The Girl, the voice of the social outbreak: “My weapon is to sing”

The simplicity of Laura Isabel Ramírez Ocampo (Manizales, 30 years old) contrasts with her challenging gaze.

The sweetness of her, with her raw lyrics

Of her.

The singer-songwriter, who became one of the artistic faces of the 2021 national strike with her single

De ella No Azara

, in a few years managed to make a space for herself on the music scene and in the promising crop of young singer-songwriters.

Dialogue with La Muchacha—artistic name inspired by a song by the Argentine Sabú—invites constant reflection on injustices and dreams.

Ramírez comes from a family steeped in music.

He grew up with Cumanday—as the Quimbaya indigenous people called Nevado del Ruiz—on his back.

There, in the steep streets of the capital of Caldas, she trained as a visual artist before migrating to Bogotá.

When she is not singing, her doppelganger appears: La Dibujadora

.

He escapes the hustle and bustle of being an independent artist with painting and illustration.

With

Pal Monte

, in 2018, he achieved recognition.

In 2021,

No Azara

became an anthem.

And, with just turned 30 years old, she has already completed four albums:

Polen

(2018),

Canciones rawas

(2020),

Más canciones rawas

(2021) and

El ombligo

(2023).

She has not walked the path alone, and she emphasizes this all the time.

She trusts in the power of the pack and that is why she chose to make music with other artists.

She has collaborated with Aterciopelados, the rapper Realidad Mental, Briela Ojeda, Gato E 'Monte, the Spanish Pedro Pastor or Neck Talese, from Argentina.

As they begin their next tour of Europe, La Muchacha will offer a concert at the 15th edition of Festival Centro, one of the most important independent music events in Bogotá.

The day before she spoke with EL PAÍS, accompanied by her little dog

De ella Chicha

de ella, who is waiting impatiently for her.

Her Caldense voice lends warmth to her frank and unabashed responses.

Question:

“Let them shoot me from the front/let it be at the door of my house./Because I die in my land/and they won't take me out of this land.”

This fragment from

No Azara

was heard over and over again during the protests two years ago.

What inspired those harsh lyrics?

Answer:

The song is dedicated to the peace community of San José de Apartadó.

It arose after having seen

Peace Chocolate,

a documentary by Pablo Mejía, the person who accompanies me in life and is my great love.

The documentary talks about the community's process of not allowing any armed group in its territory, its struggle to become independent and how for that reason they have been displaced, monitored, and persecuted.

That song is for them.

Q. On a personal level, what does

No Azara

mean to you

?

R.

That song makes me sick.

It's the only one I have tattooed.

It makes me feel a lot of responsibility because it goes through me, it bothers me a lot that he has accompanied people who are imprisoned or dead today, that he reveals a situation in which someone has to be so brave to consider "let them kill me in my house because I can't." Get me out of here.”

I feel the responsibility to make myself aware that I am not singing nonsense, that I am saying something that is not only affecting people, but is painful.

That pain must be assumed.

Q.

You were very active in the national strike.

In perspective, do you think that this explosion generated the transformations that were demanded?

A.

Attention has decreased because we have a different type of government.

But the pain continues, INDEPAZ continues counting murdered people, in Cauca the massacres continue.

I feel that there is a state of hope regarding this new Government, but at the same time there is anxiety.

Like a strange passivity on our part because we are no longer the opposition, we are already within what is supposed to correspond to our ideals.

Sometimes it's important not to pat ourselves on the back and say everything is fine, when we know it's not.

We can't stop talking about Palestine, but we also can't stop talking about Colombia, about what continues to happen here.

Q.

Speaking of that Government, you composed a song for the documentary

La Igualada

that tells the life of Francia Márquez.

A.

Yes, it has been tremendous.

The documentary is nominated at the Sundance Film Festival.

It has been quite an experience, mainly that it allows us to understand Francia Márquez beyond the political character.

Her fight from a very young age in La Toma, her bravery and her determination.

There is a phrase from the song, “cut every rope with a machete to embark the dredgers and scare away guns,” which refers to an anecdote that Francia told about the women who preceded her, who confronted the multinationals and went to the river with a machete. and they cut off the dredges that sucked the water.

For me it was valuable to know the strength of many women who have stood up to mining and who portray production.

The whole process has been super nice.

They also used

No Azara

and

Los Ríos.

It is fortunate that my music accompanies the entire production.

Q.

A large part of your work speaks precisely about that, about the strength of women.

What does feminism mean for The Girl?

A.

For me it has been a process of finding in which spaces of that broad concept I find myself, understanding from which edges I stand.

I speak from there.

For example, for me it is very important that my feminism is not TERF, for me it is inconceivable that it does not coexist with transgenderism.

My feminism also speaks hard from there.

I advocate for whores, because I advocate for the rights of whores.

From there I will continue making my songs, hopefully more every day from those songs.

I have many queer, trans, non-binary relationships, and I would like to sing more for them.

Learn more about this beautiful universe that has so many teachings to transmit.

Q.

How were your first approaches to music?

A.

My mother put it in my blood.

She, my grandfather and her father sing.

My first memories associated with music are hearing her sing songs by Mercedes Sosa composed by Violeta Parra, or by Víctor Jara.

It was she who made me grow in this return because she never stopped feeding me the idea that I could sing.

She got me into choirs, clay, piano and clarinet courses.

I feel like that has been my greatest relationship with music: my mom's throat.

Q.

A constant in your music are collaborations with artists of very diverse genres.

Is it important for La Muchacha to promote these meetings?

Q.

Yes, I feel that it undermines the conceptions we have of how individualistic the industry is.

It is always thought that creation is a soliloquy and well, no.

I feel that these meetings disrupt that and simply make us negotiate with the ideas and sounds of others.

So you leave your ego aside.

This job, for me, has no place if it is not collective, if it is not shared, if it is not externalized.

Q.

Which artists would you like to get together with next?

What 'togethers' are on the way?

A.

We did one recently with La Fármaco, a rapper from the south of Bogotá.

And right now I would really like that, like looking for other female rappers, to do more things.

I would like to do something like with Sofía Viola, a singer from Argentina.

With Liana we also have a topic, which we have not finished yet.

She is my friend, my sister in life.

Nor do I do it with a pretentious spirit.

If one day something comes out with (Natalia) Lafourcade it would be great, but I'm going without pressure.

Q.

You have managed to maintain yourself beyond viral songs, with an audience that has followed you for years and supports your work.

To what does she attribute that success?

A.

I think it has to do with my temperament.

I have learned to build it up from being very afraid when I was naked.

I have gained character by singing, to be able to be on stage and look people in the eyes.

That permeates, not only in people, but one also transforms fear, the fear of not feeling sure of what one is doing.

Bravery is not just holding a weapon, bravery is singing.

That's my weapon.

That is thanks to the cucha, who once advised me: “To sing you must be brave.”

Q.

You grew up in Manizales and a few years ago you moved to Bogotá.

How was that transit?

A.

This is my fourth year of living in Bogotá, a very chaotic city, but one that feels like my home.

It's like a toxic girlfriend who welcomed me, although I can't deny that not being in Manizales makes me nostalgic.

It makes me want to come back, be close to the cuchos and live a little more peacefully in a cheaper place.

Go back to the roots, know that you are from there and that everything you have was from what you built there.

That is exactly what my album proposes, “remember that your navel is there.”

I am connected to a cord that cannot be broken, that must be fed, loved.

Q.

You talk about the navel as an analogy for the roots, is that why the title of your latest work?

A.

Yes. That is a very particular album, also because I am no longer alone, but I am accompanied by Camilo Bartelsman on drums and Miguel Bassevic on bass.

It is an album that advocates a lot for questions about origin, an origin that is also dark, sad, thick.

It has been a very beautiful experience to collectivize the lyrics, the music, the compositions, to receive the sounds that they have to contribute to me or that they suggest and that give another color to the songs.

It has been very cool.

Q.

What's coming in 2024 for La Muchacha?

A.

The idea is to move with Propio junte, the name we decided to give to this trio and which is part of this new sound of La Muchacha, but which does not depend exclusively on her.

That is to say, the group itself can be the three of us making experimental music or reggaeton if we feel like it, but under that name.

The idea is that this project navigates and circulates.

We also want to find out what reactions our music has in the ears of people who are not part of this territory.

See what happens in Europe.

We thought about going to France and Portugal, where I've never been.

Suddenly we are going to go to the United States if the visa works out, of course,” he laughs.

In Colombia we are going to Medellín, and here in Bogotá we have a presentation in the south, in Kennedy.

It seems like a joke to leave Chapinero and Teusaquillo.

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