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Synths of Resistance! : Argentina's Digital Cumbia :: Argentina's capital city of Buenos Aires is a thriving explosion of digital cumbia, combining a rural tradition with first world production tendencies.

By Eve Hyman   Photography by Marc van der Aa, Moises Torne, Evan Browning

06/30/08 :: URB 154

The Zizek crew is standing in a huddle in front of the club, discussing the game plan for the week. “Who are our guests for Thursday?” Nim asks en castellano, Argentina’s Spanish dialect. Nim is one of three partners who’ve made Zizek Urban Beats Club one of Buenos Aires’ most notorious parties in just over a year. He’s 6’1” with four feet of dreads gathered in a kerchief; he pairs it with a Zorro moustache. Villa Diamante is next to him, looking almost emo in a mod, ‘80s-patterned black and white hoodie, black fitted jeans, and Krials with a skull and crossbones motif. His greasy black hair is curled behind his ears and he looks pensive, like a new-wave scientist.

“The Peronists,” Grant Dull answers, “and, che, don’t forget about dinner tomorrow night.” He’s just under six feet tall and his football-player-frame stands out next to the mostly lean Argentine DJs at Zizek. Otherwise, the Texan-born gringo blends in with a nearly flawless local accent and a tranquilo disposition. He’s lived in Buenos Aires for five years and is already treated like a fully franchised Argentine. When Diplo came to Buenos Aires, Grant showed him around and introduced him to the city’s underground music scene; specifically “cumbia villera.”

Digital cumbia is the latest piece of cool to rise up from Argentina. In a city famous for tango, how does a Colombian rhythm get nipped and tucked in Buenos Aires to emerge as the next global dance flavor?

A little piece of the Zizek Club for you.

DAY 1: AN INLAND EMPIRE

A 20-minute ride south of downtown Buenos Aires is San Martin. The neighborhood was created as a study in concrete slab one-story homes and storefronts. Even the graffiti is low budget. But the sounds leaking out of the two-room garage where El Hijo de la Cumbia—known to his friends as Chimango—lives and works are, well, banging. Chimango emerges from his weathered hole-of-a-studio, clean cut in oversized, cuffed washed denim and a giant brown hooded jacket. It’s a cold day in Buenos Aires, as he and Grant look for a wall where a friend copped a throw-up that’ll serve as a backdrop for photos. San Martin isn’t unlike parts of Queens or LA’s Inland Empire—it’s a no-frills landscape of streets that want maintenance and harbor rusted cars. In delis and kiosks, the friendly small talk you get in more affluent parts of the city is replaced with curt salutations and suspicious glances.

Before a major economic crisis and subsequent currency devaluation in 2001, Argentina was known as the richest nation in Latin America. Even now, it surpasses the U.S. in agricultural exports and is rich in natural resources. Unlike much of Latin America, the country is under-populated and enjoys a healthy supply of oil, water and raw materials. Argentina’s main obstacle is a legacy of first-rate corruption. People rarely give to charity and social programs are barebones, with many skimming from the top in a land of unabashed tax evasion.

Cumbia villera was the backlash to the Argentina of the ’90s, when the economy enjoyed an artificial boom, but none of the new wealth trickled down. It was a period known for champagne and pizza, with then President Carlos Menem valuing the peso to the dollar, a fiscally irresponsible decision that ultimately caused the national banking system to collapse. Until the ’90s, Argentine cumbia was strictly country music, played with a relaxed drumbeat accented by accordion, acoustic guitar and strings. The most popular bands came from the Cordoba Providence in the middle of the South American nation. Like many Latin music genres, cumbia is influenced by waltzes and polkas (valses and pocas) from central European immigrants, blended with indigenous chants and drums playing African rhythm patterns. Cumbia villera is faster than its country cousin, with elements of hip-hop and electronic music added freely. A signature MIDI bass line often drives the rhythm. The ’80s and ’90s synth construction can be pretty stank, but digital cumbia’s latest incarnation is the magical result of ugly getting a shiny makeover.

Still, with the adoption of an urban sound and its faster, heavier beats and aggressive lyrics, cumbia morphed into the gangster rap of Argentina, moving farther away from its rural roots. Suddenly, cumbia was synonymous with stripper-ass and street fights. The mainstream started viewing this decades-old populist genre as shantytown garbage. Daytime television criticism of groups like Los Pibes Chorros and Damas Gratis furthered a new marginal view of the working class in a country moving away from Che and Evita, being sucked into a vortex of some Reaganomical hell. After the currency crash in 2001—one that ushered in a period similar in scope to the U.S. Depression of the ’30s—cumbia villera continued to be enjoyed by those on the trapped end of the economic spectrum.

El Hijo de la Cumbia’s music is post-cumbia villera, it’s ragga barrio that blends inclusion and pacific optimism with a concrete jungle edge. “I studied piano as a kid at a conservatory,” he says. “I’ve always played music, I’ve been in the game for a minute. Cumbia isn’t a trend to follow for me, it’s a natural evolution.”

On El Hijo de la Cumbia’s tracks, dub and reggaeton are married to cumbia, with house breaks called in to settle occasional disputes. Listening to his forthcoming release, Freestyle de Ritmos, rapid-fire drum & bass combines with dance hooks over sped-up cumbia and percussive breaks. It’s a rusty car race of sound. Music to soundtrack a run-in with corrupt border cops in the desert. The getaway comes with a house anthem segueing into cumbia drums and sirens, punctuated by horns and yelps.

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