Rodrigo Contrera

In Chile, where I was born (I have lived in Brazil for 47 years), the first musical demonstrations I heard were from my nanny, Justina Paidil, whose origins were indigenous. Later, I heard Los De Ramón, an excellent family-band that researched a lot about the sounds of the interior of the country, and then I fell into the trap of the cultural industry, with Ray Conniff, Herb Alpert, Raphael and the Disney albums.

I soon realized that what attracted me the most was not from abroad. But I also realized that there was very little of that type of record and material. And that it was more subtle, more coarse, more sad and also more cheerful, but with greater empathy. There was something kitsch, refined and elegant in those songs, and something that easily referred to the place. The other things were good, but displaced in time and space.

Over the decades, I listened to a lot of all kinds of music. And, discovering the blues, I realized that it was something that, despite being located in the backwoods of the United States, united that energy that was scattered in other places. Atahualpa Yupanqui is music from the Pampas, but it is blues. Zitarrosa is something political, yes, but also blues. Raul Seixas is sometimes blues. Secos e Molhados is not blues, but it also has something of blues. Why is that? I never understood.

There is blues everywhere. Always under the guise of something poorly played, coarse, that barely has a plot, but which still possesses a soul that is generally either lost, sold, faked, or transformed into social listening. Blues escapes the musical, behavioral, or even educational prism. It seems like something just human that navigates in the realm of those who have less, or believe in less, or have already tired of betting on biased data.

It happens that society always prefers to deceive. That we are taught not to learn, but to rely on illusions. That our faith is generally founded on delusions. And that when we wake up it's too late. The blues tries to wake us up, and in general we don't want to, can't, or it doesn't pay off. It's too good for us to let ourselves be carried away by tunes that lead to nowhere. Like a barbecue where no one is friends with anyone, but there is no shortage of meat.

Maybe that's why the blues doesn't die. Maybe that's why drinking always forces someone to leave too early. Or to leave people lost on the streets, with nowhere to go, because after all there is no place to arrive, nor destiny to fulfill. Maybe because there are only paths to follow and a broken umbrella to throw away, waiting only to rest and see time pass - while we still only endure.

Rodrigo Contrera

Translated by Bard, from Google