All Quiet on all Fronts here as of late at the Dust & Grooves HQ.
Work is being chipped away by our fellow musicologists around the globe, drubbing their written thoughts into shape and getting ready for your eyes!
Slightly old news which some of you may have already seen, but still cool as a breeze. The Madam Vice President, Kamala Harris flexing her love for Jazz with a few LPs walking out of Home Rule (HR) Records in DC. Always nice to see music getting admiration from all corners.
KXAN News in Austin, TX recently did a nice little piece on the vinyl making process with the local pressing plant Gold Rush Vinyl. To be honest, I can never get tired of watching clips of records being made! Soothing to the people who are the “keepers of stuff”.
We recently added a new addition to the intern team, please welcome Kaitlin. She hails from Nevada (home to Jenny Lewis & 7 Seconds, are there more?), but now based in Brooklyn. She will be accompanying us in the clickety-clacking of putting words down for people to follow. Kaitlin is an audio fanatic, loves film and poetry, sounds like she will fit in perfectly! Stay tuned for some terrific music writings from her!
Additionally, we have another open position for an intern who’s looking to grow their skills into a potential contributing writer and editorial assistant. Curious minds please drop a line!
Eilon has some exciting reports and photos from his travels throughout Mexico City, lets pass the relay baton over to Brooklyn as I sing, skip, fumble and sign off.
-Noah Zark
When’s the last time that you came across a full blown sound system and vinyl archive in a tire shop?
Mine was just last week, when I bounced around sunny (and hot) Mexico City in search of the incredible world of the old school Sonideros for a special book feature on these sound system operators known for their modified Sonidos (sound systems). The idea was smartly ignited by Dust & Grooves vet Ruffy, a hardcore digger I joined in Suriname and Guyana back in March. But the true push to go came from Jess and Fabian, a couple I met in the Bay Area last month that couldn’t stop singing Mexico City’s praises and introduced me to Cumbia Rebajada, a traditional Sonidero genre complete with slowed down, enchanting rhythms that somehow hypnotized me into heading down south.
But before Mexico, I made a quick pit stop in Miami to get my bearings. My AirBNB was bursting with fresh mangoes in the backyard—a sweet start to the trip that was almost immediately ruined by nearly fainting from the humidity during a run (key word: almost). Thankfully, my dizziness subsided by the time I carried on the Miami sound enthusiast and mustache marauder Tony Garcia, owner of Lucky Records, who kindly let me peruse his stacks.
Then I made my way (with a steady, non-faintable pace) to meet Sven, owner of Miami’s hottest vinyl bar, Dante’s HiFi. The place was impeccably stocked, with the entirety of Rich Medina’s personal record collection comfily moved in. I’m working on a piece for Vol 2. about the phenomena of Japanese sound bars, and what better place is there to find such a thing than Miami? Even better, I found out Sven is half-Jamaican and had an admirable collection of Jamaican records back at his house. The culture crossovers have just begun.
I also spent some time with Caroline Cardeñas, who described herself as an “outgoing introvert” and showed off some unmatched air-vibraphone playing skills on this 80s era Roy Ayers record. Equally as unmatched was her passion for music and her diverse collection, which culminated into a particularly charming shoot. She took me to a delicious Peruvian restaurant before (despite my better efforts) I almost passed out during a run yet again.
Later on, well-hydrated, I met with Andrew Le Spam, a recording engineer, musician, and DJ who founded electronica Latin band Spam Allstars. If that impressive description wasn’t enough, let me emphasize that during my research for collectors in Miami, his name was recommended by countless people as someone I needed to interview. Because of this, I was anticipating a busy hang out with lots of information from the guy, and my prophecy was not only correct, but beyond. Once I got to his place, I was greeted by his big smile and his massive collection, filled to the walls with records, sound devices, and instruments. I immediately connected to his positive energy and could feel how emotional and passionate he is about what he does. For my own mental health, I had to convince myself to not get too deep into his collection, though I couldn’t help but appreciate his endless artifacts (But watch out Caroline—we’ve got another talented airplayer ready for a competition).
After all this humidity and fervor, my troubles were replaced by horrible back pain as I headed to the main stop: Mexico City. Before my flight, I was manically texting my friend’s to see if they might know a guy (a chiropractor, that is) but thankfully I landed with ease and the pain quickly subsided. I started off my trip with Tostoni, a Venezuelan expat living in Mexico City. He told me was super excited for me to come, and even admitted to painting his apartment just for my visit, which I found endearing and a bit flattering. He spun some Simplicio, a Venezuelan jazz outfit my intern was bummed to be unable to find on Spotify.
Next up was a younger generation collector, Yumi “La Lovemaker.” She was eager to show me these two copies of the same record, both of which were $500 USD (in Mexico, this price equates to about $2000, or 4 months of a baseline salary). I was a bit taken aback by this and couldn’t help but wonder what the significance of owning two pricey records could be. Did these have some sort of otherworldly sentimental value? Or was this a case of younger collectors feeling like the hefty price tag of a record legitimizes their collection?
My questions came up again with Dario “Ritmonzon,” another younger collector with a beautiful, art-filled house (in the gaps of the wall where vinyl was not present, of course). He was super enthusiastic and I had to slow him down so that I could process everything he wanted to show me. It reminded me of Yumi, in the sense that the younger generation feels the need to be self-promoting, proving their collection is better because of its monetary (or social) value. Did the Instagram reality they were born into create a stronger need to display their value for others? I greatly admired his passion and felt flattered he had so much to show me, but nonetheless found it curious and thought provoking.
The main reason I came to Mexico was to explore the infamous and intricate world of the Sonideros. One of our goals with Vol. 2 is trying to shift out of the record rooms and into the world, unveiling bigger scenes with a unique musical history. Enter Carlos Icaza, who agreed to work with me in my investigation. It was my first night in Mexico City, and though I had yet to faint, the high altitude certainly affected my pace. Still, I powered through to meet Carlos at his record shack, a gloriously transformed taco stand where friends gather for community shows and events. The next day, he took me to El Chopo market, stacked with bootleg records in the range of rock, hard rock, and metal. I suppose a market in Mexico City is as good a place as any to get your hands on the latest Metallica album (or Billy Idol, if that’s more your speed). I got to meet some old time vinyl dealers and soak up the sun to the sound of people freestyling in the street. I was really inspired and excited by how deep the music scene in Mexico is. Later on that day, Carlos showed me his own collection, which featured a nearly complete set of his favorite artist, chicano legend Jonny Chingas.
After El Chopo, I made a quick stop with Brendan Flannery, a US expat who has been living in Mexico City for over 20 years. More than that though, he’s a certified Latin music aficionado with a special interest in Cuban sounds who blew my mind with a genius Mexican trick: storing 7-inches in beer crates. Another bit of proof that music should be consumed responsibly (or irresponsibly, with a designated driver).
After a week of whetting my appetite with dedicated collectors I was finally ready to move on to the main dish of the trip: the legendary Sonideros. First up—the late Sonido Duende. I took up a visit with his daughter and widow to go through some of his favorite records and felt honored to soak up his legacy. Soon after I went to see Sonido Arce, whose sound system is (as far as I know) the only one based in a tire shop. Clearly, this place is crawling with geniuses. He was super friendly and greeted us with some necessary beers.
The next day I headed to Tepito, a notoriously rough area where you have to know your way around. I went with Brendan, who insisted he put my camera bag in his backpack and operated as a much needed tour guide and bodyguard. Better safe than sorry. We went through another market to see Tobi, who gave us a glimpse into another staple of the Sonidero world: creating bootleg compilations of their sets, complete with their own titles for each song. More ingenuity! After the shoot he insisted we visit a “vinyl bar” around the corner, with latin records lining the walls. Vinyl bars are popping up everywhere! Even in Tepito!
Later, Carlos took me to Cuernavaca, a nature-filled city an hour out of Mexico City, to meet Mexico’s most underrated collector (in his opinion), Federico Arana. His house was divided into three separate buildings, each packed with his many collections, including a stack of vintage Lucha Libre posters in his main room. Enthralled, I immediately tried to buy one off of him, but Federico, ever the gracious host, refused my money and gifted me one. Dare I say a new collection of mine has been sparked?
Next up was Sonido Los Freddys, named after the two owner’s late older brother, Sonidero Alfredo Marquez. They took me to the incredible (and wallet-threatening) Sonido Fascinacion and Colombia Chiquita, a record store in the historic barrio Peñon de Los Baños, where many of the great Sonideros originated. The place even comes with a framed photo of bikini-clad Salma Hayek.
During my last weekend, exhausted from all the information, I teamed up with Arce again to attend a Baile (Spanish for “dance”), a spirited traditional dance party where people gather in their best attire to celebrate latin music. Clearly a stranger, I stood to the side of the dancing, but found that everyone there made a point to greet me and shake my hand. I was enamored by the old world traditions being preserved by all of these beautiful people, taking in remnants of the past and honoring them in the present. As the DJ played, I took note of the classic Garrard turntable, with modified pitch controls to create a seamless transition between record speeds and tune into the crowd’s rhythm using a scale. With the MC giving endless shout out and talking over the records, I was reminded of Jamaican style sets. Even on the side of the dance floor, I had a ball.
Before I wrapped up my successful trip, I stopped by one more vinyl bar, a Thai-influenced joint called Choza, run by American chef and record collector Tyler Henry. On Mondays, the day I visited, they run an album listening night, in which they play three records in full while we ate, drank and conversed with like minded people.
(Choza Photo by: Shovav Ehad)
It was a tranquil and full circle end to a nonstop trip full of new friends and countless music recommendations. Plus, I didn’t faint once.
-Eilon
