It’s a breezy spring morning in Topanga Canyon, the place Enrique Bunbury sits in his spacious dwelling studio doing one thing totally surprising, even a bit subversive: as a substitute of complaining about Los Angeles, the Spanish rock star is effusively singing its praises.
“One of the most beautiful things about Los Angeles is that it contains so many different cities in one,” he says, leaning again on a settee subsequent to a freshly assembled drum equipment. His band is presently rehearsing for an upcoming worldwide tour, which features a June 15 cease on the Kia Discussion board in Inglewood; his set will embody songs from his newest album, “Cuentas Pendientes,” which got here out April 25.
“You can experience a wide array of uneven realities in this place,” he says of his adopted dwelling. “They coexist in parallel lines. Before settling in Topanga, we spent 10 years in West Hollywood. I loved it there because it offered a strategic point from which to explore other fascinating areas like Silver Lake, Los Feliz and Santa Monica.”
At dwelling in Spain, Bunbury would in all probability be mobbed by euphoric followers wanting to cheer on the hits that he recorded along with his iconic rock en español outfit, Héroes del Silencio — or the carnivalesque, Fellini-meets-García Márquez universe of solo masterpieces in his trendsetting document from 1999, “Pequeño.”
Like different legendary artists, he cherishes L.A. — not simply because it’s one of many epicenters of Latin music worldwide, however as a result of it permits him the respite of a traditional life. “I will be forever grateful for that,” he assures me.
And it’s true: when Roxy Music performed the Kia Discussion board in 2022, I observed Bunbury sitting just a few rows behind me, flanked by his spouse (award-winning photographer Jose Lady) and his longtime publicist. So far as I might inform, nobody else within the venue had acknowledged him.
However Los Angeles has finished greater than present the comforting cloak of anonymity. It additionally impressed “Loco,” essentially the most beautiful monitor on his new album, which he devoted to town’s homeless inhabitants.
“In the past, whenever I toured Latin America, the promoters would take me to a rock club after the show,” he explains. “At one point, I asked to visit the cantinas and ballrooms instead. No one recognized me in those places, and suddenly I had a privileged viewpoint of a deeper reality. I did this in Peru, Colombia, Chile, Argentina — everywhere I went, I frequented the venues where a brawl can break up at any minute, and the liquor on offer is not for the faint of heart.”
I requested Bunbury if he would dance within the seedy South American ballrooms. He tells me that he most popular sitting down and observing the scene. These experiences evidently had a profound impact on him, informing the title of his 2011 covers album “Licenciado Cantinas” and awakening an curiosity in conventional Latin American genres. To document his new songs, he recruited a cadre of Latin musicians and made affectionate nods to genres like cumbia and ranchera.
“My intention was never to be more ranchero than José Alfredo Jiménez, or a better bolerista than Armando Manzanero,” he clarifies. “The idea was to nurture myself and employ the instrumentation of foreign genres as new colors in my stylistic palette. When it comes to music, I don’t believe in purity. All genres, to a certain degree, are the result of different cultures getting together. The songs go back and forth — they arrive and depart. I gravitate towards those meetings. I like returning to them time and again.”
From the intoxicatingly psychedelic cumbia of “Te puedes a todo acostumbrar” to the organ-laden folks of “Las chingadas ganas de llorar,” Bunbury’s new album finds him in a candy peak of inspiration. Like its predecessor, 2023’s “Greta Garbo,” it was recorded at El Desierto Casa Estudio, a fascinating house situated in a nature park exterior Mexico Metropolis.
“I look for residential studios — places where the recording experience is extreme and profound,” he says. “Places where you wake up in the morning, have breakfast together with the musicians, chat about the world and everything happening in your life. The process becomes a catalyst for ideas, the collective notions of the specific group of people who reconvened to make the album.”
“I asked [drummer and co-producer] Ramón Gacías to send me recordings in advance, but he told me that Enrique preferred a workshop setting where everything is done from scratch,” says Chilean guitarist and frequent Mon Laferte collaborator Sebastián Aracena. “On the first day together, we had coffee and biscuits, and then Enrique played us rough demos of the entire album — just his voice and a few chords. It was like a poetry book; no intros, solos, or melodies. During the summer, it rains every day in Mexico City. We cozied up indoors, working on all those songs together.”
Musician Enrique Bunbury.
(Jose Lady)
Bunbury was born within the Spanish metropolis of Zaragoza in August 1967. He discovered faculty boring however loved a optimistic connection along with his literature lecturers, and shortly he developed an obsession with author Hermann Hesse and his mystically inclined “Siddhartha” — a guide that he has continued to revisit all through the a long time.
Between the ages of 13 and 16, he performed numerous devices in quite a few teams, however his wealthy, textured baritone had but to emerge. That was till the vocalist of Zumo de Vidrio — the band he shared with future Héroes del Silencio guitar hero Juan Valdivia — stopped attending rehearsals. After listening to Bunbury sing David Bowie’s “Rock’n’roll Suicide,” Valdivia requested him to take De Vidrio’s place within the band.
“He told me that I should sing, and that was the beginning of Héroes del Silencio,” Bunbury recollects. “Some people can imitate other artists. If I knew how to sing like Billie Holiday, I would order a pizza singing in her style. But I only have one voice — mine — for better or for worse.”
In recent times, the voice, unmistakable to hundreds of thousands of Latin rock followers, threatened to sabotage his profession. Unaware that he was severely allergic to glycol, a chemical part for the stage smoke utilized in live shows, Bunbury was pressured to cancel his thirty fifth anniversary tour in 2022. For some time, he thought-about quitting live shows altogether.
“I felt sand in my lungs, a compulsive cough,” he says. “But then I could sing an entire album at home. We thought it was psychosomatic. I felt no bitterness about it. I can state proudly that I performed in many of the world’s worst stages, and a few of the best ones too. A number of live recordings can attest to that. We may feel a certain affinity for our profession, but our identity is not defined by it — just like it’s not defined by our country of origin, gender or eye color.”
Simply earlier than I go away, Bunbury invitations me to step into a big wood balcony overlooking the sprawling greenery of Topanga Canyon. It’s a pretty view, seeped in nature and serenity, splendid for somebody who spends his days songwriting and crafting work destined to stay on the second flooring of the studio, unseen by his spouse and daughter.
“Look at this,” he murmurs appreciatively. “It’s like we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
I inform Bunbury that his music has frightened me at occasions. I strategy it with warning, weary of the deep disappointment within the melodies, disturbed by the unimaginable sense of nostalgia that emanates from each single tune.
Is there a selected fragment of his soul the place all that stunning melodrama stems from?
“Looking at the world around me, I find plenty of motives to favor drama over comedy,” he says. “There’s something in me that is naturally drawn to a certain sense of darkness. I’ve never made music that felt hedonistic, or transmitted an extreme sense of happiness. Maybe because those private moments of joy didn’t inspire me to pick up a guitar.”
He gazes on the lush panorama exterior, then provides with a wry smile:
“As a listener, I’ve always gravitated more to Robert Smith than to Kylie Minogue.”
