Nobody Asked Me about My Experience….

written and translated from Spanish by Claudia Maúrtua

Christian Pantoja

Hey, nobody asked me about my experience, at least not recently. When asked in the past about how I forged a musical proposal in a mostly masculine environment, my answer was always the same: hard work (both music and business-wise), making mistakes and learning from them, and gaining as much experience as I could every time we would step onto a stage, whether small, medium or large. It was not only my job; it was the job of the whole band. We started up five members, and I was the only girl.

I was cleaning up the other day at home and found an old Kerrang magazine. There was an interview with Angela Gossow, Arch Enemy’s vocalist by then, and something stuck in my mind. She started off with: “Don’t know why you guys call me up to do interviews, I usually decline. If there’s anything to say about Arch Enemy’s music you should be talking to the writer…..” She referred to Michael Amott, main writer and lead guitarist. Well, it’s true. There’s nothing more important in music than exactly that: Music.

I have been reading and hearing a lot of complaints lately, about how female artists are almost invisible or non-existent on big rock festival cards and how this is a matter of male chauvinism, together with testimonies of discrimination and harassment. Nobody is forcing me to say something, honestly, but if my experience over 25 years of making rock music in Peru may be of any help, great, and if somebody cares about my story, that’s great too. Two decades is a long time, long enough to let things change gradually. Some things get better, some get worse, but there’s something nobody can take from us, and that’s what we learned on the way. I didn’t start off knowing how it works; I most certainly didn’t step foot onto a stage not feeling intimidated by the number of eyes on us, no matter if we could count 10, 100, or 1,000 of them. I didn’t get there causing the largest moshpits ever and firing up the crowd; quite the opposite. I learned that music communicates, that it is important to find a sound of our own. Giving 110 percent of ourselves as musicians is a must. I learned that it is important to find the most professional way to make music without taking the magic out of it, that it is important to satisfy ourselves as musicians first then to satisfy the masses. I learned that the audience is an important part of what we achieve as artists, and we develop a unique relationship with it. And lastly, I learned of the existing non-musical factors that play an important role on how the scene is developed. It is impossible to control them all as an artist. I did learn as well that these factors exist on every artistic scene in the world; it is not just a local issue; it doesn’t even apply exclusively to music, but to all forms of art as part of a business.

I have no memory of having experienced harassment or discrimination because of being a woman myself, nor my band for that matter. And having read what I read lately, I still can’t explain if it was because I was extremely lucky, or because I started off by constructing a feeling of respect to the artist, because I stamped my strong personality right from the start, or because the environment was less hostile back then. I don’t really have an answer, and that concerns me because some day perhaps my daughter would like to follow in my footsteps, and it is evident the environment may not be friendly.

Okay, I’ll be honest, were there many skeptical people when we started off? Of course there were. Is that a girl leading a heavy rock band? Is that a girl playing heavy guitar riffs while creating an impossible mix of rage-powered vocals and angel-voiced melodies? What in the world is this? I smile when I imagine the look on their faces asking themselves these questions.

But the audience’s curiosity was bigger; curiosity from guys that had already been listening to us while we were participating in the kickoffs of the legendary Miraflores Rock Contest of ’99 and staying with us up to the finals. Curiosity from the media, those few who still paid attention to the new bands and artists that were coming out. Curiosity from those promoters responsible for the concerts that would end up loaded with people despite if it was a ready-to-fall stage on a mini soccer field or the most unpopular disco in downtown Lima. The power of what came next was bigger: that first album with a blue background and a crazy face on the cover, which many think is mine but really isn’t.

The band was becoming more solid through its music and our speech, and I say “our speech” because it was never just my thing. We were a heavy rock band who happened to have a 20-plus-year-old girl as vocalist, who had the difficult task to become the face and figure, and to communicate our thing. Was I scared? Of course I was, but just the first guitar riff and the first word coming out of my mouth were more than enough to tell us we were on the right path, and the fear would just disappear; there was nothing else I would enjoy more than performing on a stage, whatever the size of it.

Ni Voz Ni Voto was never just about me. There were four wonderful and talented male musicians (now just three) whom I never had to ask to take care of me, to stand up to something or to talk on my behalf, and it still continues that way. Was it an intimidating environment? Of course! Rock n’ roll has been headlined and commanded worldwide by men; the most significant international references, pioneers and idols that we all admire are living proof of that, and Peru has not been an exception. Did we hear crazy stuff from the crowd while on stage? Yeah. Together with deafening applause and the roaring of a wild bunch of people, we would hear “mamacita!” or “you’re so hot!” and even “Claudia, get a divorce!” The last is actually the funniest thing I’ve heard; I still hear it these days, though it’s less frequent now.

At first, and mostly in front of big crowds, we would listen to all of this stuff quite often; it is not that often anymore. We have all grown up. With time, the crowd would start chanting rather motivating stuff: “Woo, good job Claudia!” or “‘No Antisocial’!!!!” or “‘Antiamor’!!!” and more song requests. How did we take what the crowd yelled at us? Well, we took it as what it was and what it’s always been. The expressions from a wild big sea of people electrified by adrenaline and hooked on the show. It happens in Peru, it happens in USA, it happens everywhere. All of this didn’t get us down from stage, nor interrupt our performances, nor lead Walter (lead guitar and husband) and I to fight afterwards. My whole intention every time we step onto a stage is to establish a connection with the audience. The first time I got them to sing with me it sounded like a roaring chorus, and it was beautiful. We were pretty clear on how things worked on stage and our answer from up there was always to play with the best of attitudes, as best and loud as possible. With constant hard work, this connection started playing itself as mutual respect; the audience started respecting their artists.

Back in the day, a few die hard, full-of-adrenaline fans would climb onto the stage (yes, my young friends, if you got here a bit late, there weren’t always security guards at the gigs). I never understood how the fans got on stage; they just popped up and would dive back into the crowd. Besides knocking a few cables out of place and kicking my pedalboard, which would get on my and my roadies’ nerves, they never got out of hand. When stepping down off the stage we would sign autographs (ok, now I feel old), yes, the guys would ask us to sign the back of their tickets, flyers, even sweaty t-shirts; the girls, much neater, came up with lovely little notebooks with stickers on them. Nobody ever tried to touch me out of the limits of a normal hug or kiss on the cheek, I swear to God. Ultimately, fans asked us to autograph photos and then self-taken pictures with a cellphone, and it all went down just as smoothly as it had always been for us, well, except for those few smells after the moshpit. Our crew already knew I would not step out of the venue until the last person seeking a picture with us or anything signed would get it, and I guess this was something the fans always appreciated. “Stay humble or be humbled,” I heard Nita Strauss say one day.

There’s something you build between you and the audience along the way and it is called respect. Don’t get me wrong, this has nothing to do with whether someone likes the artist or not. I’ve done this for so many years that I’m totally aware that music is a matter of taste and likes (and a matter of fashion trends too), and it is impossible to make everyone like your music. There are the followers and those who do not follow us. The fact that I don’t like this or that artist does not mean I get to disrespect him/her; respect is something every artist is entitled to.

I stand against all types of harassment and discrimination because of sex (religion, race, and political belief too, but that’s another story) and this goes both ways. I believe in equality of rights, and I am convinced men and women are capable of performing the same tasks. If we have the same rights, we share the same obligations, don’t we? Well, because we are equal.

This leads me to address the presence of female artists/bands (and mostly the lack of it) on big stages and massive music festivals. In my opinion, this is not a matter of male chauvinism; ladies, take it from someone who has been part of those cards for a long time. Now the artists and bands on those cards are mostly male, not because they are preferred for being just men, but because their musical proposals work year after year, and it will continue to work until the audience gets bored with watching the same artists live. I rather encourage my bandmates and my musician colleagues to produce our own gigs, encourage Ministry of Culture to produce more local music concerts; hell why not, local rock n’ roll concerts: heavy, folk, pop, all of it. Create collaboration projects and ensembles. It is not easy, but nobody ever had it coming the easy way, no matter when and where they started. Not many will survive, but a few of us veterans are still here.

I love how the number of female artists of the Peruvian rock n’ roll scene have increased; we were not many back in ’98 — ’99, but that didn’t stop us; it certainly didn’t stop me, or Sandra (Metadona), or Pierina (Madre Matilda), or Caroline (Cruz), or Magali (Luque), or many others who were there before us or those who came next. Just think about it: we are now more in number and quality of music and we can’t just stop; the only way to move forward is to step up to any obstacle, because we can, right?

---

Claudia Maúrtua is a Peruvian singer songwriter and guitarist. She’s the front woman of Lima-based rock band Ni Voz Ni Voto and a member of the female ensemble Cantautoras Peruanas. Follow her on Twitter @ClaudiaNvNv