By José Gandue @Gandour Photos @emilianopalaciosph
All of us, across the length and breadth of the continent, have had to live through long periods of mandatory quarantine in our homes for the past twelve months. We have all cursed the pandemic an immeasurable number of times And besides, I'm sure many of us are collectors of useless data, like the exact dimensions of our rooms, the decibels our door hinges make when they close, or the precise variations in the ceiling's color across its entire surface. We've all been bombarded with words from corporate demagoguery like "reinvention" and "entrepreneurship," meant to convince us to elevate our misfortunes. And the musicians? Well, most of you already know: Almost all of them created, with varying degrees of success, new music from their own homes, using whatever technological resources they had available. and sharing via Zoom, Meet o WhatsApp He shared his ideas with his colleagues virtually, rather than in person. From this catalog of home-based works, one of the most recent releases, and arguably one of the most interesting we've had access to, is the latest EP by the Argentinian artist. Ramiro Abrevaya. This musician, born in Buenos Aires, known in the music scene as a composer and producer of a varied discography, which includes an album of sound poetry with the poet Nico Castro, and a significant number of contributions to soundtracks for film, theater and television, has released this week Quarantined, a compilation of six tracks, where he performs his own unique version of Los Redondos, Charly García, Manu Chao, Jorge Drexler, Tango Feroz and the Rosario folk music scene. Quarantined It is a simple and exciting album, which serves as healthy therapy in difficult times, because, after all, the tedium, anxiety and hopelessness of the times are combated with inspiration and beauty.
We had the opportunity to meet Abrevaya and talk to him to get more details about his work:
Did you suffer a lot during quarantine?
It depends on who I compare myself to, because there were people who truly suffered job losses, loss of homes, family members who died without wakes, and so on. I suffered quite a bit from the lockdown, particularly from being confined with my family. I have two daughters, one six years old and the other a baby who spent her first year of life in quarantine, and I'm married. There are four of us at home, and we'd never had such intense and close contact, 24/7. In that sense, losing my personal space was very hard. Professionally, I wasn't as affected since my income isn't primarily from my shows, which is where the pandemic hit hardest in the music industry. I'd say I suffered, but it wasn't a fatal blow.
And, in the midst of all that, what was it like making music?
The lockdown heightened my productivity. I generated a huge amount of material in a very short time, without the pressure of having to produce high-quality recordings. This happened to many colleagues, and it led to us collaborating on recordings, inviting each other to record and share that content. In that sense, the quarantine was very rewarding—a kind of unbridled productivity in an environment where people turned to art to cope.
Furthermore, you had a captive audience, in the broadest sense of the word…
Hahaha, exactly. The truth is that the quarantine created a very interesting breeding ground for connection, very much so. A lot of sensitivity in both the listener and the artist, and that equation is ideal.
What made you produce, among everything you've done during this time, an album of covers?
The covers thing is very striking, because I'd never released one before, apart from a very particular version of I Still haven't found what I'm looking for by U2, with a 50-person choir, which I edited in 2018. At the beginning of 2020 a movement was born called Twibuto, Led by a great friend, Fernando Cárdenas, who had already been making tribute albums, one of them to U2, which included my aforementioned version. Fernando and Seba Rubin were the ones who started this group of musicians; many of us met in the WhatsApp group that was created. The premise was simple: Each week they would give prompts like "Songs from the '90s," or "songs with a color in their title," and so on. Then everyone would choose one, produce it at home (both audio and video), and then a YouTube playlist would be created with everyone's versions. This was a really great experience because it not only meant a tremendous production pace (one song with its video per week) but also generated a community of artists who, in the midst of lockdown, shared what they loved most with their colleagues. In five weeks I recorded 5 of the 6 songs that are now part of Quarantined, the EP I just released. The sixth track is To save spring, a classic of Rosario's trova music, which I produced at the request of my friend Reynaldo Sietecase, who suggested I record it and use it daily on his program The vast minority, From the beginning of September until the 21st, the arrival of spring. So my relationship with the covers was involuntary, but very nice. The Twibuto cycle released a triple album with one song per participant. However, I wanted to have a record of this stage of my life. The EP includes all the covers I recorded for Twibuto, because they were produced with a lot of love and have a coherence with each other. One of the songs, My friends, Manu Chao shared it on all his social media, and for me it was a balm to the heart.
What does each original version of the songs you chose evoke in you?
Except for "Para salvar la primavera" (by Rafael Ielpi & Enrique Llopis), which I didn't know, the rest are anthems for me, songs that run in my veins and are deeply connected to my songwriting. They all move me deeply and represent very important moments in my life. These are artists who are role models for me, and I'm happy to have paid tribute to them. At the same time, the experience of recording a cover is an immense learning opportunity.
Your version of Looking for a symbol of peace. I liked the risk you took in changing the original melody and the tempo. You somehow made a very well-known song your own.
That's great! I often appropriate other people's songs, just like I did with the U2 one (which I went way overboard with... hahaha). The more relaxed cadence was intentional; I was interested in exploring the essence, the song within that great track. The folk feel came from the acoustic guitars and, clearly, the contribution of Nichi, an excellent artist with folk roots.
Another detail that caught my attention is the natural way in which you thank the artists who collaborated with you in the recording.
What a lovely observation! It was a liberty I took because, as I mentioned before, this interactive experience during the pandemic with the guests was a huge emotional support, and I wanted to capture that detail as if it were a real live performance. Keep in mind that the production process was remote and asynchronous; I would send the backing track, they would record, and I would mix. So, that little game was a bit of a fictional tool to create the feeling of a real live performance, as well as to leave a record of the participants' names.
How many more covers would you have recorded?
Haha… Look… The move of Twibuto It's still going strong; they slowed down, but they're still incredibly committed. I needed to stop because it was taking up too much of my time, and the result wasn't taking the shape I wanted. So, after the fifth cover, I took a break and started working on my own songs, which I've already produced and demoed. But I haven't ruled out the possibility of recording more in the future; in fact, we have a cover of [song title] in the works. An angel for your loneliness, to record with Irina Hauser.
