Rawayana is a constant topic of

discussion among Venezuelans.

On May 31, the Venezuelan band launched their album. "Cuando los acéfalos predominan"
is the title of the song. 'Beto Montenegro,' the singer, claims that it is a musical portrait of our
times.

Trippy Caribbean has been on the market for five years. Rawayana has emerged as one of
Venezuela's most active gangs in recent years.
It's true that time has passed since then, yet they haven't stopped being. It's not only about
the nonstop concerts in the run-up to the outbreak. They even performed as the guest band
of Cultura Profética in the Movistar Arena in Chile. Rawayana offered a free concert to the
public on Francisco de Miranda Avenue in December 2016, and even its members have
committed themselves to cultural management, as they attempted to host the Nuestro
Amanecer Festival in March 2019. Cultura Profética, Akapellah, Apache, El Otro Polo,
Alemán, Romina Palmisano, and Lou Fresco are among the acts included. But that didn't
work out. They planned to make a live CD there.

They have not stopped during their imprisonment. The tours have ended, but Rawayana has
released songs, video clips, and, on May 31, Rawayana's fourth studio album, "Cuando los
encefalos predominan," will be published.
After spending a few days in Venezuela, Beto Montenegro has returned to Mexico. They are
finalizing the specifics of a new music clip for the song "Double Cheese & Bacon," which will
release on April 16, at the time of our discussion.

“This new project represents the closing of a cycle. It is the feeling that we all have. Around
there we wrote a manifesto that explains a little ”, says the singer.
It refers to the group's posting on social media of what could be described as a "statement of
principles" for this album.

—In that manifesto they talk about globalization, about new technologies. There is a
phrase that catches my attention: “This new project represents the closing of a cycle.
It is the feeling that we all have. Around there we wrote a manifesto that explains a
little ”. What led you to emphasize this message?

—This album is deeply rooted in where we come from, of course, from our perspective. With
the previous album, Trippy Caribbean, we were touring around the world, but at the same
time, making a cultural documentary in Venezuela. We have a different perspective on
people who don't have this rhythm. We have seen both the beautiful things and the problems
of other countries. Everything in the middle of this madness that we are in: misinformation,
confusion, as well as learning about things that we thought were right, but not now. On this
album we wanted to take a musical photograph of these moments.

—Five years for various countries. I imagine there is a baggage of influences that are
concatenated in this work
-Totally. I don't know if people are expecting it. For us the evolution of music has always
been key to not getting bored. Although we started with a very humorous project,
experimenting has been key. On this album there are Afro-Caribbean drums mixed with soul
and R&B, but we also have psychedelic rock, funk, disco music, Cuban sounds. There is an
intensity that we had not taken care of too much, both in the musical and in the lyrical.

—You said “a while ago that you found out about things that you thought were okay,
but not now." What do you mean?

I don't know what you think, but now you eat a hamburger, and you think about it more. From
that, until you find out, without knowing if the source is true or not, that a recognized
company tests animals. It refers a bit to what you were quoting from the manifesto. That is
why the title of the album is not only focused on governments or States, but on corporations,
religious leaders, ideals. There are a number of elements that have lost their minds. We
have a shortage of leadership in the world. A serious problem.

—In the art, I see a label that says the production date was April 3, 2016. What's
special about that day?

—I'm not going to reveal it. Everything has a meaning. Although we talk about global issues,
there are things that are very ours. I invite people to not only keep an eye on music releases,
but also on our platforms. The album will be out on May 31. With our plastic artist Joaquin
Salim, who made the cover, interesting things are emerging. But also with Adolfo Bueno and
Alfredo Correia we are doing a plastic installation in Mexico, a work about what we think will
be the world in which headless people predominate. People will be able to come visit this
place.

—In 2021 it will be 10 years since the launch of License to be free. How do you see in
retrospect the time that has passed since that first album?

—It has been 10 intense years that passed quickly. A decade in which we have changed for
the better in many things, and not so well in others. Fortunately the base group of that time
remains united. Although at that time the drums were played by Rodrigo Michelangeli, who
still does things with us. We are writing some scripts for projects. I celebrate the ability we
have to keep innovating personally, and refreshing our internal relationships with music. We
can live from what we are passionate about, knowing so many places. I don't think we would
be what we are without music.

—Do you consider that Rawayana is the Venezuelan band, of the recent generation,
currently the most successful abroad?

—(Sighs). I do not know. We know that colleagues from there in Venezuela have not had this
opportunity. Success is relative. There is a responsibility with the position we have with the
public, but also with our colleagues. I have understood very well that the work that our
predecessors did in Venezuela to open the doors was key. I know that Rawayana is opening
certain doors. It is about being clear that this will come to a point, but that the doors must
remain open, as did King Changó, Los Amigos Invisibles, Desorden Público or Montaner.
Now comes a very beautiful stage. I feel like the bands, the soloists, the rappers, are going
to start to feel stronger.

—I see in the song list of the new album one in which Los Amigos Invisibles and José
Luis «Cheo» Pardo participate. Did Rawayana gather them?

—(laughs). I tell them that we look like that Lindsay Lohan movie about twins who help their
parents reconcile (Twin Game). Let's see. I wouldn't have made songs if Los Amigos
Invisibles didn't exist. Right now we were working on the video clip. Cheo is the producer of
Trippy Caribbean, as well as this album. We are stubborn with the idea of ​connecting with
that essence that continues to flow in us, as well as grateful to all those who have been part
of Los Amigos Invisibles. And well, it was made easy. We worked in the studio with Cheo
and then they joined in with the other guys.

—I see you collaborate with rap people again. Apache was on ‘Trippy Caribbean’. Now
they have Akapellah. Tell me about your interest in this genre and Rawayana's
proposal.

"Yes, in three songs we have Akapellah." You know I've tried to influence with a sound where
I can use more words, something very nice about rap. That street poetry that allows, by the
way in which ideas are expressed, to say many more things than when you sing. While I
tried to do that on some songs on this album, some songs required someone who knew how
to do it well, as happened with Apache on "High." On this occasion, Akapellah was not only
in the featuring, he also sang in backing vocals. I found out about that artistic side. He is a
great singer, a showgirl with incredible ideas. He was with us at key moments.

—He was recently in Venezuela, and he has already returned to Mexico. Cheo Pardo is
still in the country and has worked on some projects that are carried out here. What
do you think the Venezuelan movement needs to match the rest of the region?

—Basically having the backing of the country. I am not referring to its people, but to the fact
that, for example, it is not a problem to get an identity document. Many Venezuelan artists
have migratory problems of all kinds. Also, the private company is drowned. Like everything
that happened in these years, the dependence of the State is very great. A project like us
has no intention of getting involved with the government or the state. The projects that have
leadership and two fingers of forehead will not do it either. In many conversations we wonder
why we don't have a Juanes, a Ricky Martin or a Shakira. From the outset, there are not
enough spaces to compensate the work fairly. If you become moderately influential,
something unpleasant always comes up because of the issue of political polarization. Big
production companies don't do big events. So, you are left as an orphan of the country,
hitting yourself internationally, to do what you have to do.
Nostalgia for a country

—In "Camarones y viniles" we see that jocular side of Rawayana, and in "Welcome to
el sur", you can see the nostalgia, the melancholy. How much nostalgia and
melancholy can we expect from the rest of the album?

—Quite. (Laughs) A while ago we were talking about what to do so that Venezuela had more
musical relevance. Well, we got to do a cultural festival. We don't talk much about this
because we are working. Since 2015 we are doing concerts in Venezuela paid for with our
tours abroad. Thus, they were practically free, and those that were paid were very cheap.
We have documented that work. In 2019 we wanted to close that cycle of Trippy Caribbean
in Mérida in this festival with several artists. One sees her touring networks in a very
superficial way. But we like to do after party. It is a way of meeting the people most
connected to the project. A place to dance, enjoy, but also to talk. The idea is to have eternal
debates, not only at those parties, but at nearby events. It's a crazy thing. You go to a
Rawayana concert in Santiago de Chile or Madrid, and the vibe that exists is very intense
due to the number of people you mix with. We have also returned to Venezuela and we have
lived through certain moments, such as the blackout. See how people resolve to survive.
Somehow, as citizens, we have experienced a context that gives us crazy stories. This
album is the consequence of all these situations.

—Any stories you remember?

—They are a lot. People who walked from Venezuela to Santiago de Chile. People who
started a job in which they cleaned the excrement of the horses, and now they are in charge
of running a racetrack. There are infinite tales in all countries. The final message of the
album's manifesto is the talent problem, and everything we underestimate that talent drain.
Look, we have sat in restaurants in Buenos Aires and a waiter, as a thank you, offers us a
dessert. When we come back the next year, the guy is the restaurant manager. To that must
be added the discussion between those who leave and those who stay. Actually solving the
problem is so simple. There are such capable people. The eternal conversation of the
Venezuelan. How do we musicalize that taking into account both those who are inside,
physically or mentally, and those who are outside, mentally or physically?

—Do you feel that you have a responsibility as artists in that eternal conversation of
the Venezuelan?

—I currently have a certain distance from the mass media of the world, and especially from
Venezuela, because anything you do can be misrepresented. I understand why I have
friends who own media. I don't feel an endorsement. So when you get into a project where
you feel that responsibility, you can come out with the tables on your head. Somehow, now
we are in a stage where I say that we make songs, art, and maybe later I will join in adding
something to the world in which I live. Right now I am concentrating on the subject of art to
communicate ideas.
—What do you mean by the tables on the head?

—After a long time doing activities in Venezuela for cultural development, and thus not losing
space, we wanted to carry out the project of the Mérida festival. So we were put through the
farce of humanitarian aid. In the context in which we were, we had to support Juan Guaidó
just because. Then, an effort of a year and a half, we fell apart. A cultural festival with a lot of
artists for a week of artistic freedom in Merida. We had gone to Mérida to get away from
Caracas, but they set that up there. It was frustrating. When you look back at it, you come
across influential people who came to attack something they didn't even know what it was
about. We didn't even want to explain it because of all the mistrust we feel. It was a whole
year and a half of work, with even international artists. We are looking for the right allies,
because now the context is so complex. That is what you are going to hear on this album.

—The song 'High' is still a hit. It's the most listened to of you on Spotify, for example.
What do you think it is due to?

—Well, it's a tremendous song. I still listen to it and I am surprised to have participated in
that topic. What madness. Then, I have that theory about the ideas that are transmitted,
taking into account the context of Latin America. We did it from our perspective as
Venezuelans, but in general the world is too screwed up. This song represents an anthem,
with all that about having a good time, believing in yourself, feeling good music to empower
those who listen to it. Now, from a more Venezuelan point of view, the union of us with
Apache had an interesting force. We come from a too classist context. Hugo Chávez dug his
finger into classism in an absurd way. For example, we did a free concert for a lot of people
on Avenida Francisco de Miranda. Apache and Akapellah were there. I did not want to say
anything, but to talk about the actions, but the only thing we affirmed was that they observe
how they were there, enjoying both the east and the west of Caracas. And when we played
"High," it was one of the most special moments we've ever had. I think there is something to
that.