Thrown into the creation of music with no goal beyond the act itself, the sessions held by the four members of Supersordo in their rehearsal room during the first half of the 1990s were creative conquests in their own right. Hours and hours of electricity in a corner near Plaza Egaña (Santiago de Chile), where improvisation almost intuitively took shape into song structures—yet always as surges of rock with no commercial intent; sonic babblings that would forever remain only between those present.

«Concerts… for no one,» says Claudio Fernández, the band’s vocalist. «…in tune with a free-flowing energy—very much of that moment». That’s part of why their musical legacy is electrifying and sharp-edged; precise and cutting. Supersordo took notes from lessons learned, mainly from American bands associated with post-hardcore and its surroundings: Jawbox, The Jesus Lizard, Fugazi. But they also recall a shared appreciation for metal and industrial music from Europe. Their sonic agreement was a collective decision among members coming from vastly different personal paths: Fernández, who had spent years living with his family between the contrasting music scenes of Panama and Italy; Miguel Ángel Comegato Montenegro, who had been immersed in heavy metal and thrash bands between Chile and Brazil since his teenage years (he was one of the early founders of Necrosis in 1985); and Rodrigo Katafú Rozas, who had been part of punk-leaning bands like Kaos and Anarkia since his school days. They had already started composing songs (initially under the names Matt Monro, Canto En Español and Habría Que Analizarlo) when the arrival of Jorge Cortés on drums reshaped their lineup and led them to their first studio experience as Supersordo (Supersórdido, 1992).

TzzzzzzzT, the band’s second and final album, was recorded and produced by Supersordo for Inferno Records in two studios in Santiago, with a single limited cassette release in 1995. On the cramped back cover, the printed lyrics of each song exposed to reason what the listening experience delivered as a jolt—sometimes urgent, sometimes anguished, and sometimes an intimate mental flight: the inescapable weight of memory in “El peso del pasado”, the chronicle of latent domestic violence in “Entre resortes”, and the brutal collapse of expectations in “El niño azul”, which opens with an excerpt from an old Joselito recording of a traditional Spanish song.

There was an informal presentation of the cassette at a live gig in a Bellavista venue, alongside the band Primate. After that, the album followed an unexpected trajectory of growing prestige—without the band’s involvement, largely absent from the media and the more widely circulated rock circuits of the time.

Plans for a third album never materialized, leaving TzzzzzzzT as an unintentional legacy, with fewer copies than there was demand for. From that point on, press coverage of the band labeled them as “cult.” By the end of 1997, Supersordo no longer existed, and its members had scattered into different projects. However, their music took on a life of its own—through homemade copies of the album, cover versions performed by bands from Santiago and other regions, and an organic curiosity to dig into their history. When the documentary Supersordo. Historia y geografía de un ruido (Supersordo: History and geography of a noise, 2009, dir.: Susana Díaz), premiered, it played to a full house.

This reissue of TzzzzzzzT marks its first official release on vinyl. Overseen by the Transamericas, it was remastered by engineer Joaquín García with the band’s supervision, using a DAT of the original mix. It preserves the original cover art and inner sleeve design by Vicente Vargas.

Marisol García, 2024