Tone Glow 089: Mariana Ingold
Tone Glow 089: Mariana Ingold
An interview with legendary Uruguayan musician Mariana Ingold
Mariana Ingold
Mariana Ingold is a composer, singer, instrumentalist, and teacher from Uruguay who has been active since 1977. She’s recorded numerous albums across her career, both solo and in collaboration with others. In 1983 she released the album Ni Un Minuto Más De Dolor in Travesía, a trio that included Estela Magnone and Mayra Hugo. Her 1980s records, including Todo Depende and Cambio de Clima, are classics in her country, merging various international pop musics in a slick, exuberant manner. Uruguayan music from this time often featured an adventurous spirit, with artists keen to draw from—as noted by Fievel is Glauque’s Zach Phillips—candombe, tango, murga, bossa nova, bebop, modal jazz, the Beatles, Cuban classical guitar, modernist literature, and more.
Ingold has also made children’s music, compositions for theater productions, and works for educational videos. She has created healing spaces that are centered around individual and group singing. Ingold has also held workshops for actors, dancers, therapists, musicians, and educators both in Uruguay and Spain. She’s done musicological studies exploring Afro-Uruguayan music, Afro-Brazilian music, Afro-Cuban music, the sacred music of Native Americans, and the sacred music of India. She worked as a producer for the first CD of ceremonial songs of the Shuar people. Currently, Ingold is making music with her partner Kit Walker. Music from throughout her career can be heard on her Bandcamp page.
This interview was conducted by Joshua Minsoo Kim via email in late 2019. The two discussed her musical upbringing, her collaborations, and how her goals have changed throughout her career. This interview was originally intended for another publication but was never used. In light of Fievel is Glauque’s newest album Flaming Swords, it is being published on Tone Glow in full.
Joshua Minsoo Kim: You were born in Río Negro to a family of very musical people and were exposed to many musicians as a child due to your father organizing concerts and running a record store. Did you want to be a musician ever since you were a child? How long did you take piano lessons?
Mariana Ingold: I grew up in Mercedes, in front of the Río Negro (Black River), which is not to be confused with the department Río Negro (Uruguay is divided into departments). When I was born there was already a piano and guitars at home and my brothers were taking classes. I don’t remember my first time playing the piano, but I went to take lessons at the age of four, already knowing how to play a little bit. I never thought about being a musician as a profession; it’s more like it was as natural as talking, which I feel would be the normal thing for everybody, except that it doesn’t happen like that unless you have that impulse in your family or community.
Can you share a memory of when you were growing up that led to you loving music? What sort of artists were you listening to as a child, and are you still a fan of them now?
My father used to love all kind of music: classical, jazz, all kinds of folk that we could hear at the time, without internet or even TV for some years. We used to sing along a lot, making harmonies very naturally. My parents used to dance a lot too, and my mother would sing tango very well. They both sang in a very good choir when they were young, in Montevideo, before moving to Mercedes. I can say that they were really open to all sorts of music, and that gave me the curiosity I still have when speaking about music.
When you were in Europe, you received a letter from Estela Magnone about creating music as Travesía. What was your relationship with Magnone and Mayra Hugo before this?
The three of us were part of a choir. My family moved back to Montevideo when I was 15, and it was then that I entered the choir, along with my two brothers.
Uruguay had a very intense political climate during the ’70s and ’80s. Was your music ever a response to the dictatorship that was eventually losing hold during the early to mid 1980s? What were your lyrics primarily about throughout your albums during that time?
I guess my music has always been a response to whatever kind of oppression existed, but not in any evident way. Lyrics had to pass censorship during those years, and we would make it difficult for them to stop us from saying what we wanted. My songs were not protest songs as we know them—most of them speak about very different things, and they’re not related to the dictatorship in a direct way. A love song can be revolutionary too—it all depends on how you say it.
What was it like creating music with Magnone and Hugo? What sort of goals did you have when trying to make music as Travesía, and what would you say were your biggest musical influences during this time?
Travesía didn’t last too long—just one album and many collaborations with other musicians who wanted us to provide backing vocals on their albums. We mostly played in festivals with other musicians, and those festivals were part of the resistance movement. We weren’t being paid, and almost nobody was making a living with music then—they probably weren’t even thinking about it either. We used to work a lot on our vocal harmonies—that was our best gift. We used to love Brazilian music then, mainly Chico Buarque and Milton Nascimento (Travesía is named after of one of his songs that we loved). I guess the challenge then was that we were three womenÿwhich wasn’t common at all at the time—and we were also coming with a different approach to music.
You studied under composer Coriún Aharonián, which led to you recording your debut album Todo Depende in 1986. What would you say was the most important thing that Aharonián taught you, be it related to music or not?
Classes with Coriún were so good. I passed the exam to get into the Conservatory, but friends advised me not to go; the best teachers were gone and out of the country or fired by the military, and the ones who remained were not very good, so I opted to go to private classes with Coriún. His house was sort of a music shop and library, with everything you could imagine to find at the time. There was ethnic music from all over the world that is now available on the internet—it was a treasure then. If I had to say one thing Coriún taught me, it was in helping me trust myself and trusting in what comes from me musically. He gave me the confidence I needed then, during such a hard time for Uruguay.
You released several albums throughout the ’80s and ’90s, many of which were collaborative. Is collaboration something you feel is important and necessary if one is to be a songwriter? What led you to pursuing so many collaborations?
I never felt I was a soloist, probably because I grew up singing with others. I love giving space for other musicians to communicate in their own way. I chose good musicians who could give the music something I wouldn’t be able to myself. Working in a group has always been a challenge, but when the results are good, it’s worth it.
Not a lot of musicians pursue creating children’s music—what led you to that? Do you feel like the music you created previously was conducive to this?
I grew up without music specifically made for children. I had a couple of singles made for kids, but I wasn’t very interested in them, probably because I was already hearing very good stuff thanks to my father. I realized that children liked some of my songs and I thought about making something for them, mainly sung by children. The first children’s album was like an experiment, I didn’t know if anybody was going to like it. It was a time when I was creating without thinking too much about being successful. Radios weren’t playing our music—TV neither—and labels weren’t asking us to make hits, so we were creating just because being creative was a revolutionary act, because we are creative beings.
What album are you most proud of making and why?
Well, I can’t say that I have one that I’m more proud of than others; I worked hard on each of them. Some sound better than others. I’m happier with what I can do now with the technical part of the music. Just having the studio at home changes a lot; you don’t have to think about the cost of an hour [of recording]. I really like Candombe en el Tiempo and El Gran Misterio. Of course I could make them better now, in some ways, but they are what they are for the time they were released.
I really like what I’m doing now, with my partner Kit Walker. We’re posting a lot of music on Bandcamp, not releasing “solid” albums but sharing one song or instrumental music whenever we want. The internet has had a very positive impact on me to spread the music worldwide without having to wait for interest from labels. I’m glad that there’s so much interest in the music of the ’80s—that was really a creative time—but I really hope that people get to hear my current music, which is also all on Bandcamp.
Have you always been a musician as your career? If not, what do you do for work and do you think it relates to your work as a musician in any way?
I’ve been teaching music since I was 18. At the beginning it was piano lessons for kids, and later I began teaching singing too. I mainly work with singing groups in workshops called “Afinando el instrumento” (“Tuning the Instrument”—there’s more info on my website). I also worked as an artisan during a period of 10 years or so. I never made a living just “playing.” I prefer to call myself an “amateur” musician, even though I’ve been in the music scene for quite a while now. Amateur is a French word for somebody who loves what they are doing, so it seems weird to me that it is used for somebody who isn’t so good at something, or just a beginner, or if it’s some sort of a hobby. And then, when you become a “professional” you have to pay for everything with the money you make playing. That makes musicians play in not very good places for music like restaurants, bars, etc. I’ve done that a little, but never felt very comfortable with it.
How has your music changed throughout the course of the past few decades? Do you have different goals or ideas that you tackle now that you didn’t decades ago?
Even though I have mainly created songs, and also some instrumental music like with the Tá albums (I and II), most of what I do at home is not released. Improvising is a way to be in the present moment, to let go of what you just played and not record to be heard again later. You can come up with the best idea that you have had, but it’s “gone.” Still, it remains in the Universe. Letting go is an important factor for creation; I have this feeling that everything that has been played is somewhere or keeps on going. More will come, endlessly, so trust in that—not everything has to be recorded and released. This is something that is increasing my way of being with music, of understanding that it is one of the main connections to our higher self. It’s a language that can tell us more than we can imagine about ourselves and everything else. I’m navigating in these concepts lately, more and more, and letting go of the idea that somebody else should hear what I’m doing. Everybody should have this kind of experience so that we can communicate in better ways than we currently do, without this idea of an artist and their audience.
What’s next for you in terms of new music or life in general?
I’m always creating, either by myself or with my partner Kit Walker. We also have a little studio at home so that we can do whatever we want without having to travel and pay for studios, which is a big issue. I’m also investigating in frequencies, understanding that we are that too, and that everything is frequency. It’s my calling right now to go further and explore the unknown, using sound as a vehicle.
Can you describe what a typical day looks like for you?
I try to not schedule anything in the morning so that I can share ideas with Kit. It is one of my favorite things to do since I met him. We don’t have limits for imagination and live much outside the box, the Matrix, or whatever you want to call it. It’s getting harder and harder to interface with the old paradigm. We meditate together or alone, walk in nature. We live 100 kilometers from the capital now, not participating much in the “music scene,” and enjoy playing for our dogs and the wild birds that live in this place. We’re reading, studying lots of things on the internet, and teaching local people or the ones who want to come this way for lessons and consultations. I also have a blog where I’m sharing some stories that I write. It’s a time to be in silence as much as possible. Somebody has to do it, haha. Too much noise and blah blah doesn’t mean much right now. Understanding that the outside is a reflection of the inside, I am “working” on the inside to create an outside that’s more in accordance with my inside. That’s where I am at in this moment.
Mariana Ingold’s music can be heard at Bandcamp. More information can be found at her website.
Thank you for reading the eighty-ninth issue of Tone Glow. Let’s be in silence, please.
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