I dreamed that this music would evoke the folklore of a repopulated land. Music that brings people back.
Ucalun is a Mapuche word that means “away from the main road.” Ucar is from the town of La Pampa, where my grandmother was born.
Ukal has been uninhabited for many years. However, a while ago I learned that they still value it by restoring the remaining buildings and running various cultural activities with the participation of the community and neighboring towns. Currently, Jucal has only one resident who serves as its caretaker. And our guide Daniela also brought neighbors from a nearby town and built her own house there.
Authoritarians don’t like this
The practice of professional and critical journalism is a fundamental pillar of democracy. That is why it bothers those who believe that they are the owners of the truth.
On the website of the Ucal Despierta Civic Association, I found a photo taken in June 1937, the month and year of my grandmother’s birth. The photo showed several people dressed perfectly for the occasion. Among the many women carrying babies and men in suits, there were two accordion players on their knees with bellows outstretched. My Italian great-grandfather, an accordion player, might be one of them. The image was too blurry to confirm, but reality is also made up of illusions and imagination.
All this inspired me to dream of music that is not only a tribute to my grandmother and Hucal, but also a means to popularize it again. It’s music that not only pays tribute to our roots, but awakens within us the realm of dormant roots with a small flame ready to be rekindled.
Hölderlin’s words, “Where there is danger, those who save also grow” serve as a guideline for listening to this album, and for me they are like a banner, something that awakens my senses.
Last winter I was working on new music. It was an introspective winter, stepping away from my role as a singer-songwriter and discovering what lay ahead. I decided to take all my scheduled dates off. I couldn’t play that game anymore. A whole new ultra-violent political paradigm took away my sense of being able to go out and play.
As I write these lines and encourage everyone to listen to Ucaln, I’d like to think that this phase is coming to an end. I would like to think that this is the beginning of a new era. And the album can also be another source of inspiration.
The introspective states that led me to this music were no accident, intersected by meditation, contemplation, sleep and wakefulness. A process of exploration and discovery, walking at night through forested areas far from cities. I had lost myself and was trying to find myself. I was thinking about the true meaning of making music. How can we reaffirm what it means to make music in a time that seems to be emptying us of everything of value?
Perhaps one of the answers lies in the words of Edgar Bailey. In one of his essays, he talks about the “states of alertness and innocence” he uses to place himself in front of his work. I also felt that words were unnecessary. My voice wasn’t needed. It all started and ended with music. I dived into the deep sea in search of revelation. I’m looking for things that surprise me and things that surprise us. Something that wakes me up in the dark and brings us together. before the light returns
Please live within this music and actively participate in what it creates. To think and feel our depopulated areas, connect with this music, awaken them and build something new. Things that we forget in our daily lives, things that help us find so-called reality.
*Musician
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