Welcome to El Sur: An introduction to Rawayana.
Los Rawas se acaban de ganar un Grammy americano.
photo by Rawayana Official.
Amidst all the questionable red-carpet looks, triumphant wins, and high-profile snubs, you’d be forgiven for glossing over the winner for Best Latin Rock/Alternative Album during this year’s Grammy Awards. Their walk up to the stage was meek but jubilant, their attire was low-key but bespoke, and their polite request to continue their speech in Spanish meant that, for most watching, the significance of their words faltered before the language barrier. You’d be less forgiven for wondering why you should care. With their 2023 effort, ¿Quién trae las cornetas?, one of Latin America’s rising stars and most dynamic acts sends you a clear message: like the country they represent, they’re here to stay, and they are well worth your attention.
Enter Rawayana, a band hailing from Venezuela and one of the largest in the Venezuelan musical diaspora. Despite their recent successes, the group has a rich history emblematic of their artistic evolution as much as the trajectory of an entire nation. The quartet formed in 2007 in Caracas, the country’s capital, during a vibrant era for the national music scene where, despite the tense political and economic situation, young artists still found purchase, both literally and figuratively, inside their home market. Now, over two decades later, they operate from abroad in exile, but their home runs hot in their veins and oozes throughout their music. Their name hearkens to the Hindu epic of Ramayana, and going through their discography will take you on a journey through Venezuela’s troubled past and bright, if foggy, future.
What makes Rawayana so exciting is their dynamism and versatility. The band effortlessly mixes and matches different genres, styles, and moods without ever diluting their signature sound. This sound, self-described as “trippy pop,” incorporates heavy spoonfuls of psychedelia and reggae while still retaining its snappiness and presence. Their initial offerings can be easily categorized as reggae on first listen, yet this often fails to capture the full scope of their projects. Take the most popular track off their 2016 album Trippy Caribbean: the song “High” appears to be standard funk fare, yet Apache’s buttery rapping and the infectious hook illustrate the eclectic and artful melange that the band handles so well. With ¿Quién trae las cornetas?, they’ve also started delving into more contemporary styles like house and reggaeton, yet their spins on them remain inspired rather than derivative. Cuts like “Dame Un Break” or “Hora Loca” clearly hearken to the current zeitgeist in Latin music, while still offering a distinct take on it that feels fresh and singularly theirs. Their self-professed proclivity for hallucinogenic atmospheres and catchy tunes never restricts them from tapping into other moods and palettes, and their catalog is all the richer for it.
Even with the style, there is an undeniable substance to every effort they put out. Rawayana offers a frustrated yet thoughtful meditation on the state of the country and the inexorable yet tragic decline that brought it there. Their magnum opus, Cuando los acéfalos predominan (literally, “when the headless rule”) is one of the most powerful pieces of protest music to come out against the Maduro regime. While the album makes frequent and scathing references to the political repression and economic hardship that has forced over a quarter of Venezuelans to flee abroad, it also combines these insights with scathing satire and a wistful nostalgia for times past. A track like “Váyanse Todos a Mamá” meshes penetrating political commentary with the country’s classic crude humor to create a track that is at once as danceable as it is thought-provoking. Interspersed between these heavy-handed moments are also moments of levity and jubilation; “Camarones y Viniles” celebrates the Latin counterculture of a bygone era with luxurious synths and lush instrumentation. With Rawayana, there is no trade-off between style and substance; in all their work you can enjoy both, with each playing off and reinforcing the other.
Most importantly, however, Rawayana’s music captures the most important requisite to be Venezuelan: in spite of all the hardship and suffering, finding a way to have a good time. Nowhere is this more apparent than in their recent hit single, “Venekah”, which pays homage to the raptor-house music that dominated Caracas in the 90s while also being a tongue-in-cheek reclamation of a derogatory term levied against Venezuelan immigrants throughout the region. And with their most recent collaboration with Colombian duo Bomba Estéreo, the track “Me Pasa (Piscis)” promises more of the same tropical sounds and good vibes that make every Rawayana offering a joy to listen to. Ultimately, Rawayana is a group that embodies what it is to be Venezuelan, and how often that meaning must evolve with the struggles and successes of life without ever losing sight of its true heart and soul.
Lost in translation in their Grammy acceptance speech was frontman Alberto “Beto” Montenegro’s homages to those who paved the way for him. His discourse was full of references to the legends of Venezuelan music: Simon Diaz, Canserbero, Amigos Invisibles, and Franco DeVita. Yet even now, Rawayana, with their visionary approach, feel-good ethos, and standard-bearing for Venezuela’s musical identity, seeks to carve out a place in that pantheon for themselves. Their success is only just beginning, and as their parting words indicate, they, like the country they represent, have no intentions of going anywhere: “Que viva Venezuela en esta mierda.”
edited by Alexander Malm.
photo by Rawayana Official.