Pico do Areeiro's observatory, in Madeira, Portugal.
Muerdo: a Spanish with a Latin-American signature sound
I came to know Muerdo thanks to the soothing Canto pal’ que Está Despierto (from Viento Sur, 2016). Deceived by the Cuban salsa, I assumed Muerdo was Latin-American. Furthermore, the vibrant album cover by Ricardo Cavolo enchanted me. Back then, I was actually listening to Onda Vaga’s Quedate Luna, that features Muerdo (b. Pascual Cantero Fernández).
The trumpet, the guitar and the percussions guide us through a call for togetherness in Canto pal’ que Está Despierto. Whether we are restless or in despair, there is a way forward (“Canto pal’ que está despierto/ Y pal’ que nada en su llanto/ Canto pal’ que tiene miedo/ Pero es capaz de enfrentarlo”). Muerdo reminds us again and again throughout his entire production, that we have the power to prevent suffering and fear from having the best of us. “No voy a hablar del dolor que tengo y que me lo callo” (“I'm not going to talk about the pain I'm in and that I'm keeping to myself”), as if (not)mentioning pain is the only way to let go. It is the Uruguayan poet Mario Benedetti reciting Por qué Cantamos (from Cotidianas, 1979) to inform us about the political dimension of our pursuits.¹ “Vamo’ tú y yo mi hermano a construir lo nuevo” (“Let's you and me, my brother, build the new”) stands as Muerdo’s ultimate invitation. Additionally, the album Fin de la Primera Vida (2020) presents us with an acoustic version of Canto pal’ que Está Despierto, with Pedro Pastor.
Muerdo's music without borders
We read in Muerdos’ bio on Spotify: “música no tiene fronteras” (“music has no borders”). The phrase feels quite like an oversimplification of music as a universal language here.
Consecrated by collaborations with affirmed Latin-American artists — such as Perotá Chingó, Lido Pimienta, Nación Ekeko, Miss Bolivia — he played at major music festivals in Latin America. Muerdo integrated into his work the many sonorities he encountered during his travels and explorations.
In the motivating Si lo Crees, he recounts his humble journey to a successful career in music, from Murcia to Madrid, La Habana and Latin America at large (“Me armé de fuerza/ — Me vine pa’ Madrid/ Soñaba fuerte que lo iba conseguir/ Mientras dormía en un cuartito sin ventanas comiendo arroz con ajo cuatro veces por semana”). Unapologetically, he acknowledges his music references: “No hubo semilla de la duda:/ Sabía que algún día explotaría como ahora/ Lo supe cuando estuve en Cuba/ América Latina ha sido mi mejor escuela" (“Without a shadow of doubt:/ I knew that one day I would burst as I do now// I knew it when I was in Cuba/ Latin America has been my main school”). Muerdo also tells of his first gigs in the garitos of the Spanish capital, with the support of his mentor Luis Eduardo Aute (the two sung also together in Prefiero Amar). By sharing his own story, Muerdo wishes to inspire in others the courage to believe and invest in their personal projects “Perdí la inocencia/ Pero no perdí la fe// Si lo crees/ Si lo crees/ Lo crea” (“I lost my innocence/ But I did not lose my hope// If you believe/ If you believe/ You create it”).
And again, the song Entre La Habana y Madrid (from Tocando Tierra, 2011) announces: “Y entre La Habana y Madrid/ Me encontré lo que te canto” (“And in-between Havana and Madrid/ I figured out what I am signing about”).
Detail from the volcano Calderón Hondo, in Fuerteventura, Spain.
Muerdo's La Sangre del Mundo: an unorthodox way of approaching other music genres
Si lo Crees is an excerpt from La Sangre del Mundo (2021), expertly produced by Diego Pérez from Nación Ekeko. Muerdo found himself in Buenos Aires during the first wave of the pandemic. His songs were ready to be recorded between the studio Subtrópico and El Mejor during the next six months. To Diego Pérez, we owe the presence of musical instruments like the creole guitar, the Ronroco, the cuatro venezolano, the twelve-string guitar, as well as of the synths and sampling. These careful music arrangements result in Muerdo’s very first album with strong electronic sonorities. The illustrations of Asís Percales entail a whole graphic project that results in the album cover and the singles. Welcome to the club if you also thought the album art was of Ricardo Cavolo’s doing this time too.
With the opening track Sur del Sur, ”The album starts with an airplane taking off. And the sonorities of southern Europe begin to mix — Mediterranean and flamenco sonorities — with more Andean sonorities — the chacarera, the zamba, and the bombo legüero rhythm.” Notably, Muerdo’s Niño de Elche brings to the song flamenco sonorities, that are counterbalanced by different Argentinian folk music genres as well as clearly Andean sonorities. On one hand, we distinguish the cello, the violin and the viola; while on the other, the guitarra criolla, the Ronroco and the cuatro venezolano.
Muerdo declares: “It is in my nature to approach other music genres, although I always try to do it in an unorthodox way. I don't research into depth the chacarera or the zamba or the candombe, but rather I approach them. I make songs that bear a likeness to the candombe, the chacarera or the cumbia. This makes the process more natural. If my intention had been to go deeper into those styles, it would have been much more difficult. Also for the coherence of the album, because in the end the glue that binds all those disparate elements together is still a concept that is half pop and half folk music.“
His knowledge of the great variety of Latin-American music genres allows him to experiment with them. He creates his sound, by blending together these musical references in somewhat of an unclear way. His understanding of the music traditions he crossed paths with is anything but superficial.
In the energetic funk of Sonidos (from Viento Sur, 2016), the trumpet accompanies his claim: “Buscando sonidos de todas las partes del mundo/ Mi tribu rebelde se expande consciente” (“Searching for sounds from all over the world/ My rebellious tribe consciously expands”). Muerdo must refer to the importance of collaborating with other artists, as he conceives music as a collective experience (“De todas formas sí que me gusta mucho colaborar. Yo concibo la música como algo colectivo, algo que es más divertido cuando se comparte.”). After all, 2020 Fin de la Primera Vida includes collaborations that had taken place throughout a period of four years and were first made available on YouTube. Similarly, on occasion of the anniversary collection 10 Años de Flores, Viento y Fuego (2023), Muerdo invited a group of friends to reinterpret together ten songs from his previous five albums. He explained that he always desired to play them this way, yet his will went against the one of his music label (e.d. Warner Music Spain).
Iron windmill from the Salinas del Marrajo in the Parque Natural Islote de Lobos, in Fuerteventura, Spain.
Continuing with La Sangre del Mundo, the multidisciplinary artist Lido Pimienta joins in for A Volar, a theme Muerdo appears particularly satisfied with. This cumbia tells about the feelings that come along the end of a love relationship. Moving on seems to be the only way to continue with life: “Echándome sin alas a volar” (“Helplessly, throwing myself wingless into flight”). I feel we can agree with him that this makes for a very touching piece, perfectly complemented by a videoclip developed by Coke Riobóo using the stop motion technique.
In support of Latin-American social movements in Chile: Muerdo's rework of Yo Pisaré las Calles Nuevamente
Yo Pisaré las Calles Nuevamente proposes an adapted version of the homonymous composition by the Cuban songwriter Pablo Milanés. The song originally spoke about the many deaths in the context of Pinochet’s violent repression. Milanés’ lines adopt a new meaning in the days in which a new Chilean constitution was expected to replace the one redacted by Pinochet in 1980.
Muerdo lets us know: “In 2019, […] on a salient day of the protests, 14 November — which was precisely the day on which the agreement to hold the plebiscite was reached — we were there, we were playing at the Nescafé theatre. Experiencing all that first hand is very powerful. […] I wanted to continue in this line of tributes to the classics and publicly support the whole social process the Chilean public is going through.”
In Muerdo’s rework Yo Pisaré las Calles, Salvador Allende’s voice resonates.² It is Allende’s farewell speech to the Chileans from September 11th, 1973, in the immediacy of the coup d’état.
A brief yet meaningful return to reggae sonorities
Muerdo might have cut off his dreadlocks but Mensajero’s reggae vibe still takes us back to a genre Muerdo is very familiar with. The refrain encourages not to give up, even though we might feel broken (“Aunque está roto por dentro, camina y va”).
Mensajero is presented in 10 Años de Flores, Viento y Fuego in an alternative version, where the initial dub arrangement is definitely more extreme. As usual music partners, Necrojocker and Chusterfield wrote some new lyrics for Mensajero. The lively, resulting track is very distant from the original in an absolutely refreshing way.
Grotte del Bue Marino, in Sardinia, Italy.
A delightful combination made up of the cuatro venezolano, the Jaranas and the requinto, subsequently introduces the singing in Tierra Sagrada. “Yo beso por donde pisas/ Cual fueras tierra sagrada” (“I kiss where you pass/ As if you were sacred ground”). It is the direct contact with the loved one to have transferred sacred qualities to the bare ground. In return, kissing the loved one is kissing the sacred.
The marimba kicks in, and in full Pablo Milanés’ fashion — after his Canta a José Martí (1973) — Muerdo juxtaposes the verses of the Cuban revolutionary José Martí from Si Ves un Monte de Espumas and Mi Verso Es como un Puñal.
Accompanied by a set of electric guitars and a choir (composed by Teresa Fiorenza and Carlos Manzanares), Muerdo poses a question that remains unanswered: “Quién pudiera darte todo, si yo solo tengo ganas” (“Who could give you everything/ If all I have is the desire to”).
The album 10 Años de Flores, Viento y Fuego also sees Tierra Sagrada being gracefully reinterpreted in an acoustic key with the support of the Canarian artists Pedro Guerra and Valeria Castro. The song is produced by Ismael Guijarro, who was responsible for some of Muerdo’s past acoustic productions.
Skillfully curating coplas in collaboration with Perotá Chingó
In Coplas, the Murcian singer puts into music some verses from José Martí’s Yo Soy un Hombre Sincero (from Versos Sencillos, 1891) and José Hernandez’ El Gaucho Martín Fierro (1872). While this certainly is not a fully unedited creation, we must recognise Muerdo and Perotá Chingó’s merit for having masterfully selected and curated these coplas³(just like the title of the composition suggests).
Muerdo had collaborated with the duo Perotá Chingó separately before (Lola Membrillo in Semillas, 2020 and 2013; Julia Ortiz in Claridad, 2020), but this is the first time that the three of them have done something together. The iconic sound of the Quenas and the sikus, combine with the cuatro venezolano, the Ronroco, the charango, the electric guitar, the Bombo legüero and additional percussions.
The album concludes with a remix of Coplas by Cancha Via Circuito, that gives the song an extra dancy kick.
Is Muerdo in any way guilty of cultural appropriation ?
Tamia Vercoutére Quinche on cultural appropriation, asks: “[D]oesn't the consumption of fashionable rhythms with an ‘ancestral’ touch end up being an aesthetic acceptance of a repertoire of sounds that evoke an ancestral collective, without this signifying a more in-depth exchange?” Without necessarily accusing Muerdo of cultural appropriation, I would claim that Muerdo’s music is primarily informed by-products of Latin-American folk traditions, both in terms of music and literature. This would somehow excuse him. After all, it would be odd to have Muerdo, a Spanish, go to Native communities to learn directly from them, only to capitalise on their cultural heritage — as per neocolonialism in conjunction with neoliberalism.
Muerdo pays homage to the creative and political minds of Latin-America, as he includes lines from their poems and speeches in his songs. For instance, he looks at Atahualpa Yupanqui’s El Payador Perseguido to cite him in Los Ejes de mi Carreta (from Tocando la Tierra, 2013), that carries the title of another work by the same Yupanqui. Notably, Yupanqui carried out extensive work in the sierra in contact with Indigenous populations.
His musical references are folk genres from Latin America, such as zamba and cumbia. While, by collaborating with the leading exponents of the Latin-American, folk music scene, he both practically and symbolically contributes to the creation of new Latin-American cultural capital, like he did in the case of Nación Ekeko’s Hermanos (from Qomunidad, 2021). There is no guilt, no need to apologise, but exclusively to prove his own worth through music.
Conversely, both Nación Ekeko and Lagartijeando seek a meaningful connection with Indigenous communities through their work. Diego Pérez (Nación Ekeko) has traveled throughout Argentina, Peru, Bolivia, Guatemala, among other destinations, where he has been meeting and sharing music with different communities, recording poems, phrases or traditional songs. Furthermore, Matías Zundel (Lagartijeando) has been extensively working with the Coro Qom Chelaalapi, the Qom choir from the Chaco region, in northern Argentina, who have been sharing their chants, dances and tales for the last sixty-two years. Zundel talked about his modus operandi recording and producing Qom traditional songs: “We try to keep their message and melodies as alive as possible. The electronic music I produce is simply assembled to the choir's music so that the latter stands out, with some sounds that support the accents they make.” The fruits of their work have been two EPs, namely Campo del Cielo (2023) and Revisión (2018), as well as a remix that figures in Remixes Coro Chelaalapi (2017). Lagartijeando and the choir travelled to Europe twice (2023; 2018) ever since.
View of Fuerteventura's socos and volcanos Las Calderas and Bayuyo, in Fuerteventura, Spain.
More authentically "Spanish" songs in Muerdo's repertoire
There is no doubt that Muerdo is a capable artist, who takes conscious, stylistic decisions about expanding his musical horizons. His artistic growth is undeniable. Nonetheless, some of his songs still feel more honest and personal than others. Por el Viejo Camino, De donde Vengo, Lejos de la Ciudad tell about his family roots.
The Andalusian Lamari joins Muerdo in Por el Viejo Camino. At the guitar, Ohad Levi, who has accompanied Muerdo on multiple occasions. On the footsteps of his grandfather, Muerdo sings: “Escucha el canto de la verdad,/ el canto antiguo, grito ancestral,/ Cantando pasos al caminar,/ Dejando huella, huella inmortal” (“Listen to the chant of truth/ the ancient song, ancestral cry/ Singing steps while walking/ Leaving behind a trace, an inmortal trace”). The guitar in the version in Fin de la Primera Vida makes it sound even more like flamenco.
Equally from La Mano en el Fuego, De donde Vengo mentions his grandpa one more time. Muerdo traces back to his humble origins and his mother’s warm hugs. “Allí crecí como crecen/ Las cañas a cada orilla/ Y como nacen los frutos/ Desde una simple semilla” (“I grew up over there, just like/ the canes grow on each shore/ and like the fruits are born/ from a simple seed”). Notably, Muerdo informs us: “Por eso soy como soy/ Porque sé de donde vengo” (“For this reason, I know myself/ Because I know where I come from”). The trumpet eventually disappears from the 2020 acoustic version, that proposes a featuring with Nil Moliner.
Lejos de la Ciudad (from Viento Sur) is undeniably all about Muerdo’s childhood years in the countryside, in Ribera de Molina, in Spain, to the sound of the river Segura and of the chirping birds. Yet, the opening lines and the videoclip take us to Mexico. The story of Muerdos’ grandmother Pilar mirrors the honest, hard work in the fields and the wisdom of the Indigenous populations overseas. The inspiring words of the Comandanta Esther, a spokesperson for Indigenous women, travels to us from Nurío, in the state of Michoacán, Mexico.⁴ This is a quote from the speech she pronounced on March 3rd, 2001, on occasion of a meeting of the Comité Clandestino Revolucionario Indígena from the Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN). Muerdo talks about the reality of his hometown in the region of Murcia: “Vengo de un pueblo valiente/ De gente que lucha el pan/ Con las uñas y los dientes/ Frente a esos otros que van” (“I come from a brave village/ Of people that fight tooth and nail/ for bread/ As opposed to those others [who go]”). Furthermore, he opens up about his grandma who experienced the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) as a little girl: “Mi abuela no se fue a la escuela/ Pero aprendió a luchar/ Fue una niña de la guerra” (“My grandma did not go to school/ But learnt to fight/ She was a child of the war”).
The videoclip was beautifully shot and produced by Luis Martinez, between the Sierra Wixárica de Jalisco, in Mexico, and Barcelona. Images and sounds from the Wixárica community blend with the chacarera theme. The album Fin de la Primavera also includes a version of Lejos de la Ciudad, in collaboration with Rozalén.
Rust on floor tiles on the pavement, in Luxembourg.
The Muerdo we know today is the Muerdo we learnt to love
As a great admirer of Muerdo, I still feel that it is not entirely transparent what process he goes through when tapping into the rich tradition of Latin-American music, in an effort to create his signature sound. I think of El Búho, whose marvellous work appears somehow less problematic to my eyes. El Buhó is in fact a British DJ, not a songwriter.
Muerdo returned several times and at different stages in his career, to the places that inspired him so much. In doing so, he extensively performed for Latin-American audiences, and collaborated with local artists. So, what would have Muerdo sounded like, would he have not decided to integrate Latin-American sonorities into his music? I am pretty sure that he would not be the musician we know today, and that he would not be this highly esteemed in Latin America. I look forward to listening to his next album later this year, to find out more about the artistic direction that he will give to the project.
¹ “Cantamos porque el grito no es bastante/ Y no es bastante el llanto ni la bronca/ Cantamos porque creemos en la gente/ Y porque venceremos la derrota” (“We sing because shouting is not enough/ Neither crying oranger is not enough/ We sing because we believe in the people/ And because we will overcome defeat”).² “Tengo la certeza de que la semilla que hemos entregado a la conciencia digna de miles y miles de chilenos, no podrá ser segada definitivamente. Tienen la fuerza, podrán avasallarnos, pero no se detienen los procesos sociales ni con el crimen ni con la fuerza. La historia es nuestra y la hacen los pueblos.” (”I am certain that the seed that we have planted into the dignified conscience of thousands and thousands of Chileans cannot be irretrievably wiped off. They have the strength, they can subjugate us, but social processes cannot be stopped either by crime or by force. History is ours and it is made by the people.”)³ Copla: a traditional poetic form that serves as a text for popular songs. It originated in Spain, and was exported to Latin America later on. Its name comes from the Latin copula, that translates as “bond”, “union”.⁴ “Seguimos adelante con nuestra lucha. No descansaremos hasta lograr la Democracia, Libertad, Justicia. ¡No más engaño! Que ya no pongan nunca más en vergüenza nuestra dignidad indígena.” (”Let’s continue with our battle. We will not rest until we will reach Democracy, Freedom, Justice. No more lies! They will put our Indigenous dignity into doubt no more.”)