What was the first thing that appeared on this record: a word, a sound, or a sensation?
In this order: several dedicated words; several sensations, a clear voice that pierces through the ears, deep inside; a very strange polyrhythm; a highly theatrical sound design; and then, coherence.
How do you move from a note in a notebook to a song?
I spend many hours in front of the machines until something —an external force— helps me find coincidences that begin to form small knots, which later loosen to make room for something more structured.
What interests you more: technical precision or the emotion that slips away?
I like to be precise in production in order to reflect the emotion I’m exploring. For example, I train my voice to gain more technical fluidity, but not just to have it, rather to have more tools that, in performance, whether in the studio or onstage, allow me to let myself go emotionally, trusting that there is muscle memory underneath.
At what point do you know a song is finished?
It’s something that simply happens. Sometimes the song drives you into total delirium, almost illness; other times, you simply feel a voice saying, “Okay, this is enough.”
What changes in your music when you work alone versus when you collaborate?
Working alone is a very meditative process, completely forgetting the voice that speaks to you and gives orders, and flowing only with sound. When you collaborate, you’re in a kind of consensus of coincidences, and the emotion rises when that coincidence is precise and exhilarating.
How do you decide which language to sing an idea in?
I don’t decide, it just happens. It can depend on how the lyrics were written, and on my desire to remain faithful to the original textual mode of the first improvisation.
Was there any mistake or accident that ended up becoming an essential part of the record?
So many. The record could be considered an organized compendium of accidents.
What were you looking for when working with Alex Lázaro’s percussion?
Percussion that contributed to musicality, wild polyrhythms, basically listening for patterns and rhythms I hadn’t heard on other records.
What did you discover about yourself while recording A Danger to Ourselves?
I confirmed that fear murders intuitive impulse, and that if I manage to overcome fear, I can be more honest and visceral.
What would you like someone to feel the first time they listen to this record?
It’s impossible for me to imagine such a process of transference. I only wish that, if they happen to stumble into the record by some accident, they give themselves the chance to listen to it from beginning to end.
If this record were an everyday object, something anyone could have at home, what would it be and why?
A fantastically adorned silver dagger; a painting made with the blood of a loved one; a temporary dissolution chamber; a constellation you discover while looking at the sky and realize it is in complete synchrony with your heartbeat.
If A Danger to Ourselves were a flavor, what would it be?
Salt.
If someone listened to your album in a dream, what image would you like them to remember upon waking?
This makes me think that, even though I’m so exposed to music, I’m not aware of whether my dreams take place with soundtracks made of music that exists in this temporal space.
Born in Pereira, Colombia. She has carved out a distinctive place in contemporary music. Her trajectory —from civil engineer to sound artist— began while working at a geotechnical firm in Medellín, where she discovered computer-based music production, a revelation that completely reoriented her life and creative approach.