Interview with Chicha Libre
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Surrounded by snow-capped volcanoes, I wiped the jet lag off my brow and took a moment to catch my breath—a belabored process due to high elevation (a staggering 7,700 feet above sea-level). It was my first night in Arequipa, Peru and I sat down to a sumptuous three-course meal for two, which amounted to about the mere price of a deli sandwich back in Los Angeles.

In the distance, I heard the strumming of guitars, looked up from my glass of Malbec, and saw five Andean musicians closing in on our table. One of them smiled broadly, revealing a mouthful of gold, as the band kicked into their version of the Eagle’s ubiquitous pop tune, “Hotel California”—only the vocal lines were replaced with the panflutes. Known by the native Indians as the siku, this traditional instrument is used at the forefront of many Andean melodies. When the band finished, I handed them a tip and they continued on their round to the next table. I suppose being relegated to the tourist ‘gringo’ section of town, this was the type of music I expected to encounter; yet all the while I yearned for something deeper and more spiritually connected to the geographical realities of Peru’s mountainous terrain, humid jungles, and the world’s deepest canyons.

Little did I know, that six months later while touring with my band in Brooklyn, I would stumble across the musical fix that was amiss during my travels abroad. I ended up at local bar called Southpaw and the DJ was spinning what sounded like a foreign version of psychedelic. It piqued my interest. The sound waves of the wah-wah pedal traveled across the room, as a rare Hohner Electrovox (60s compact organ) traded solos with a surf guitar. The song conjured up images of longhaired Amazonian warlords slashing their way through the dense jungles with a machete and a vintage guitar slung across their back.
……..

Olivier Conan, founder of the band, stumbled upon his passion while record shopping in Lima, Peru and had a burning desire to shed light upon this variety of cumbia-psych called Chicha music. This arcane musical style was marginalized in the local community of Peru, and at large in the global arena of world music. It is easy to see why the conservative sentiments of Latin America felt strongly about shunning the brazen experimentations; its irreverent rock ceremonies attempted to subvert the Europeanized mainstream and its artists heavily used the strong psychedelic drug, Ayahuesca, to inspire their sounds to greater heights.

Therefore, it makes sense that only in Brooklyn, a neighborhood that prides itself on cultural diversity and innovation, could Olivier incorporate his passion so comprehensively into what became the Barbès scene. A subculture built on good old-fashioned DIY ethics and comprised of his band, Chicha Librè, his Barbès record label and their local club. Evil Monito caught up with Olivier to discuss this nascent community built upon an intense love for the Chicha revival.

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EM: What is the meaning behind the name, Chicha Librè?

Chicha is actually a style of music popularized among indigenous empowerment groups in Peru during the 1970’s. The Chicha music was actually frowned upon by the middle class and mainstream community. Chicha Librè literally means “Chicha freeform”.

EM: How long did it take to start the band after you first heard Chicha music?

When I came back from Peru I had all these recordings. Since we owned the club, we can play whatever we want; which is kind of a beautiful thing. We thought, why not put a band together to play some of this music. We have a truly good community of musicians that live within the neighborhood of Brooklyn. We played once a month for a while and then got a little more serious and recorded [our debut] album, [Sonido Amazonico, literally meaning “sounds of the Amazon”.

EM: Chicha is also the name of a peculiar brew that I stumbled upon in my travels through Peru. The locals chew up the corn and spit it into a barrel resulting in a type of beer that is fermented in human saliva. Did you sample this beverage?

I have not tried it yet. I had the chicha morada, which is the soda version (without the saliva). I was actually in Huarez and Lima for most of the time and they actually didn’t have much Chicha there, maybe it wasn’t the season. Because it can go bad pretty quickly, if its not consumed soon after its made. I suppose, that when I go back to Peru, next time I will have to try the beer. After all, our band is named after the drink.

EM: So basically within your neighborhood, you’ve founded the Barbès Club, you started up the Barbès record label, as well as the new band, Chicha Librè. Let's talk about the Barbès scene's popularity and viability in Brooklyn. Why does Chicha Libre—its music and sheer existence—resonate with the local people and made such an impact in your neighborhood?

Interestingly enough our band, Chicha Libre, had a dual impact in our community. First of all, we've created a recurrent place and event to which people could come and hang out. We play every Monday, and people here have started to treat us like the music we play belongs to them, as if it emanated from the neighborhood—[it resulted in a] combination of Barbés regulars, music enthusiasts and hipsters. At the same time, we’ve attracted a sizable Latin audience, including a lot of Peruvians. At first, that made us a bit nervous, I mean, they could be questioning our motives, seeing what we do as some sort of archaeological theft. You see, Peruvians [had to endure] a long history of [oppression by European colonialism].

Instead, [the Peruvian-Americans] always seemed very proud of what we do, treating us like ambassadors of sorts. A number of [them] have gone out of their way to thank me for making the music known out here in Brooklyn. There [are essentially] two different crowds: the regular music hipsters and the Latinos seem to feed on each other in a way. Each group seems to think that the other lends the music credibility, which is what makes the music truly interactive at a local level - by insinuating itself in two distinct musical communities.

EM: What kind of impact did the Peruvian culture in Brooklyn have on influencing your music?

South American music had a huge impact on me, more personally with the music of Peru. I visited the country two and half years ago with my girlfriend. I wanted to check out some music, particularly the mùsica criolla, which I was into at the time, [a form of] Afro-Cuban music. When I was shopping around in Lima for the music, I came across some Chicha albums, which I had never heard before and instantly thought this was such a cool thing! So I brought it back to Brooklyn with me and started cross-pollinating with the music and somehow it became a whole neighborhood phenomenon in Brooklyn.

At the end of the trip, I had around 2-3,000 songs. The vendors there were like cultural curators (although they didn’t think of themselves that way). They would guide you through the collection saying, “if you like this band, you’ve got to check out these bands” or “that’s what my mother used to listen to.” It was cool that they could understand what I liked or what I was looking for. They were extremely proud of their music, especially once you start liking music that veered from the mainstream, its considered loca musica, no matter if I’m a Euro, gringo or wherever I’m from, if I liked the music they were willing and open in sharing their history.

EM: There is a local band here in Echo Park called Very be Careful that plays Cumbia. Have you heard of them?

Yeah, they played at our Barbès club about a year ago. I missed the show, but I heard it was great. I enjoy their records a lot. They play a really pure Columbian cumbia; the way it was performed in the late 60’s. I love that stuff, always have! It’s very different from the kind of cumbia that is [traditionally] played in Peru. I heard that they have a lot of good energy at their live show. Recently someone actually approached us to play a show with Very be Careful in Los Angeles.

EM: Back in the 60s, a lot of musicians like Jimi Hendrix experimented with LSD for some psychedelic inspiration. I was wondering if a parallel phenomenon was occurring in the Amazon. Do you know if the Chicha music might have been strongly influenced by the powerful South American psychedelic Ayahuasca?

One of the most genius bands of Peru is called Juaneco y Su Combo and they have a song called Vacilando con Ayahuesca (partying with Ayahuasca). They wrote songs in their own way, they don’t sound like anybody else. They use a lot of the Amazonian mythology and talk about doing Ayahuesca and coming in contact with the weird vampire woman. They dress like Indians, that is, Indians with electric guitars.

People have been taking Ayahuesca for a long time. They do it for fun, and for knowledge; as well as for recreational knowledge. I have not tried it myself though. I know it is a big part of the culture down there. I’m not sure that I would try it. I’ve been known to freak out on pot.

EM: What about Chicha Libre—its music and method—makes it so organic to Brooklyn and reflects a particular sense of community there?

The whole idea that Brooklyn is this schizophrenic mosaic of cultures which co-habit, but rarely interact - and at the same time that it is a true caldron in which the most unlikely disparate and exotic ingredients are mixed into unexpected stews (that was a bad metaphor, sorry). Well, we’re mixing it up Brooklyn style. We steal, borrow and reinvent, we co-opt and disseminate in ways that immigrant groups have always done in Brooklyn. That’s our historical foundation and our rationalization for doing so. Not only is it allowed here, but in a way, people expect if from you. No one expects authenticity here because historically, it just doesn’t mean much here. Especially to all the people that are half Irish and Puerto Rican, Jewish and catholic, etc. Not that everybody here is this liberal ethnically diverse open-minded person, but it is definitely part of the local folklore, and we both feed from it and feed the myth in our own way by creating a new relevant hybrid.

If you want a practical example, we had this group of Peruvian men the other day. They knew the lyrics by heart and were singing along—only with lyrics to our traditional songs—which was a little freaky [at first]. I talked to them after the show and it turns out that they lived in the neighborhood and were about to open a Peruvian restaurant. Someone had told them “you should hook up with Chicha Libre, they play Peruvian music.” They ended up buying the CD and being totally into it. Ultimately, the local Peruvians had been introduced to Brooklyn Chicha by way of neighborhood pride.

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http://www.barbesrecords.com/