By Miriam Maidana @ememiriam
Editor's Note: We have learned of the murder of Juan Ledesma, drummer for the Argentinian band Superuva, and we can think of no better tribute to his work or more fitting plea for justice in his case than this article written by Miriam Maidana, psychoanalyst at the University of Buenos Aires. This article was originally published in RedHarvest.org, (whom we thank for granting permission for its reproduction).
“All the kids have rock t-shirts/ I only have an all-black t-shirt/ desperately I look in the shop windows/ I ask: do you have any rock t-shirts?”
Rocker T-shirts/ Supergrape
The 90s were partly the years when many young people from the Buenos Aires suburbs left their rooms and came to the capital to play in clubs and not so much. With Los Brujos, Babasónicos, EOY, and Paoletti leading the movement from the southern suburbs—and well-received by Cerati, for example, who included them in some shows—a subtle but evident division began to emerge: the "sonic" (New Argentine Rock) scene had access to education, had budgets for instruments and costumes, and didn't work much. But the southern suburbs are large, and from Valentín Alsina, three bands emerged that exemplified why the Ramones were more punk than the Sex Pistols: Ricki from Flema, the 2-minute Fly and Checha from Superuva. The three were very close friends, not very studious, very much into the streets, alcohol, and their companions.
It was a party that some of us were able to experience: You're not the same anymore 2 Minutes, If that's how I am of Phlegm and Rocker T-shirts The Superuva trilogy was unbeatable. The poetry of the lyrics was direct: the friend who becomes a policeman, the alcohol and drugs, and the mockery of anyone wearing a t-shirt without even knowing what band it was from.
The lyrics were Valentín Alsina, girlfriends who became ex-girlfriends, closed factories, drugs and alcohol, unemployed fathers, mothers and grandmothers working outside all day. His shows were absurd and therefore unforgettable: where Babasónicos sang to the mountains of water, Ricki would shout that “I will never be a provincial or capital city police officer”, Mosca assumed to be “working-class neighborhood, Valentín Alsina” and Superuva announced “I will kill your mother with my guitar”, Because I can imagine the look on the bride's family's face when they saw her with him. I should clarify that he didn't kill her: they couldn't have bought another guitar. They were poor.
Checha, the singer from Superuva, came to Heavy Rock & Pop many times, along with Chino, the first drummer. I always loved that his side project was called Contrabando de palitos salados (Smuggling of Salty Sticks), although they later shortened it to Contrabando (Smuggling). Like Ricki Espinoza, like Mosca, Sometimes they came walking because in the 90s under Menem, you either drank or you traveled.
Superuva was never as popular as 2 Minutos or Flema, and clearly not as popular as Babasónicos and Los Brujos either. But ask anyone from the 90s scene who Checha is and we all knew about him. I was everywhere, watching bands, sharing.
And if the band's project went ahead, it was because of their tenacity. He's currently a man in his forties who goes to play music in a bar in Quilmes on any given Saturday., Like last year, he managed to put together a tour and go to Mexico, which has an audience for everything.
She continues to travel by bus, she is going to pick up medicine at the Solano Maternal and Child Hospital., And he's wearing the same plaid pants he's had for 20 years.
I found out early on that His drummer, Juan Ledesma, had been stabbed to death and Checha was in the Iriarte Hospital. Absurd episode after playing in a small bar, probably for the beers and some coins for the freight.
I didn't write anything at the time because everything was very confusing, and the gang did a great job of protecting the investigation. When the killer's image was released –Cristian Ariel Geren, over thirty, important idiot– the internet was filled with insightful reports about the “Obelos”, a supposedly punk group named so because they hung out at the Obelisk.
And just like that, as if nothing had happened, The signifier “punk” once again grouped together a string of spitting, thuggish, arrogant and useless imbeciles. Because neither Cristian nor his three friends—who kicked a dying man on the floor—have used being punks to change the world, for DIY, or even to read Bakunin. They are lumpenproletariat who "occupy" an old woman's house and do nothing. They're just violent. They existed before the Obelos: a mohawk and starting a fight. Then they run away like rats, whether at Parakultural, Die Schule, or the Monte Grande plaza.
A mohawk doesn't make you a punk or an anarchist. Scamming an old lady and squatting in her house doesn't make you a punk. Carrying a knife doesn't make you punk.
Osvaldo Bayer is an anarchist, I suppose. These violent people, protected by their families, don't even have an ideology.
Therefore, I must say that I was extremely pleased that Obelo was arrested in Gualeguaychú, Sleeping in a sewer. And I hope the trio of girls who kicked a defenseless man in the street while he was bleeding profusely are too.
Do I believe in the police and the justice system? Not really. But Superuva and Checha managed to get the loving, affectionate, musical Network to spread the word and accompany them in their grief within 48 hours. So I hope they spend several years in prison. Because the effect of Violence affects us all: comments ranging from rape to subjugation don't seem necessary to me. Juan will not come back to life because of that. And we must be better than these murderers.
Because punk is a movement and an identity that has nothing to do with assaulting, killing, or bullying.
And even less so to our own.
Punk allowed thousands upon thousands of people to access an education, a countercultural perspective on the established order. It also allowed thousands upon thousands of kids, instead of watching life pass them by in their poor neighborhoods, to find a way to earn some money and sustain their desire to be musicians, to have a band., to escape boredom and the factory, and to pay for rent and beer.
My utmost respect to Superuva, who will recover and return to alternating seedy bars with tours in Latin America.
My utmost respect to the punk movement.
My deep contempt for a murderer.
My disgust at the idea that women can kick a dying man on the floor.
Perhaps in prison they can read Bakunin, the Provos, the communes.
Squatting in an old woman's house is not punk: It's an abuse of power.