an interview with alea

interview conducted by Joe McManus

artwork by Elsa Murphy

photographs by The Homeless Pimp

Allow me to take you on a journey. The coast of Colombia on the Caribbean Sea, a peninsula, this is where we begin. La Guajira is where the desert meets the sea, a nice tag line for tourism, but these arid plains have been home to indigenous tribes in Colombia for centuries. Half of its population still identify with Los Wayu, while many others see themselves as Afro-Colombian or creole. Another half identify as Guajiro’s local people, Mestizos. Why do I mention this? Enter Alea, a musician, singer-songwriter, composer, dancer, producer who grew up right here. A small development called Mushaisa, created by a mining company, was her home. Down the road to the southwest lies one of the world’s largest open-pit coal mines. The development of industrial mining in the area has created many challenges as locals were the ones faced with the changes that came with it. Economic development and higher education paired with land appropriation, health risks, and a general cultural shock. The nature of industry versus the natural world around it, a balance that has yet to be achieved. She was kind enough to share with me some of these details, others I learned from researching as I wrote this. I think it is important to pass these along to you as well. Her privilege in this place, as she referred to it, was an opportunity to attend a school that was bilingual and immersive. A rare chance for young people in this area, something Alea does not take for granted.

Her father grew up not far from there in Barrancas, while her mother hailed from Medellín: a tale of two cities. This duality parallels Alea’s life traveling in pursuit of music. Living in two worlds at once, being on stage and off it. Her family spent time in Barrancas when she was young, a land she calls magical, and it wasn’t until she was older that she came to appreciate it. Its roots in indigenous rebellion inspire her, and ultimately how the land never surrendered its freedom stands as a pillar of hope in what was otherwise a place bulldozed by colonization both literally and figuratively. It wasn’t until later that she found her voice, when she came of age in Medellín as a college student studying communications. It was there that her journey with music escalated into a serious discipline that eventually led to the Berklee School of Music.

She approached Medellín with an openness and with that came the discovery of new friends and her first band. Leaving this behind was a time of mourning for Alea, she mentioned the grieving process was made difficult by the demands of her education. All of this sacrifice layered beneath every song, every dance; her mission to be true to herself could not be denied. Fast forward to Brooklyn, where I was fortunate enough to attend one of Alea’s shows. A lot can be said about this event, the music was transformative and her performance freed the room from ourselves as we got lost in the rhythm and sound. Witnessing her on stage was like peering into where movement is born, a place we all have access to but don’t often visit. This level of self-expression transposes itself onto you, a spirit that sticks with me even now. The music that night was rooted in Cumbia, Bullerengue, Vallenato, Currulao, which Alea adapts to her defiant style and warm tones.

This is how she honors her own heritage, despite her experience growing up feeling isolated because of the way she looked, her hair, her ancestors. This frustration with the struggle for identity and for femininity fuels the engine of her latest music. Alongside her passion there is a tenderness within the groove, a romanticism that permeates throughout. The instrumentation of her band is both precise and improvisational, bouncing between verse and chorus with deft skill. It conjures movement in the crowd while Alea orchestrates her body to the beat. Combined it is an experience, something you will remember long after you return to a silence. Afterwards we met briefly, and later on I contacted her for this interview. It was my great privilege to have a conversation with Alea. Here’s how it went:

When did you start to feel like you were coming into your own as a performer? Because I think what I saw earlier last year was very polished, has it always been how you are?

I mean, I’ve always been up for a performance. I think I’m a performer at heart. I love telling stories with my body. With my voice. I love communicating and connecting with people. And I’ve always found different outlets for that. Be it through music to dance, to acting, even though I don’t consider myself an actress...but I’ve had to do roles here and there for different things. Voice actress sometimes as well, by night. And I think I came into that sound that you heard in June of 2016. I was still very shy on stage until a certain level, even though I had gone to Berklee, even though I had gone through a lot of things. I was very in my head about performing, very calculative. When you get out of college, I feel like you’re boxed in, with a lot of rules. You’re like, “No, it’s like this. This is the only way.” But I ran into, you know, some incredible creatures here in the city. New York has the capacity to bring some of the most authentic and liberal people that you could meet. And it helped me with my first instinct of performing, which was just natural and very raw. So trying to take everything I had learned through it all, the good the bad, and filter it that was the process.

Is there a show that you could recall accessing your stage presence? Is it something that’s always there for you?

I think it’s always there. I just had a couple of shows recently that I think are the graduation from that. I think after my separation I had to really dig deep into who I was and, you know, it’s hard whenever you let that someone go that has been so special and has made such an impact in your life. You have to find strength in what you grew and the journey you just did. You’re like, holy shit, I just did all that. In six years. We went to these many countries. We did all of these things. We made an album. It was mentioned in Rolling Stone. I mean what the fuck? And you’re like: Yeah, I did that.

How would you describe the relationship between your music and dance?

Oh, when I was little, in my teenage years, this boy came up to me and he was trying to be like a...he was trying to flirt with me. I didn’t catch it at the time and he was trying. He was actually bullying me, but he was trying to flirt with me. He spit it out...a question just like, you know, in front of the whole class. “If you had to choose between music or dance, like, which would you choose?” And I...couldn’t answer. I really hope I never have to choose. That’s the answer.

Are you your own choreographer?

I have a choreographer now.

So these are collaborations for these recent performances?

Yes, I used to choreograph a lot of my things. But I’m telling you New York throws at you some magical beings and you’re like, “How could I not collaborate with you?” I love collaborating with artists. Argelia Arreola is my choreographer at the moment, she is incredible.

What do you look forward to most on a day-to-day basis as a performer?

Yes, well lately, working out and trying to get out my head, that’s the most important part. So yoga, running, I vary it, light weights, dancing, going to a dance class. Yesterday, I went to a West African dance class that kicked my butt. It was really hard. Anything I can do differently, I also like to sit and write music. I haven’t been writing as much as last month because I’ve been moving around like crazy.

When do you feel the most free?

I think on the stage, the stage is my freedom. I feel like I can do anything. It is the place that I feel less of an ego and more authentic.

Are you feeling more tapped into a collective in the room or is this totally individual to you?

How so?

In feeling that power, is it between you and the band?You and the audience? You within yourself?

All of those three. I think you access this very spiritual place, and it becomes alive. I feed off of that, and if people are vibing, I get like completely....completely lit.

You feel like you’re rising to the occasion?

For sure.

Is there a certain place you’ve noticed your inspiration comes from?

If I think of inspiration, when I was very young, I think inspiration comes from a very spiritual place. I think as I got older, it became a connection with the collective and being part of a community. And as I grew older, inspired by people, and by feeling as well what you’re doing is bigger than yourself, you know. Like, what inspires you to do this every single day? I don’t have a clear answer for that. For me, I don’t see myself doing anything else that makes me this happy, that makes me feel this connected to the world. And when I’m not in it I just feel purposeless. That’s just something that I have since I was very young, and I feel very lucky to have that.

Do you feel you entertain your family and friends like you might entertain an audience? Or do they entertain you?

I think they entertain me. I’ll speak about my family in Colombia because there is nobody that can land you better on earth than your own family. My family’s never treated me like ‘special’ or like anything like that, to a crazy degree. It’s insane, my mom will be like: “Great, you’re done performing? Here’s the broom. It’s your turn.” And like, “Thanks mom, for that level right off the stage.” And my sisters, too. All my sisters would be like yelling in the house, “Oh, my God, stop singing, please!” Now it’s different because people ask them about me and they get hit up about things. We get into it, but honestly I prefer to know about them and what they’re doing. My sister just had a son, I’m calling her like, “Put him on the phone!”. So in that sense I don’t feel like I’m performing for them, I like to share songs and things with them sometimes but it doesn’t feel like that. My dad likes to sing. He doesn’t sing everyday, but I know that it was a huge passion for him before he got married so we like to nerd out a little bit in that way.

Are you aware of how you’re forwarding the tradition within these genres you perform now?

I want people to know about these traditions, even though I’m not traditional and even though I don’t perform them traditionally. I make sure people know I’m singing a Vallenato or a Currulao. And more than being a brand thing, it makes me feel really connected to my land and to what I grew up with. And for them to know that Colombia is so much more than Pablo Escobar, cocaine, Narcos, and anything that’s on TV.

Last question, and I really appreciate your time. This has been wonderful for me because it gives so much more context to what I’ve already experienced. So what do you hope audiences take away from listening to a song of yours or a live performance?

It’s interesting because it will be very different if you speak Spanish or if you don’t. If you don’t speak Spanish I hope you’ll be curious. I hope that the music will, even if you don’t understand the language, make you feel connected. That it was a spiritual experience for both of us and that you felt the love in the room. And if you speak Spanish I hope you’re proud, because the fact that you’re there and we’re hearing music in Spanish in this venue in New York...do you feel proud of your culture? And familiarized? And connected? And passionate?