On their second outing as Titanic, Mabe Fratti and Héctor “I la Católica” Tosta stretch pop to its breaking point and then rebuild it into something feral, cinematic, and beautiful. Hagen is not just a record it feels like a performance piece caught on tape, one that channels the obliterating intensity of Fratti’s live shows more fully than any of her previous albums.

From the start, the duo sets the tone with a restless collision of styles. Sophistipop sheen meets the weight of doom-metal, and free-jazz tangles with baroque strings. One moment evokes the grandiosity of stadium rock; the next, it disintegrates into noise. Yet Fratti’s folk-rooted melodies remain at the core, guiding the chaos with both vulnerability and force.

“Libra” is the most immediate entry point, brimming with a pop sensibility that’s skewed just enough to recall Björk’s shapeshifting instincts, Robert Wyatt’s eccentric tenderness, and Tom Zé’s playful abstractions. It’s pop, but warped an invitation to a universe where hooks dissolve into improvisation. Meanwhile, “Pájaro de fuego” sinks deeper into shadow, its haunting textures illuminated by synth work from Daniel Lopatin, resulting in a ballad that feels both alien and intimate.

What makes Hagen compelling is not just its ambition but its refusal to resolve neatly. It thrives on friction Fratti’s soaring cello lines scraping against serrated guitars, Tosta’s arrangements lurching between elegance and collapse. The result is a body of work that’s unpredictable, alive, and insistent on reimagining what pop music can hold.

For listeners willing to step into its maelstrom, Hagen offers a rare payoff: the sound of artists making daring choices with absolute conviction. It’s messy, luminous, and unforgettable an avant-garde pop record that doesn’t just flirt with chaos but builds a home inside it.