To request ADA seating: Please send us an email at boxoffice@thechapelsf.com or call our box office at (415) 551-5157 and we can assist you. Our ADA area can reach capacity early, so we highly recommend contacting us as soon as possible. Day of show requests may not be able to be accommodated. Website | Spotify | YouTube | Instagram Marcos Crespo was born in Vallecas in 1997. This biographical note is not incidental: the themes of his songs explore the concerns of a twenty-something from the outskirts as he navigates the emotional turbulence of this stage of life. Musically, he draws from post-punk rooted in past decades, but his voice captures a present that belongs to him and to an entire generation—tired, anxious, and pushed with no alternative toward hyperproductivity. His lyrics hold documentary value, a testimony of his own time. If you didn’t grow up in this context of digital dominance and economic recessions, it may be harder for you to fully grasp it, but you’ll enjoy it all the same. Depresión Sonora processes the past and the present to sound contemporary and essential. The origins of the project trace back to 2020, that fateful year when Marcos, shut in his room, did everything he could while nothing was happening outside. The situation shaped the deeply introspective character of the five tracks on his now-mythical self-titled EP. That debut, self-released at first and later reissued physically by Sonido Muchacho, revealed the strengths that he would go on to confirm in subsequent releases. The punch and melodic precision of songs like “Ya no hay verano” made it clear we were witnessing a diamond in the rough. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the world noticed. A bit later, in 2021, came “Historias tristes para dormir bien,” a five-track EP that extended his creative streak and cemented Depresión Sonora as a sensation on both sides of the Atlantic. This work helped solidify a lo-fi-leaning sound dominated by gritty drum machines and pounding basslines. Highlights like “Apocalipsis virtual,” “Tú no me tienes que salvar,” and “Gasolina y mechero” fueled his first tours through Latin America and Spain, selling out venues wherever they went. With the release of his debut album in 2022 came his definitive consecration. “El arte de morir muy despacio” can be understood as the nihilistic, sarcastic counterpoint to those self-help manuals to which Marcos and his peers have been overexposed. It’s a conceptual album divided into three parts, each addressing different stages of life. “Part I: Introducción a la entropía” conveys a certain innocence, not without a hint of bite. The second block of songs, led by “Part II: la abrazo con fuerza (carta a la soledad),” has a more saturated, overpowering sound. The ending brings acceptance with “Part III: muerte y resurrección.” Thus concludes a chronicle so personal that it ends up resonating with an entire generation. After that long-awaited debut, Marcos didn’t rest on his laurels. Quite the opposite—he plunged into an effervescent period of concerts and new music. Collaborations with artists such as Carolina Durante, Javiera Mena, and Los Punsetes arrived, along with a new EP, Makinavaja, released in early 2024, marking his bid to become a pop star. Songs that wrestle between light and darkness, melody and artistic risk. These are the parameters within which Depresión Sonora moves without concessions to what is expected of him or artists like him. In fact, the opposite occurs: the generation of musicians he leads operates by its own rules and its own uncompromising artistic and emotional principles. Audiences have only applauded his strong personality and creative precision, filling the biggest shows of his career in Spain, Mexico, and the United States, and confirming appearances at festivals such as Coachella, Primavera Sound, and Vive Latino. A career in constant growth, one that shows no sign of stopping, now entering its most exciting phase. This new stage brings his latest album, Los Perros No Entienden Internet (…Y Yo No Entiendo de Sentimientos). In this work, Marcos follows the same logic as the kid who blew up the internet during the pandemic: someone who takes risks without calculation—not because he doesn’t care about losing, but because he understands that the game itself is also a form of resistance. And although it nods to the origins of Depresión Sonora, the album title takes a 180-degree turn: the artist who grew up on the digital margins now pays tribute to those who don’t recognize themselves through a screen. Depresión Sonora: the soundtrack of a generation.