Bogotá’s Mario Galeano is a bass player, a record collector, a music scholar and a composer. His band is called Frente Cumbiero, and together they stand at the heart of the current renaissance of Cumbia music. Unlike the electronic sounds of Mexican Sonidera and Argentinian Cumbia Villera that first hit global soundsystems, the new Colombian approach uses the orchestra as a starting point and preserves a real sense of the Afro-Caribean and its vinyl culture.
With dark hair, a round face and a moustache, the flannel-clad Mario Galeano could almost be mistaken for of Pablo Escobar’, or one of Fernando Botero’s characters. He is what you would call a “real Colombian”. Imagine him with a sombrero and a ruana poncho on his shoulder and he would fit the image of a local cowboy. The difference is that he’s sitting at the counter of Matik Matik, a Belgian-owned bar dedicated to the promotion of experimental jazz, folk and cumbia, located in the arty and popular neighborhood of Chapineiro. It is a thousand light years from the harsh realities of basic Colombian life, and yet is a place that perfectly reflects what modern Bogotá represents: an ever-changing, inventive, juxtaposition of eternal features and new prospects.
When we first met him in Cali a couple of months ago, he was having a beer in front of a corner shop with the UK’s Quantic, another producer dedicated to taking Cumbia to another level through the use of traditional recipes and unexpected blends. Whereas then he was only starting to promote his new record, (which his British-Colombian friend enthusiastically endorses) This time round you can be sure that the Frente Cumbiero 45s that were pressed in the US on names you can trust are sold out, and he is on the verge of being distributed by London’s legendary Honest Jon’s Records.
His band’s new album, “Frente Cumbiero meets Mad Professor“, is the result of a long process. “I studied composition here at the Javeriana University, which is where I met most of what is now the local avant garde, like Ricardo Gallo, Eblis Alvarez and Meridian Brothers”, he declares, sipping his Club Colombia, “but I actually graduated in Eindhoven, Holland. I was tired of this endless universitarian ethnomusicological research approach, which freezes things in the past, and brings little action. Plus, paradoxically, [there was] no knowledge of vinyl heritage, which is for me the main problem when it comes to creating a good, new sound.” He pauses, then adds, “ and here, they keep telling us we come from three cultures – indigenous, European and African – but in the end people have no idea what it means. I guess you have to go out to realise what this is all about.”
Holland is the place where he met Dick el Demasiado (which translates as “Dick too much”), a worldwide name on the Cumbia scene for pioneering its blend with electronics. Realising that there was a Dutch Dj who was just as versed in Cumbia as a Colombian musician may have fuelled Mario’s desire to know more than he did about the music. Cumbia is so present in everyday life that it is perhaps in danger of being treated with the indifference of familiarity. “And Colombia is a country of regions, it means that what is #1 in Barranquilla can easily be underground in Bogota and vice versa.”
Our man’s second big shock was his trip to Mexico. The Cumbia Rebajada, which consists of listening to Cumbia 45s at 33 rpm (possibly a strong influence as far as the Mexican output is concerned – laid back and slow), had Mario fascinated. He realised that, at such a speed, the Mexicans could give Colombian Cumbia the space to be given the dub treatment with flangers and delays used over the records they spun. “And its so funny out there: around Monterrey the guys dress as Colombians, change their accent to sound more Colombian, and the kids actually declare they are Colombian! To me this really was electronic music for the people, and it had a really trans-national feel, hence the name I chose later: The Cumbia Front.”
Mario has a lifetime relationship with Cumbia and can be considered a real militant of both Cumbia and Afro-Latin music, as well as vinyl in general.
But the growing importance of his action goes with a context that is not devoid of paradox. After all, he spent some very lonely days with his music before a significant number of people on the club scene joined his cause. Colombia now hosts some of the most exciting neo-Cumbia projects, and has slowly begun to replace Argentina and Mexico as the hotspot for the sound: Quantic, Frente Cumbiero, Cero 39, Lido Pimienta, Bomba Estereo, Systema Solar, to name a few. Some are still underground while others are hitting the biggest festivals and fairs, from SXSW to Rennes Transmusicales. One could say that the rise of the Mexican and Argentine scenes may have acted as a strong reminder to the Colombians that until now they had not been doing much with a form of music they rightfully claim to be their own. However some, like his friend the producer Cero 39, reject that idea. “May be the foreigners see that as something new, but it’s always been inside us. The bus rides to commute, the family reunions, the vacations, any shop… it’s a music that transcends situations and social classes. It may be something popular somewhere else, but for the Colombians Cumbia has a touch of elegance, that’s the reason why it’s always been here.“
Frente’s new record can be considered the result of many influences and some heavy experimentation. Interestingly it has coincided not only with Quantic’s work but with projects by the Woima Collective and the Soul Jazz Orchestra. Mario chose the fully Afro-meets-Caribean orchestral approach to the Cumbia, leaving both the traditional accordion, not to mention, the digital sounds aside. A characterstic example would be the use of Ethiopian-style pentatonic scales, a feature it shares with the projects mentioned above. It should be said though that unlike the rest of the world, Colombia didn’t wait for the seminal french Ethiopiques series or Jim Jarmusch’s Broken Flowers to adopt Ethiopian music. A local version of Mulatu Astatke’s latin “I faram”, renamed “Guaguanco los elefantes” was pressed and distributed in Colombia, as early as the 70s.
The first 7 tracks of this 2-part album (one with the original tracks, the other with the Mad Professor’s dub versions) are more than enough to keep us happy. That said, Mad Pro’s tracks are really quite good too. “I was in London, invited by the British Council that offered me to choose to work with a British producer. Deep within me, I wanted to work with a dubstep producer. But it was kind of tricky, so I took a classic option. Anyway I didn’t want to make a kind of Cumbia reggae album, since it’s already been done. I wanted to record Cumbia the way it used to be with reggae.” Keep in tune for more news from Colombia and the Frente Cumbiero!
