There’s something immediate about the way Adiós Cometa opens “Un destello de luz“. “Y de reojo, un resplandor” — a small instrumental door — lets a guitar arpeggio push through percussion and reverb that wants to become enormous but stays muted. It’s a glow caught from the corner of your eye, a statement of intent pulled from an unreleased song that didn’t make the album. No lyrics, just a promise. But the second track finally shows you, in full clarity and confidence, what this band is really about.
Wide open spaces, emotions kept on a tight leash, and a language of sound that’s precise, intentional, and instantly recognizable. This shoegaze-tinged alternative rock, constantly leaning into post-hardcore tension, carried by genuinely beautiful vocal melodies, isn’t the destination yet — it’s the first clear signal of something far more defined taking shape.
But if you think this will overwhelm you with heavy energy and too many screams and sonic chaos, don’t run — this album will wake you up completely, but it might also lull you into an ethereal state.
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Released January 29, 2026 via Spinda Records (with Steadfast Records handling the vinyl and Furia distributing in Costa Rica), this is the band’s most cohesive work yet. “This time everything feels coherent. It’s a darker, more deliberate record,” Pablo Matamoros says.
The album exists in the space between the need to flee and the decision to stay — nine tracks that talk to each other, forming an emotional journey that unfolds in two halves: direct and upfront first, then slower, denser, more introspective. This is the kind of mellow emotional collision between post-hardcore and spacey rock that takes you somewhere else immediately. The first full track promises a lot, and it just gets better from there. A brilliant record.
“Luminosa” is the type of song built for live rooms — direct, grabbing you from the start, balancing tension and release between soft arpeggios and intense distortion. Mark shouts at the end: “I’m better now, I am enough, I’m not afraid” — a forceful declaration wrapped in one of the most universal fears. The title itself nods to acceptance and light.
“Una vida en otra parte” marks the first time two of the band’s three vocalists appear on the same track. Mark carries the verses, John hits the choruses — their voices contrast in ways the band finds interesting. The song speaks to that frantic feeling of wanting to run while knowing you can’t, and learning to find peace with that. Musically, it’s explosive: a western-influenced guitar riff inspired by the most recent Starflyer 59 record, angular noise, ambient passages. “It explodes, but it also breathes,” they note. This was actually the last song made for the album — John showed the idea during final recording stages, and it immediately became essential. Now it’s one of their favorites.
“El mundo en mis brazos (Leonor)” might be their most emo song yet, carrying some of the legacy of Mineral or Christie Front Drive in its energy and honesty, with hints of slowcore mixed in. Lucía Masnatta from Argentine band Fin del Mundo guests on vocals, adding energy and texture that felt perfect from the moment the song started taking shape. Four of the five band members are parents, and that experience shapes much of the album without idealization. “Our lyrics don’t usually aim to be literal, but the experience of this stage of life, seeing your children for the first time and watching them grow, transforms your world and the way you see life,” they explain. For this album, the goal was to write more songs about love, not just heartbreak. This is one of them.
“Candelaria” has its own history. Mark wrote and released it as a demo on Bandcamp in 2017 under the pseudonym Los Azules — raw, ghostly. Adiós Cometa started playing a version live early on, drawn to how abrasive it was, more violent than their other songs at the time. After releasing their first album, “Nuestras Manos Son Incendios” — which took years of exhausting effort — the question was: now what? The answer was to record “Candelaria”, perfect for opening this new chapter, which is why it became the album’s first single. The Adiós Cometa version added noisy guitars, exaggerated tremolo, and a dry, western aesthetic — a declaration of transformation.
“Detenerse” marks the pivot. Side B — the last four songs — dives into the most introspective and vulnerable version of the band. Everything becomes slower, darker, heavier. “Detenerse” is a breath before the density, a love song inspired by fatherhood.
“Quema la memoria” returns to ambient territory the band explored on “Nuestras Manos Son Incendios”, with artists like Robin Guthrie and Hammock as major inspirations. They had a session with José Acuña (Contradicta), a Costa Rican ambient artist they greatly admire, recording with him until nightfall. After letting the song rest, they invited Amanda Murillo from A Su Ladera to add her voice. Amid the swell of guitar chords, she sings over and over: “I don’t count the years, but I dream, and there you are.” At the very end, almost imperceptibly, a voice recites the poem “Declinaciones del monólogo” by Costa Rican poet Eunice Odio.
“Mala Memoria” has been with them for years, played occasionally live since 2022 — improvised differently each time, often stretching beyond ten minutes. They finally shaped it and recorded it live, simultaneously, like the rest of the album, capturing the power of the live sound. Drawing heavily from slowcore and post-rock, it’s a slow-burning track. María Paula Vásquez from Colombian band Encarta 98 guests on vocals — “The first time we heard what she did, we literally got goosebumps,” they recall. The lyrics she wrote added another layer of meaning, reflecting her deep sensitivity. Toward the end, Joaquín Vanrafelghem from Argentine band Montegrande joins with a saxophone solo. The recording they used was literally the first take he sent as a test — the most natural, effortless. “Playing Mala Memoria live is a cathartic experience,” Emanuel Mora shares. “It’s possibly our favorite song on the album, and maybe our favorite thing we’ve ever done.”
“Victoria” closes the album — another song from the very beginning of the band. Their first EP, “La Isla Que Somos” (2021), closed with “Piel“, an acoustic song recorded in Mark’s apartment living room. To perform it live, they made a completely different version that evolved into a dissonant, furious hurricane, venturing into post-metal territory.
They closed many shows with that version and always wanted to re-record it this way. It became a beautiful surprise that it ended up closing the album, a moment of coming full circle. Its lyrics contain one of their favorite lines on the record, capturing much of what they want to convey: “victory is not the best thing if in the end there is no love.”
Between fear and hope
“Un destello de luz” confronts memory, loss, parenthood, responsibility, and legacy. “There’s fear, solitude, and forgetting, but also hope. Amid all the bad, it’s worth fighting for the good,” Jonathan Villalobos reflects. The album’s sound deepens what the band does best: angular guitars, layers of restrained distortion, atmospheric passages, and a constant search to sound raw, big, and close to the live experience.
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During pre-release, the album gained significant international attention — a full feature on KEXP within El Cancionero de El Sonido, coverage in Bandcamp Daily, and features in Rolling Stones, Radio 3, Ruta 66, and here on IDIOTEQ.
Collaborations beyond Masnatta, Vásquez, Murillo, and Vanrafelghem came from Guillermo Zumbado and José Acuña.
Available in digital format, vinyl, CD, and cassette, “Un destello de luz” marks the beginning of a new phase. The band is preparing live performances across Latin America, the United States, and Europe.
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