The invasion officially began on February 10th, 2007. Before this time, the Santiago Metro system provided me with a tranquil ride uptown from Santa Isabel station to Escuela Militar. During the morning rush hour I often bought a 200 peso coffee at Santa Isabel (sans lid) and proceeded with it down to the platform, finishing it while staring at the other subway passengers, who were staring at the gringo. Sometimes I brought a sandwich and an old pulp western that I was into at the time. It was a cushy ride; modern, clean and warm. “Tranquiiiii-lo” the local would say.

It was a world of difference from what was happening up there – above ground, where swarms of office workers, nannies, juniors, construction workers, drunks and English teachers jostled and fought and elbowed their way into the piss-crusted, leaky and creaky yellow “buses” (really, flatbed trucks with bus-resembling boxes riveted on top), driven primarily by hairy-shouldered, strung-out madmen in Terminator shades and wine and/or blood-stained wife beater undershirts, while the romantic sobs of Marco Antonio Solis cackled from the makeshift speakers glued above the cracked front windshield among portraits of skulls, naked girls, Jesus H. Christ and little girls in first communion dresses. These guys raced down the main avenidas, terrorizing drivers, pedestrians and the very passengers they carried with their dangerous driving and disregard for human life in general. Now these buses are simply known as “los Amarillos” (the yellows). May they burn and rot in their own special hell.

I never understood why more people didn’t just take the Metro before the invasion. I suppose one reason was because you had to pay again for every bus or train ride you took. It was cheaper if you found the one bus that brought you closest to your destination. Señora Norma, the elderly woman who lived next door to me in a pension, said she would never go down into the tunnel. “Ai-ai-Ai! Choni nunca jamas voy a encerrarme alli abajo!” (“I will never lock myself down there!”) she always said, mentioning her fears of  train collisions and collapsing tunnels that she and other little old ladies seemed to think was commonplace. “Yo me quedo arriba Choni..ai-ai-ai!” (“I’ll stay up here!”).

Then the day of the invasion finally came. Transantiago burst into being and the amarillos disappeared from the downtown streets. The government replaced them with new, modern buses made in Brazil, outfitted with new electronic fare cards called “tarjetas BIP.” The ever-confused public remained… confused. A cascade of disoriented passengers who had never previously taken the Metro now stormed down the hole. They wandered the massive, concrete stations, heads in the air, walking sideways like crabs, lost and pushing people for no good reason, charging the doors and preventing people from getting out.

It was a mean and ugly time. This lasted for months, until Metro Santiago slowly introduced measures to “educate” people on how to act as a mob (let people off before you board, don’t shove grandma onto the tracks, etc). My morning Metro ride was now a nightmare. I often had problems getting on or off the trains because of public panic. People were obnoxious and rude. I was punched a couple of times. Fights started breaking out. Instead of wondering if I should choose an ave palta sandwich or a couple or sopaipillas for breakfast, I found myself wanting to hurt people on my way to work.

At this point, I injected my MP3 player full of Slayer. Specifically, the Reign In Blood album from 1986. If you want to hurt people, Reign in Blood is the disc to do it to. Every day I descended the steps of Santa Isabel station charged with the surging force of Slayer, my face completely scorched by my best evil scowl. I was aggressive; I pushed and prodded and never gave anyone the right of way – be they old, young, or limbless. I mistrusted everyone – even the blind. I thought the little red and white walking sticks were a prop. “Let’s see them eyes, now shall we?” “Pregnant? Yeah right! Outta my way, sister!”

I was pure Evil.

Now I don’t know about you, but I have always used music as someone might use drugs. I use different styles as aids – enhancing a feeling that I want to feel. I used Slayer in the Metro and I became more aggressive. I listen to Bob Dylan and think I live in Haight Ashbury; I listen to the Smiths and I think I am a suicidal homo; with Bach, the white wigs come out. In short: I become the music I listen to. The mix of sensitivity and stupidity in me permits the music to install itself in my being and I become a zombie. Put on Nevermind and I am Kurt Cobain. A little Rick James and torturing my girl with a crack pipe seems almost plausible.

Sometime in the winter of that year, my MP3 broke and I was faced with doing the Metro – gasp! – Slayerless. Down in one of the trains, as we were all packed in between Salvador and Manuel Montt stations, I pushed back a little and heard someone say, “Señor,” and I continued pushing back.  “Señor,” came the voice again. Annoyed, I started to turn around and saw the man I was about to be rude to had a little girl in his arms. “Estoy con mi hija, señor,” he said,  “con permiso.” (“I’m with my daughter sir, excuse me”).

At the sight of this humble father with his daughter I realized, ashamed, that perhaps being evil wasn’t the right way to go for me. I loaded my brand new MP3 player (which would get stolen on the metro months later) with Julie Cruise’s ethereal “Dream Pop” from Twin Peaks and Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue. My attitude quickly changed. The music put me into a morphine-like trance and I arrived to work without blood on my hands.

Last week’s LOW RENT guests, Los Kuervos del Sur, have been part of my commuting fix since Peter Duran (guitar/keyboards) and Pablo Diabuno (guitars) presented me with their first LP – Porvenir (Independent, 2009), last October 23rd. Los Kuervos, originally from Curicó, came to Santiago to concentrate primarily on their special brew of  music. They began recording the disc in 2008, in Ciclo Studios under the production and engineering talents of Marcelo Da Venezia (Weichafe) and Felipe Ortiz (Sinergia).

“When we came to Santiago, we didn’t have many friends,” recalls Duran, adding: “We came from Curicó and all shared a house together – the casa de kuervos [house of crows].”  All of this soon changed as Los Kuervos began playing Santiago bars, sharing stages with the likes of Keko Yoma and Silencio.

Kuervos del Sur presents the listener with a quality of music that is perhaps missing from the local music scene – something positive and uplifting. The disc starts with the track “Anciano Sol” (“Elderly Sun”) and its charango shuffle intro and marching snare that you could mistake for Inti-Illmani, before a swelling wall of guitars washes over the song at 45 seconds. “Guíame a la salida,” sings vocalist Jaime Sepulveda, “de esta amargura / ponte en mi rumbo / levántate!” (“Guide me out of this bitterness/ place yourself in my destination / Rise!”).  This is what Tool would sound like if they came from Patagonia.

Citing influences from Violetta Jara to the Deftones to Coltrane, Los Kuervos continue Porvenir with the dreamy “Campesino,” (“Peasant”) then swing stylistically into “El Hambre” (“The Hunger”), a hard-driving tune with an escalating and powerful vocal melody. “Como la cruel hambre vació me vientre entero / Como me amarra este dolor / Que siempre estaba dentro.” (“Like the cruel hunger that emptied my whole stomach / Like my moorings to this pain / that has always been inside.”)

Duran knows firsthand that music can have both destructive and healing effects and qualities.  “He is like Patch Adams,” laughs Diabuno, referring to Duran and his work at the Hospital de Carabiñeros as a Music Therapist. Duran, who began playing music at five and now teaches and plays with young children on the hospital’s cancer ward, says, “People react positively to our music, and we try to put out buenas vibras (good vibes).” Duran continues, “Little by little we started meeting new people after arriving. We played more and more and became very well-accepted in the community.” He adds, “At a previous show, we saw Claudio Parra [keyboardist from legendary prog-rock group Los Jaivas] jumping around in the audience.”

The prog-rock label and the comparisons with Los Jaivas abound as los Kuervos use charangas and other Andean instruments in their music. “Los Kuervos del Sur is simply world music,” states Diabuno. “We take musical elements from everywhere.” Duran adds that “it’s really a mix of grunge and prog-rock that incorporates indigenous music.”

Porvenir takes the listener through the spiritual landscapes of the land, sea, wind and air with lyrics charged with appreciation for nature and light, particularly with songs like “Luminoso” (“Bright”) and “Mar del Sur” (“Southern Sea”). Los Kuervos have captured an element on Porvenir that goes beyond style comparisons, and instead speaks to peoples’ longings for refuge from modern life and its sometimes debilitating and destructive influence on people’s spirit.

“I think this music is necessary for people – especially here in Santiago,” says Duran. “Something new and positive. New music, new words and new sounds.”

… And thankfully for metro riders, a brand new day for this staff writer on his way to work in the morning.

You can get a dose of Kuervos del Sur on their MySpace page:

http://www.myspace.com/kuervosdelsur

by Sean Black, Staff Writer

sean.black@thepulse.cl

Listen to LOW RENT every Friday night, 8-10pm

www.santiagoradio.fm