Music and Economics, BA

This week the Latin Alternative Music Conference reared its lovely head in my hood San Telmo, where three nights of showcases and two days of music industry panels brought artists and people in the biz to embrace Argentina into its pan-Latin fold. I caught an interesting discussion on publishing where the Chilean version of BMI or ASCAP talked about supporting artists in sort of Che Guevara-esque language of the struggle and the little guy. It was cool and I thought it was some sort of radical non-profit/union until it was explained to me that it's the same as ASCAP, just that in the U.S. we don't employ socialist verbage.

Speaking of, there's plenty of talk about the U.S. economy and what effect it might have on the Argentine economy. And I'm like, can it really get any worse here? Soaring inflation, stagnant wages, a climate that's hostile to entrepreneurial ventures, with law enforcement and taxation little more than a joke, but yes it's sure to get worse in line with what happens in "Yanquilandia."

I just wrote a piece about the black market of coins here that's the result of a privatized city bus system. The buses require exact change and then word is they hoard the coins, creating a demand that pushes up price so that if you need to buy change you pay 12 pesos for a 10 peso roll of coins. Businesses are always low on change and sometimes won't sell you something because they can't break your $20. Baffles tourists, of course, who think it's bad service to not give change to a customer. It's amazing to see what happens in a society that doesn't seem to give tickets or hold people accountable for not paying taxes, etc. I'm on the outside looking in, but the mess and corruption seems to have something to do the forgiving nature of the culture, along with disorganization and strategic skimming all around.

Kasha and I have been hanging out on the roof of the apt where we live this month. We're likely going to move again soon, where we are is nice but it's furnished and out of budget. Meanwhile we play on the roof at sunset; me on the guitar, Kasha bats bugs with her paws and sniffs the wind.



This was my second Yom Kippur in Buenos Aires. I went with a friend of a friend who just moved here, two days ago, and caught his first impressions of the city and of Argentine temple. We were one of the first people there, this morning at 10am. He was surprised at what seemed like a light turnout. I told him how the day doesn't really start in BA before 11am. By 11:45am it was standing room only, some suits, some jeans and sneakers, familiar songs on the piano minus the pop music performances common in U.S. I enjoyed the sermon in Spanish that covered everything from the economy to taking the leap of faith necessary to survive as a couple, relevant stuff lately.

I live just off the square now, Plaza Dorrego, and get to hear the marching drums Sundays as they pass by my house. It's nice to hear traditional percussion in a city where easy listening American music rules cafes and stores and cabs. There's tango in the square on the corner on Sundays, I hear the retro recordings that play for tourists and a few locals to dance to. Though maybe it's like easy listening for locals, worn out songs they'd like to leave behind for a while at least. The record label I work for is bringing some fire and they don't even try to get on the radio, here or anywhere. They just throw their own party and book their own tours and so far it's working for them. We're in a do it yourself world here for music and the local economy. Maybe that's where it's all headed.

The American Vote in Argentina

Today I went to the U.S. embassy to cast my vote for president. It was a large party from 9am to 12pm that involved lines, food, and confusion. McDonalds and Starbucks had tables, a band played, there were news cameras and members of study abroad programs.

Figuring out how to vote was quite a challenge, though the event was well staffed and the set up facilitated voting and even last minute registration. There wasn't any material with the names of candidates, there wasn't any instruction as to where to go to cast your ballot, there were no visuals and few posted signs. People didn't talk to one another to find out what the line they were in was really for. It was a disconnected scene with crowds of strangers but it was exciting being a part of the voting process (hopefully, if the ballots are in fact received and counted).

My friend and I got out our New York methods of doing business and got through the process quickly enough. The process involved the following:

1. Wait in line to enter the embassy (one hour wait at 9:30am)
2. Go through security (they never checked my ID but did take my phone and camera)
3. Get inside and look for the voting station after making your way through the food
4. Get a write-in ballot, again without showing ID
5. Write your address, social, etc on a form. Write the name of the president and vice president on a second page. Wish that you knew the names of the congress members you'd like to vote for and leave that pathetically blank (like every other person in there).

The highlight of the event was hearing a woman ask a volunteer for the spelling of Sarah Palin's name. The lowpoint was looking at that woman and thinking that she has no idea what she's doing.

That was the general feeling inside the consulate, that we the people haven't a clue. It was as messy a scene as the Argentine traffic outside on the street. My friend and I left, went down to the subway, and got on with our day.

Breathe the Good Airs

Some days you just focus on breathing through it. Overload of work, people, city, whatever it is bearing down, your breath has that feeling at the end like you just ran upstairs too fast.

I’ve hung out with New Yorkers a lot this month and loved hearing their fresh take on this city. Similar perspectives all around on what's great and what lacks in Buenos Aires.

One comment stuck with me, the fact that people are quiet on the subway. It's a great thing to ride public transport in peace but yes, it's a bit odd to share space with so many silent beings, solemn on the subte, passive transit riders. It reminds me of what made me uncomfortable in European crowds. A sort of submissive group dynamic hangs over like a cloud, everyone obedient and well behaved.

I could probably do with some more of that exact quality though, more cooperative spirit please.

We all have our methods of getting through situations that sting. Today, mine feel like a bumpy ride on a narrow canyon road, winding through the dark, city lights below, danger around the bend. An ex boyfriend used to tell me about riding his skateboard down a road like that, up in the state park outside of LA. He and daredevil peers would take turns at high speeds, seated, like a roller coaster plunge, no security bars. Some days this month are like that, free fall ride on gravel, not sure if I’ll be okay when I stop.

Then I wake up the next day generally pleased with where I’m at and how and when. There’s no clear progression or paper trail to my world here, no climbing of ladders or buying stuff or family planning. There’s only the immediate rush of a romantic city, friends and outings, audio and visual. It’s all very here and now, unsettling for the future and typically Argentine in scope. The future always holds uncertainty in this country, economically and politically, so people plan and act short-term. Hence the lack of investment in private and public projects, immobility of social class, long nights out.

The end of something can be a downward spiral at times on a dark canyon road. It can be a retreat under the covers, a respite from the weight of compromise and responsibility. It can be a calm agreement to take an independent direction. I guess it’s each of those here for me this month in Buenos Aires.

Kasha and I moved into our new apartment yesterday. It’s really nice and in the best part of San Telmo, a half block from a friend’s house. I was lucky to find it through another friend and get on with the spring here in a furnished, easy, one bedroom with tasteful BA décor. I chose it over the huge antique house with cheap rent and English girlfriends. It’s out of character for me, completely, to be here instead but I’d reached my limit of instability. I needed easy, for now.

When I walk in the door I think of my grandma. She spent 40 years or so single in apts like this one in LA, nice, safe, no one to bother her. I have the space here to process this past year of living with someone who didn’t have time for me, which made me mad and then pushed us to an end. I can look forward to a better fit, sure I will, though maybe not in a foreign country.

Living here continues to be new and nice mostly, with adjustments that have to be made. Every day, there is something of the unexpected wisdom found in a different culture, a view of their take on business as usual, not like what you know.

I’m thinking life resembles the speeding canyon ride, in the absence of something to lock you down. When faith weaves in and out downhill and you are alone and human.

I’d like to use a hitchhiker analogy too but I think you feel me already.

(Next blog will be jam-packed with superficial blather about parties, trips, and other playgrounds, promise.)

Pigs, Politics, and Jobs

Apartment hunting in Buenos Aires isn't too difficult, it's certainly cheaper if you do it in Spanish. Craigslist spots are tourist-centric so not that affordable. Classified ads in the Argentine papers have more affordable rates but with San Telmo undergoing gentrification and intense inflation, rising prices are brutal. So much money to be made on purchasing apts and re-selling. Wishing I was a part of the real estate game.

This month brought two new jobs and the thought of moving, which I'm resisting. You've seen my apt here on the site, it's one of those great, Parisian-style, gorgeous high-ceilinged spots built circa WWI with an elegant entrance and elevator, French doors, wood floors, and balconies - and it's not expensive - never had one of these before. Max and I taking a relationship breather that includes not living together for two months and then deciding what to do next. I might keep the apartment since he likes his old neighborhood better anyway. It'd be complicated with the landlord since I'm not a resident, so it's more likely I'll get a new situation. I have two new super girl friends and one of them wants to move into a big, ramshackle spot together. If we lock down the right dilapidated apt, cheap, we could be in for an adventure.

I started a job with the record label I was writing about before, Zizek. They had a shiny US and Mexican tour and are heading to Europe next. They dropped two new records and the weekly party is on fire. It's an exciting new label and part of the job is working with the website that covers local street art.

Friday was my first day working with this great non-profit that brings travelers in to volunteer in the hood. It's a successful program with ten years behind it and my job is to spread the word and try my hand at some grant writing.

Voluntario Global brings people in to tutor in after school programs and adult education, to work in the Bolivian and Paraguayan kitchen that makes lunch for students and staff, or to work in the independent radio station on the site of a factory recuperada that acts as an indie publishing house. People get to work on projects in the BA version of the projects/favelas/shantytowns and connect with disenfranchised locals in a safe context.





Fashion week and the independent music festival have hit along with the international tango fest, which I missed again this year - oops. But really, don't sleep on the tango, yo. It's some hot couples dancing, intimate business with cool clothes. Made it to an actual fashion show for once which wasn't too exciting, as expected, but it was fun to go with friends.




Biggest news is my new chrome cruiser with the XL handle bars. Also the closing of my favorite local spot, Natalia's restaurant Macama. Luckily her mother's bday party in her hometown proved a happy distraction, dancing to cumbia all day on the back patio.








I got in the kitchen this past month to make brunch as a last ditch effort to do my part. I wrote them up in Time Out, put up a Wordpress page, the only thing left was pancakes and Bloody Marias. But they were resigned to shutting down. Restaurant biz is notoriously hard and there was the fact that Natalia has never really drank any alcohol or coffee so the place was kind of starting off with a handicap. Pasta revenue doesn't pay the bills I don't think. Especially here where cream sauce means a carton of cream poured over spaghetti.


One night soon after Max broke up with me, I went on a date with a guy who got in touch with me online. It was a blind sort of date and I was surprised when he showed up smoking hot. We went to see a friend's band play, at a small-ish spot in an out-of-the-way neighborhood. By total coincidence, Max's homie knew someone else in the band and he showed up at the same small party. I introduced him to my date. My friend and his girlfriend were amused by the telanovela of it all.

There was a visit to the Feria De Mataderos, some art exhibits, and, of course, the broadcast of the DNC. Me and 300 other Americans at Sugar, the meat market in Palermo, stopped checking each other out long enough to pay close attention to Barack Obama's speech and be appropriately moved and wowed.

Cumbia Article So Glossy and Fly

Two weeks in LA in the sun is never a bad thing and I'm back in the winter less pale and excited about the dope article that's in the current issue of Urb in The States. It was massive to write and fun to get to see some more of this city where I live and to get inside a fresh music movement I'm liking from the dance floor.

The article lives online too, Synths of Resistance: Argentina's Digital Cumbia, but it's so good in actual print! Real-life zine reading is more literary, less cursory or something. Just you and the pulp from the tree, getting down.


My head is full of visuals and audio from driving around Lost Angeles, getting to meet new progeny and seeing adjustments in the landscape. Best part of the trip for me, homies in the hometown, of course. Max's favorite moment was recording with Dr. Oop and Nucleus in the Victorian neighborhood of USC. There was some kind of ill connection between the four of us, for his first West Coast jam. There were cardboard boxes and finger snapping for beats, the acoustic guitar we'd bought to bring back to Gustavo, and Nucleus' storytelling that included tales from Fairfax High. We had a Fairfax moment, punctuated by a question.

Nucleus: "You went to Fairfax too, oh, what year did you graduate?
Eve: "'91" (chant-style, represent)
Nucleus: "That's the year I was born!"




Yes, I was celebrating a distinguished birthday that week, with stylie girlfriends in glorious LA backdrops. But my presents were toys, our pasta included pumpkin, wine-soaked strawberries and mascarpone stood in for cake, and there was a squabble between the girls and the security guard on the hotel roof. Toothy grinning, middle thirty came in alright. Thing is, every bday needs to be appreciated for the moment of exactly where you are at, never to repeat. For the age-haters, there's the fact that next year will be older, so this year is youthful in comparison with what's coming, right? I'm feeling lucky for the past year's fun, appreciate the hard knocks for sensibility earned, looking forward to what's headed my way, wide-eyed, anticipating the best possible scenario because why jinx yourself, boludo?

One foot here and one still in NYC, I ran through LA enjoying the weather, KCRW, and old friends and family who remain Angelenos and proud. Pick up that homespun Urb then, Hollyhood, and soak up something from South of Mexico. Argentine Cumbia's Zizek is in LA with shows this weekend, Saturday at the Echo and at the Getty Sunday.

I keep meeting people who live between Buenos Aires and the US or Europe and I'm thinking about why we do it. Right now I choose this city over the glowing American West Coast or fabulous Sexo in the City NYC and over any other foreign address. Like the rest of the expats I meet, I live here for the onda.

I checked in at the gate at LAX with the Chilean airline LAN, always LAN, never Delta, and was reminded why the crumbling streets of BA come in first choice. The continent is one big cooperative and this city likewise. Maybe I was around too many hippies as a kid, the people and lifestyle fit me. Every stranger is almost your friend, no phony smiles, no tense, overworked undercurrent. People live the good life in BA, without multiple trips to the mall. People treat each other right, have time and peace of mind to think. People know who they are and generally what they want and act like they know. When a CIA-induced coup murdered President Allende in the 70s, Argentina had just voted in socialism, so you get me. If the coup hadn't been successful, the nation never would have been taken over by the military dictatorship that swiftly annihilated 30,000 Argentines under its rule. Thanks to imperialist intervention, politics have remained in the hands of greed. But the society at large is still a co-op.

In 2008 as a foreigner, it's an amazing place to set yourself up for success, even if the economy is a poo butt. They're living what is our American heartbreak, they're back when it didn't matter how much money you have access to, when people were polite and walked the little old ladies across the street, when we spoke to neighbors.

The pace and style here explain why retro is nostalgic rather than moldy. For me, here and now is the good old days. Here, you can go to the hospital without approval from bad guys in insurance. Groceries are getting more expensive but they're still within budget, all organic and fresh from the local farm. People pat the heads of stray dogs and random passing toddlers and no one is scared to touch each other. It could inspire us Yanks. It's always a shock jumping between worlds, but I'm glad to get back to the underdeveloped and go raw like Ol Dirty.