Over the past 20 years, we’ve known many sides of Gepe — the scraggly singer-drummer of indie punk band Taller Dejao and the curious Andean folk scientist behind landmark albums Audiovisión (2010) and Estilo Libre (2015). The Caloncho-esque crooner of sweetheart hits like “Un Día Ayer” and “Fruta y Té,” later recoiled from the path of formulaic pop and immersed himself in a multi-album study of Chilean folk tradition. And while 2021’s (un poco + de) FE drew him tentatively back into the pop space with covers of Juan Luis Guerra, Ana Gabriel, and Rosalía, his asymmetrical approach left no doubt he is the vessel that shapes the music, not the other way around. This kaleidoscope of eras is what makes Gepe’s 10th studio album, UNDESASTRE, an unequivocal triumph. Revisiting sonic hallmarks from his singular career and reading between the lines of Chilean identity, the folk-pop behemoth has emerged with a vibrant, original snapshot of the embattled world he inhabits today.
Some will be tempted to call UNDESASTRE a comeback album, but Gepe has never actually lulled. Even his non-pop years treading the steps of Chilean folk icons like Margot Loyola and María Esther Zamora yielded one of his most acclaimed records, 2018’s Folclor Imaginario, as well as his biggest hit to date, “Hablar de Tí.” But here, Gepe’s laser focus on contemporary anxieties catalyzes some of the most striking poetry of his career. Album opener, “araña pollito,” harkens to the harrowing 8.8 earthquake and tsunami that rocked Chile in February 2010, cobbling a portrait of resilience and precarity that had people shuffling shakily back to work a day later. On the folk-perreo, “Paloma,” conceived alongside singer-songwriter Belencha, he ponders the fearlessness of pigeons riding the wind and taking the streets. Though he shows little interest in soapboxing, it’s hard not to interpret the melancholy of UNDESASTRE as nodding to the lingering unease following El Estallido Social and its many unresolved quandaries.
“As I started laying out the framework for the album, I had the opportunity to interview the folk singer Isabel Parra, daughter of Violeta Parra,” recalls Gepe, speaking with Remezcla from Mexico City. “I included a quote from her at the end of ‘bandera de arena,’ where she says, ‘Las canciones ayudan pero no solucionan, entonces eso es bien terrible.’ I think there’s enormous truth in that. Music doesn’t offer solutions, but it can keep you company. Conclusions ultimately fall upon you.”
For Gepe – the alias of San Miguel native Daniel Riveros – questions have always been more intriguing than answers. Though he never studied music theory, he picked up the drums at five years old, gradually branching into guitar, keys, and woodwinds, trusting his intuition as he wove them all together. His first records 5×5 and Gepinto are filled with woozy melodicas and toy glockenspiels, skewing experimental but actually the byproduct of cash-strapped artistry. His constant searching led to producer Cristian Heyne, with whom he developed a fruitful creative partnership across five LPs, crediting him with decoding “The Gepe Language.” Though Riveros is the executive producer of UNDESASTRE, enlisting hitmakers Julián Bernal and Pablo Stipicic for only a handful of tracks, he couldn’t resist giving Heyne the reins of “noche D sol,” which he gleefully steered into dreamy shoegaze.
Perhaps the most charming detail gleaned from our conversation is that Gepe is still a gigantic nerd, an early personality trait fans grieved when he evolved into a dashing, suit-wearing heartthrob. When I mentioned seeing him perform as a one-man band in New York in 2012, likening him to spinning Chilean buskers called chinchineros, he piped up excitedly to share he’s actually been taking “intensive chinchín courses,” which hopefully will become a centerpiece of future tours. Similarly, when asked about the enduring relevance of Chilean folk music, his answer was so erudite it could populate a college syllabus.
[Isabel Parra, daughter of Violeta Parra, told me], ‘Las canciones ayudan pero no solucionan, entonces eso es bien terrible.’ I think there’s enormous truth in that. Music doesn’t offer solutions, but it can keep you company. Conclusions ultimately fall upon you.
“Música de tradición used to be Chilean pop music,” he says, pausing to get his timelines in order. “I’m talking prior to La Nueva Canción of the 1960s, with Violeta Parra, Victor Jara, and Rolando Alarcón. Cuecas, tonadas, and rancheras played on the radio and at parties in the ‘30s and ‘40s, and didn’t have the countercultural significance of today. Young people are rediscovering the archives of Silvia Infantas, Jaime Atria, Conjunto Millaray, Cuncumén, Las Hermanas Parra, and Las Hermanas Loyola. And new artists like Claudio Constanzo, Claudia Mena, Catalina Plaza, Miguel Molina, Pepe Fuentes, and Trío Alegría have a fresh read of Chilean folklore. I don’t know where it’s all going, but the Corte Chilenero scene is melding cueca and música urbana, respecting tradition while updating codes, and I think that’s so powerful.”
Gepe’s creative and commercial ambitions extend far beyond Chile’s roots sounds. Throughout 2024, high-profile releases featuring Mon Laferte, Rubén Albarrán, and Monsieur Periné signaled Gepe had entered the big leagues. More exciting still, the co-signs weren’t just played for hype. On “BOLERo LIBRA,” he integrates the trip-hop atmospheres of Laferte’s Latin Grammy-nominated Autopoiética into a gut-wrenching farewell to a love that once burned as brightly as the sun. On “VIVO,” he enlists the Café Tacvba frontman for another bittersweet ode to resilience, this time invoking the time-tested philosophy of cumbia to dance through sorrow. And even on “21 DE ENERo,” which has all the trappings of another Gepe heart-melter, the downtrodden songwriting and minimalist melody are so strong they wash away the saccharine schmaltz often obscuring Monsieur Periné’s sizable talents. The song was co-written with Chilean trap trailblazer Gianluca, who deepens the song’s emo existentialism as well as Gepe’s boundless curatorial vision.
“I’ve always made music in Chile, but also thinking from there,” reflects Gepe, noting rhythmic influences from Mexico, Colombia, and the Dominican Republic as he creeps ever closer to the mainstream. “Over the past 10 years, I’ve befriended Alex Ferreira, Daniella Spalla, Esteman, and Ximena Sariñana, and I feel like I’ve become part of that sound. Natalia Lafourcade’s Musas has been fundamental to this idea of bringing older musical traditions into the present in an organic way. So I don’t know what the long-term impact of [UNDESASTRE] will be, but huge names accepting to be part of it is really cool. After all, this is a self-produced project, and I am my own investor, but that has given me the freedom to keep working on my own terms.”
UNDESASTRE is out now.
