentine trap scene with a restless, sexually charged sound that combines hyperpop with electronica and urbano shades. Taichu has collaborated with Skrillex and Nicki Nicole, but it is “TOP,” the defiant opening track of her 2023 debut, RAWR, that serves as the best calling card possible. At 1:35, the track thrives on a trashy downbeat and swaggering vocal line that suddenly morph into an EDM outro. On the song’s visual, she slices a heart-shaped cake with a chainsaw.
HOTCORE signals a stylistic step forward, with the post-bachata of “LOS ANGELES,” the dark dembow fever of “CASTIGO,” and the electro-urbano textures of “VICIOS EN VICE CITY.” Taichu spoke to Rolling Stone about the influence of heavy metal in her sound, the difference between Tais and Taichu, and the challenges of performing her songs in a live setting.
Before we talk about HOTCORE, may I tell you that, two years later, I’m still obsessed with “TOP”? What an amazing statement of purpose that was.
I knew right away it was going to be the opening track of my first album. RAWR espoused a certain sense of chaos. It arrived with an attitude of… I don’t want to say violence, but definitely a lot of power. I wanted to land with a strong punch, and then restore the balance with quieter songs.
HOTCORE is more cosmopolitan than RAWR, but it traffics in the same level of intensity.
People always told me that I wasn’t a rock star, I was a punk star. Later, I realized that everybody I work with comes from a heavy metal background. And I’m a hardcore dubstep fan. Generationally, I was never into the musical side of metal. But I love the energy.
I was surprised you included a bachata on this record. Then again, “LOS ANGELES” is not your average bachata. It’s broken, or better yet, deconstructed.
Originally, it was based on a personal experience. I had a boyfriend who literally destroyed me — he even brought another girl to my house. I had promised a bachata to my fans, because I used it as an example of the hotcore concept. “Hotcore” means that I can do anything I want to — and if I decide to record a bachata, I’m going to press the right keys so that it comes out a little fractured. That initial romantic experience felt like a soap opera, and I thought it would be a perfect fit for a bachata. But I ended up having a bit of a crush on someone else at that time, and the lyrics focus on that.
You have created this fascinating character of a young woman who has bouts of insecurity, but is also incredibly sure of herself, and addresses the listener with so much confidence. Was that by design?
I think that’s the shield that I use to protect myself. The same shield that I attempt to lower in my private life, and question whether it should be there or not. At one point, after the first album, Taichu ate Tais alive. I think all of us go through that phase where we must learn to separate the person from the artist. HOTCORE is all Taichu, and I need to negotiate with myself the moments where I can let my guard down and allow Tais to reveal herself. None of it was by design. Those traits that you noticed reflect the brashness with which I tackle life.
Which brings me to my favorite track of the album: “NÃO TEM FIM,” with its lovely subterranean sadness. Why did you leave that and “PULSE” — the record’s two most vulnerable songs – for last?
I’m so happy you felt the tenderness in that song — shields and all. I was at song camp. The idea was to finish “PULSO,” but I didn’t want to, because the lyrics made me feel self-conscious. I decided to start something new, and I wanted it to be romantic. We found a beautiful sample; it’s like an organ, but it sounds like a video game. And it was just me, singing alone on top of that sample. Everyone else had gone to bed. It talks about someone that I was crazy about, he didn’t have space for me in his life, but he didn’t set me free, either. It’s a song about accepting relationships the way they are while trying not to get hurt.
I’ve always regarded autotune as a creative tool, and on this album, you use it most effectively.
There’s definitely more autotune on this album, because it’s really fun to sing live with it, and I thought about what the new tracks would sound like in concert while I was recording them. I want to be the kind of artist who does great live shows. Autotune gives me the energy where I can stretch my voice to the limit and still sound fine. And electronica provides the foundation — I can stand on something really solid that won’t fall apart if I jump too high. My voice sounds naked without autotune. Even when I don’t use it, I add a rise or MicroShift. It’s like finding a soft cushion for your voice.
What about the live shows? It must be a challenge to transpose such a sophisticated sonic landscape to the stage.
I think the intention is crucial, and my intention is always associated with punk and metal. At this point in my career I don’t have a huge budget at my disposal, so this is the moment to lower aspirations. But I’m very comfortable standing alone onstage — me, myself and I — defending my own project with lights and music. I don’t believe you need to have live instruments to put out a good show. At one point I had a drummer, which added a lot of power — but soundchecks were a mess, and I jumped at the first opportunity to do without it.
At 24, you have created a sound and aesthetic that are uniquely yours. Both your parents are artists. What do they say about all this?
I have a complicated relationship with them because they let go of my hand at a very early stage. Of course they’re supportive and proud of me, but they had me when they were very young, and I need to understand that they’re my parents — not my siblings or friends. The thing is, they never put any limits on me, and it’s definitely too late to start now.
