Things that happen in Chacarita
Chacarita is a Buenos Aires neighborhood, in Argentina, whose identity has recently begun to change and its own culture started to develop in the post-pandemic era. It feels new even though it isn’t. The culture of the city, both mainstream and emerging, rotates at great speed in the streets of Chacarita, generating innovative urban combinations. It is the overhyped area to visit to find trendy gastronomy, fashion and walks. Recently, Seth Kugel, a journalist for the New York Times, highlighted it as one of the best neighborhoods in Buenos Aires.
Some time ago, it used to be a place of transit for commuters, due to its connection with one of the train branches that goes from the city of Buenos Aires to the province. Chacarita has always welcomed travelers with the traditional pizza of El Imperio on one side, and the huge cemetery, on the other. Little by little, it has begun to show gastronomic mutations that respond to its proximity to Palermo Hollywood and to the extension of most cosmopolitan uses and customs. For example, the old Rondinella keeps practically the same menu today but it was rediscovered and adopted by a clientele of younger faces who wear clothes with different degrees of imported strangeness. Questions that had never been heard before are now more frequent: "Are these ravioli vegan?" It is also the home of Anchoíta, a chic restaurant that is usually full, you need to book a table some weeks in advance. Daring proposals such as Donnet, specialized in meals whose exclusive raw material is mushrooms, can also be found in Chacarita.
With the installation of the Movistar Arena and the C Art Media complex, it is definitely the space for music. Hundreds of concerts take place in the neighborhood every year: soloists, small and medium bands, national and international, take their audience to this area, due to its ease of access and variety of gastronomic offer. An area that has received varied artists in a musical spectrum of unexpected breadth, such as Lali Espósito, the popular Argentinian singer, and also King Krule, a London musician of more complex classification.
Dear travelers, I'm going to tell you about a small event, a rarity. My intention is that you know some of the wonderful things that happen in Chacarita and what makes it special. You may be able to repeat the experience, or you may not. Don't be discouraged, I'll still give you some tips to add to your itinerary.
An invitation
I received an invitation by whatsapp. The message was long, almost an email with specific instructions. I read it carefully twice. It was to attend a show of the Mexican singer-songwriter, Rosas. I had heard about him a few days ago and I commented in a casual conversation that it must be interesting. That led me to this message.
Rosas is an artist from Mexico who makes neotrova and trip-hope, yes, hope, with a final “e”. These are the neologisms with which he explains his music, a melodic style, solo guitar playing and techno. It is also classified as some emerging music in his home country. What makes it bloom in Buenos Aires almost at the same time as in Mexico City?
The message said it would be an intimate event, and there would be some drinks and snacks. I was asked to confirm attendance because seats were few. My first idea was that the recital would be held at a Buenos Aires friend’s place that Rosas would be visiting. Very possible. I confirmed my attendance and waited, in vain, for the address.
Rosas's show day came. I still didn’t know the venue. I received a new message, saying that I should go to the heart of Chacarita. The place had a name: Naza Estudio. I didn't know it. Searches in different apps and sites did not show any results. I said to myself that it must be the artist’s friend’s house. It had to be some old, small apartment, with few rooms, facing the back of the building.
As the instructions highlighted punctuality, I took an uber. First tip to tourists: if you are planning your trip to Buenos Aires, you can use this app to go anywhere for a reasonable price.
I got off at the door, but the numbers were not like those of a house or an apartment. From the opposite sidewalk, I saw a small window through which a very white light came out. I approached and saw two large windows and a glass door. It seemed to me like an antique shop, somewhat abandoned. Two people were waiting at the door and I hurried up to enter the place with them.
A boy with curly hair and an ear pierced by a ring from which a pendant hung answered the door. He asked me if I was there to see Rosas.
Inside I smelt what is familiar in Buenos Aires old houses: damp bricks and tattered wood. It was a small square room that could fit about eight people. We were all paying attention to the details. Carefully displayed on the windows, shelves and cases, there were a hundred bandoneons and accordions. More than I had ever seen in my life. Although Buenos Aires is a city of tango, it is not that there are many bandoneons. Tip 2 for tourists: if you come to Buenos Aires, don't expect to hear bandoneons or tango dancing on corners.
The walls had old photographs, some framed, others loose, worn and fading. Many people appeared working with their hands. The faces of the members of the factory were repeated. One stood out for being known. Among the pics, Pipo Pescador, a musician from Argentina, appeared. He is popular for his small accordion with which he appeared on television to sing children's and family songs.
As we wandered among musical instruments, the boy at the door offered us a glass of wine. Two people appeared and began to do camera tests on a small stage that occupied half of the premises. I was wrong, it was not Rosas’s friend’s house, the show would take place on a stage, witnessed by many accordions. Right?
—-----------------------------------------
Then Rosas came in. His face was framed in polygonal makeup and red shadows were outlined from his eyes to his ears. He wore black and square school-uniform-looking shoes, and pants that made his ankles visible. His white shirt had slits on his shoulders and, on top of it, he wore a black cloth bib that looked like a bulletproof vest.
He greeted us one by one. He was happy that we had come, he was delighted to be in Buenos Aires. He spoke in the same way as he sings: soft, in tune. Then he left through a door.
I was surprised to discover that the place continued. The house was beginning to unfold. I entered a covered patio, there was a car, although I didn't understand if it was parked or just abandoned. There was little light, but I could still make out a wide corridor to the right. I crossed it, it took me to a second courtyard, through a rectangular window, I saw a curtain with white light on one wall. There were about three people preparing small dishes. To my left there was a giant, barn-style door. I chose not to open it yet and continued to observe a half-open door from which warm light and music were coming out.
Once I crossed it, Naza Estudio began to take shape and I was able to reconstruct the spatial puzzle in my mind. I had been passing through more than one place: an old factory inside a typical Buenos Aires chorizo house –chorizo means sausage, a sausage house is one where you enter and keep walking along many rooms, long as sausages.
The concatenation and reconversion of the spaces made me think that something like this is the entire Chacarita neighborhood. Old workplaces, very much from the twentieth century, and other living spaces, typical of the nineteenth century, were mutating into the twenty-first century: a series of applications, compartments, ambiguous and simultaneous uses that we enter through bright screens in our pockets. The door of Naza Estudio was like the screen of my cell phone.
I found myself in a living room? It was long and narrow, it had two connected rooms. One was a recording and monitoring studio, lit in violet LEDs. It had sound insulation on the walls and several guitar and bass stands scattered about. The next room was yellow. It was just as big, a quadrangle and full of discs. I saw one of Prince covered in Japanese ideograms, several of jazz, another one of Strauss with a minimalist cover. A large, eclectic collection. They were arranged on cane shelves, like the ones you get in the Puerto de Frutos del Tigre (tourists, your attention, please: you can also visit Tigre to spend a day near the water). They were another remnant of old houses. Chacarita is abandoning them and paying homage to them at the same time, in a constant reversion.
In the center of the room there were two armchairs, old and unrepeatable. A green one, made of wood and peeling leather. Another one was yellow, printed with fractalic arabesques. There were two standing microphones between the two seats. Behind one, leaning on the shelf, a vinyl of Rosas, his latest EP, "Santo o Remedio". The cover resembled a Fauvist portrait, with a striking yellow background contrasting with four violet flowers, and a white face and thick black lines.
The living room continued, another space was detached in the shape of an "L". That's when I finally saw the stage. It was a setting similar to that of "Tiny Desk" that became popular on Youtube. The missing app for the house of the 21st century.
I ran into the organizer of the event. He was sitting near the stage, in a two-body armchair between giant covers of the forgotten D-Mode magazine, which were leaning against brick walls. Gerardo is a tall, Mexican poet who has grown a mustache and has fun doing events. I learnt that on his last birthday, there was a recital and Rosas was the supporting artist of another band called Mujercitas Terror. There was power in Rosas and there was room to make an intimate presentation and take the opportunity to mix a little more Mexican culture with Buenos Aires. Gerardo was almost a typical inhabitant of the neighborhood in this new iteration.
I asked him if he owned the house. He said no. It was inhabited by a colleague, a musician, related with a certain degree of descent to the bandoneon manufacturers. I didn’t quite understand if he was a son, a grandson or a great-grandson. Gerardo didn't know either. What he did know is that the house began to be renovated after the pandemic and that his colleague moved and made it first his home, then he transformed it into a studio and later, into a cultural space. Is it a cultural center, I asked? For special events only. Gerardo slipped that just yesterday they were rehearsing Lola Arias’s new work upstairs.
While we were chatting, Marcelo approached us, a young musician in his fifties. I asked him what style of music he played. He said that he had a small guitar and that he did a little cumbia and Brazilian-style rhythms. Another fusion, I thought. An intimate event, he said. About fifty people. He told me that they used the yard a lot. What yard? I asked. Marcelo pointed to a door next to us, it had seemed to me part of the wall. The house continued to unfold like an origami map.
I opened the door. The yard was uncovered and dark. It began to emerge in the light of garland lamps and the reflection of clouds. The nightlight allowed us to see a vine climbing a pergola, there was a lamp in the background hanging from another door. A tool room. It was more than a courtyard, it was an outdoor space almost as large as the house. It had a circular stove, a grill, and a large table made of cement and tiles. There were only two people smoking. I took a step back to see the full profile of the house: a straight, factory outline, a few rectangular horizontal windows. A fully extended second floor..
I remembered Gerardo's words: "Lola Arias was rehearsing her work upstairs." A week later I would see "Los días afuera”. The staging of the play required a wide scaffolding, the body of a car, a small mobile stage, a cast of six actresses and actors and a musical performer, with all her instruments, including a drum set. Sitting in the theater I racked my brains to imagine how the second floor of the origami house would be.
Rosas's recital went well, his sound was soft and pleasant. Out of nowhere, a microphone disconnected. Rosas kept the show going, overcoming technical difficulties with humor and stage craft. "I started in bars where no one stopped talking", this must seem like a game to him. Among the audience was Julieta Venegas and a couple of producers from the Buenos Aires scene. Rosas's music is neo trova and trip hope ("with e at the end", sic). There was something hopeful about the sounds, which combined pure guitar stages with synth stages and micro dancing and the microphone. His voice is very soft and clean and he makes himself heard even without a microphone, bouncing off Naza's brick walls. I recommend three songs I like a lot: Sandía, Santitos and Temporal.
When it was time to go, I walked a couple of blocks to the bus stop, it had only been a few minutes past midnight and I could still catch a bus. Tip 3: dear tourists, buses in Buenos Aires circulate all night, another application that will be very useful to you is "Cuándo subo", to know bus frequencies and stops.
I passed by the Santa Rosa pizzeria, one of the most popular in Chacarita, a cultist of Buenos Aires pizza. Tip 4: dear travelers, the local pizza is very big, don't try to eat it alone, share it. The specialty: Roquefort pizza. It can be bought in portions on your way back or you can have it while you continue your adventures in the Buenos Aires night.
Follow us in Substack