Venezuelan Art Report 003: La Muy Bestia Pop, Los Amigos Invisibles, La Corte, La Leche y Dermis Tatú

DERMIS

November, 2018 – We’re staying on the music business. There’s no other way around this, it’s the main area I can deliver the goods with confidence and knowledge. I have a plan already in motion to expand this report into all the arts, but until it gains momentum you all are stuck with music and more music.

On this edition we’re entering the wayback machine and exploring classic albums that might not be so classic to the international audience these Art Reports are cultivating. Amazingly we’re staying in Venezuela, when these albums came out the population of the country wasn’t spread all over the world.  Sadly, we’re staying in Caracas. Because I’m biased. And at that point in time not that many albums from outside the capital saw the light of day.

So, let’s do this: Continue reading

ARTICLE: “Tales of a Venezuelan Expat: Dispatch #1 (Don’t cry for me, Argentina)”

So, I let it all out and got my first feature in an online publication I respect and admire. I don’t know if you’re aware of Metapsychosis, but they publish articles of the highest caliber and everyone involved seems to be some kind of genius, present company excluded. Anyway, my piece is a first-person shooter about my recent experiences as an immigrant and it starts like this:

I haven’t admitted to myself that I left my country for good. If you ask me, I’m on vacations, looking for business opportunities and establishing contact with likeminded people. Everyone I’ve met told me not to go back, to at least get some kind of legal documentation from another country, to spread my wings. They all want to talk about the crisis, most of them ask me for possible solutions I don’t have and look at me with understated pity. And I understand.

Later on it gets political even though it pretends not to:

I don’t feel comfortable discussing politics or economics, but I’ll say that every article I read about Venezuela’s situation, from both sides of the conflict, feels shallow and agenda driven. I wouldn’t even consider the opinion of an outsider that gets its information from the media, I’m talking about high level journalists that live inside the country. All of their analysis seems to be evading basic truths, facts, causes. They seem to ignore the macro, the big picture, and what a small but crucial dot in the grand chessboard Venezuela is.

And almost at the end it gets all cinéma vérité:

The last time I set foot in Caracas it offered me a sad and creepy spectacle. It was a Saturday and a shopping mall I used to walk by frequently when I lived there was almost deserted, most of the shops were closed and only a few lost souls were there. The streets weren’t empty, but they weren’t exactly beaming with life, and the traffic was so light you might as well have been in a frontier town. And the faces, oh, the broken faces…

But please do read the whole thing, it’s not that long and it hits you hard.

LISTEN: Foster & The Pranksters – “La Honda” and “THE ACID TEST” EPs

I first heard about Foster through “Plant the Rapper”, his now-deleted Chance the Rapper diss. I’d just released my reasonings about the superstar’s suspicious rise to fame and his lyrics had ten times more information than my video. Also, they had slick lines and were funny.

His band’s name is a reference to Ken Kesey’s Merry Pranksters, characters that are bound to appear frequently on this blog, and they’ve just released two back to back EPs that will not get the attention they deserve because they reveal too much. Foster might be a firecracker on Twitter, but he knows what’s up. They combine rock and hip hop in a brand new way; Danny Brown once rightly said that this particular mix of genres died because of Fred Durst, but Foster & the Pranksters don’t sound anything like the ill fated rap metal.

It’s to be noted that “La Honda” features Royce Da 5’9″ on the final track, one of the coldest MCs out there when he’s not defending Eminem.

The formal info about the release says: 
Continue reading