Para Aleph

How did this song come about: with an image, a phrase, a melody, or something else?
I wrote this song when my dear friend Aleph Castañeda died, one of the people for whom I play the double bass. His death was very unexpected and the first significant loss in my life. This was my way of understanding that moment. At that time, I was obsessed with astronomy, and its concepts were constantly on my mind. I sought it in music and vice versa: I consumed information and, at the same time, sought out music that would remind me sensorially of that immensity, that would provoke dreams about the night sky. This was an interest I also shared with Aleph, and when he died, I found myself, as on many nights, looking at the sky from the rooftops and wondering where he had gone. I had the distinct feeling that if Aleph spent his time thinking about the sky as I did, he undoubtedly had a presence in all the places that had populated his thoughts. This thought, close to that of the theory of relativity and the space-time like a continuous fabric, led me to understand, for the first time in my body, the concept of eternity, because if time—like places—is traversable, it's impossible to say that something that once existed no longer exists. I wrote a text that I then set entirely to music to turn it into a song. It was the first time I composed something in that form, which has accompanied me for several years now and is governed primarily by a poetic and textural pattern. There are parts where the harmony is undefined and follows the paths of the melody, others where the melody is improvised in the words and a harmonic color, and still others that are completely open. These are structures that are there to freely represent and traverse the metaphor.

Who worked or collaborated on this song and how did they contribute to its creation?
I composed the song on the double bass and was fortunate enough to play it with several musicians before finding this version again, just with the double bass and a loop pedal, which became the essential and representative version for me. Later, when we worked on my album (which is about to be released) with Michael League, he added those wonderful Moog synthesizers, did the audio engineering, and suggested sound recording choices in the production that turned out to be incredibly moving successes.  

How long did it take to take its final form?
I wrote the song 11 years ago, when I was 19. It's the oldest song I've written that I still play. It was also the first song I arranged for that setup with double bass and loop pedal when I did my first solo gig, so it's very special to me; it was a turning point. I recorded it three times before without releasing it (thanks Johan, thanks Louis and Hayden), and it finally found its place last summer while recording at Michael's house.

Is there any direct reference or influence (another song, book, movie) that is present in this song?
Einstein's theory of relativity, indirectly. On the other hand, although it's not a film either, I owe the idea of ​​'theater with the lights off' to my mother, whom I often accompanied backstage at dance productions. That moment in the darkened theaters for rehearsals and lighting tests has always seemed to me almost frighteningly mystical, a time when everything can—and indeed does—become anything. 

What other songs or projects are coming up next?
For now, I'm focused on finishing and releasing this album, which is my first studio LP, and I'm incredibly excited about it. In April, we're going to present and record a project of my compositions with a wonderful orchestra in Portugal called OJM, with some arrangements of mine as well. I've been writing for some chamber music ensembles, and there's more of that in the works; I'm really looking forward to sharing it. In particular, last year I wrote a piece dedicated to Las Patronas de Amatlán de los Reyes and the Central American migrants who cross Mexico by train for a wind quintet called Dianto, one of the most important and cherished projects I've ever had, will be touring. I have many friends with whom collaborations are both essential and inevitable. I also have a couple of projects in the works to create a space dedicated to performing beloved songs, especially Mexican and Latin American music. I always have far more ideas than I can realize, and they're increasingly diverse. I'm here writing music, lyrics, and drawings little by little; touring solo and with my ensembles; and learning to play, dance, and speak the music of my region, Veracruz.  

Which composers, musicians, bands, producers, and studios would you like to collaborate with in the future?
Tereso Vega, Genevieve Artadi, Chencho Corleone, Lucia Fumero, David Haro, La Niña del Sud, Eloy Zúñiga, Ëda Diaz, Juana Aguirre, Jason Lindner, Miriam Reyes (poet), Emmanuelle Lecomte, Silvia Pérez Cruz, Björk, Aaron Parks, Isabel Crespo Pardo, Gabriel Milliet, Alex Lázaro, Eve Matin, Diego Cerroblanco, La Surada, Arca, Raymundo Pavón, any symphony orchestra, Dimitris Papaiannou, Marius Troy, NDT, male voice choir, any deep choral ensemble—I love voices immensely—, a large string orchestra, Kit Downes, Kae Tempest, Yorgos Lanthimos, ‘El Desierto’, anything close to Arvo Pärt, Tiny Desk, dance and theater artists/companies, and always my trio Perselí with whom I hope to see many things and grow old. As a way of expressing my interest, I'd love to act in a film and do a soundtrack for one. I want anything creative, loving, and sincere, so please come to me.

I'm about to do a session in Mexico City on February 19th with some really lovely people and a very special immersive concept for the audience called Somos Sessions*.

*About the event: Somos Sessions offers intimate live experiences where the first song of each artist is played while wearing blindfolds. Each session includes a surprise guest, whose identity will be revealed on the day of the event. On this occasion, the featured artist will share the stage with a colleague whose identity will be revealed during the experience.