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BUENOS AIRES, Argentina. Openly lesbian and feminist, Marilina Bertoldi is a unique case and a turning point in the history of Argentine rock, a genre not particularly open to women coming out. Bertoldi also made history when she became the second woman—after Mercedes Sosa—and the first lesbian to win the Gardel de Oro, the highest award in the Argentine recording industry, for her album Prender un fuego (Light a Fire).

After that explosive, punch-like impact of "Prender el fuego" and that exhilarating journey into the heart and flesh of lesbianism that was "Mojigata," Bertoldi—whose fans number in the thousands—returns to the fray with " Para quien trabajas vol. 1," a concept album brimming with emotion that, without abandoning the artist's feminist causes, stands as a global denunciation of the injustices and monstrosities of contemporary reality. It seems no coincidence that the album's first track is called "Para quien trabajas" and the last is simply titled "Monstruos."

–Do you think that " Who you work for " is a product of this historical moment?

– “Para quien trabajas” is the most contemporary album of its time. Generally, when I compose, I talk about my own processes because I was coming out of some severe depressions and I couldn't stop talking about myself. Suddenly, at this moment when they're trying to turn us into isolated individuals and distance us from one another, I felt the need to connect and find that shared feeling with what we're all experiencing as a society. It's a feeling of helplessness, of powerlessness, of feeling like we're constantly going backwards.

–Is the album title an irony because of your move to Sony?

—A little, yes. But it's more of a conclusion to the whole album. It's about asking myself why I do all this, why I have these addictions to smoking, to being nervous all the time. It's a bit more general. The phrase "who you work for" comes across as a statement, not a question. It's an order. It reflects the feeling of living subjected to something we didn't choose. They're telling you, "Work for me." It's this feeling of always being in the middle of something, and that your whole life is being dragged along by something you didn't choose, something that's happening to you, and it's all choreographed. I felt that tone was ideal for everything I was going to talk about later.

–Why so many allusions and textual references to the '80s and Argentine rock from that era?

—In the world of meaning involved in composing an album, and to talk about the Argentine present, it was inevitable that we bring in some of the feeling, the melancholy of certain sounds and productions, a type of song that absolutely had to refer to something more local, more ours. I always listened to Anglo-Saxon rock, from abroad, and at one point I realized that, in no way, the greatest rocker from the United States or England can identify with me as much as the least relatable artist from Argentina. There's something that happens to us here that only we understand. To talk about these very Argentine things, I have to situate myself in my country. I needed to talk about all these references that, even though I didn't specifically listen to them or play them on my stereo, were always playing around me and are now in my DNA and in the Argentine DNA. Being a girl and listening to "Susanita" by Los Redondos reminds me of my father; Fito Páez with his way of singing and his melodies. There are sounds that get inside you and you can start revisiting themes without explaining so much because the sound itself already places you there.

–Who are those local musical influences?

—Obviously, Charly is the most complete artist, he's the absolute idol, he's a hero. He did things that I listen to today and I can't believe. It's a very complete body of work; I've listened to all his albums. Pubis Angelical ; it's an eternal opera that repeats melodies. Charly is very inspiring; he remains fresh, which doesn't happen very often. It's very difficult to stay fresh throughout your entire career: it happens to me with artists I like, and I listen to one of their albums and think, "He's lost his way." Another influence is Spinetta. I also moved to Villa Urquiza and live a few blocks from where he used to live, and I started connecting with many things about him. I like that he was very much from his neighborhood, from his family, and he talked about that. I love how he embraced that and didn't try to be anyone else. Sumo, the most rebellious band, blows me away with what I hear. Llegando los Monos is an album that blows me away; it has very ambitious production, effects, and technology for its time.

–In the video for “Self-Esteem,” the song that alludes to Charly García’s “It’s Best Not to Talk About Certain Things,” when you sing “I don’t want to talk about them,” there’s an allusion to the decaying roof of the Casa Rosada. Who don’t you want to talk about?

–I'm not going to tell you (laughs). Not talking about them is the purpose of the album. I want to talk about the feelings that arise and help me connect with others, with what we've been sharing as a society. But I don't want to talk about them anymore. "It's better not to talk about certain things," Luca used to say. I don't want to talk about those who are in power today because they're disgraceful. They don't deserve for us to talk about them so much. They even try to dictate what is said and how it's said. They're banal, misinformed, ignorant, and cruel.

–In “Monsters” you say “I spend my life trying to escape from monsters.” What do you mean by that? Are they personal or social monsters?

—The song has the atmosphere of horror films, particularly those from the '80s. “Monsters” is one of the last songs I composed; it was born weeks after the three hate crimes against lesbians. It speaks mainly of that: fear, vulnerability, and the complete lack of justice. I can't believe that being a lesbian today is still a life-threatening situation. That I have to watch these things happen to us and, on top of that, they don't even make the news. They're dismissed as mere crimes. It seems incredible that we still have to explain that we should be treated as human beings. I feel that lately, the sense of vulnerability has become greater and more palpable. It seemed like a good way to close the album. There's no longer room for humor like on my other albums. When we're killed, when hate crimes are made invisible, there's no time for jokes.

–There's little visibility of lesbian erotic rock in the local scene. From "Mujer contra mujer" with Sandra and Celeste, we had to wait until your video "Amuleto" with Javiera Mena and "La cena" with María Rot. How do you continue to advocate for lesbian visibility after Milei's speech in Davos?

—Today, lesbian activism means saying, “Here we are, we still exist.” Simply existing and continuing to have a place on the scene and claiming it seems to me like enormous activism. I'm not strictly an activist, but in this day and age I can't play dumb.

–Why, at a time when lesbian visibility is necessary, did you decide to have only one romantic song, “Forever Is a Place”?

—Because I'm not in that place right now, I haven't been very available for love. I'm not very sexually active; I'm at a different point in my life where I'm more open to other kinds of affection. This is also a sign of the times: it's an era of cruelty and therefore low libido, not very inclined towards voluptuousness and eroticism. “Forever Is a Place” I wrote for the last woman I fell in love with. It's like a warning, if you will, that I'm broken. “I never had anything so beautiful to break” is the final declaration: you are everything I ever dreamed of, and I realize I'm not ready for this; I'm going to break this flower.

Back to the '80s... recharged

The foundation laid by Charly García's "Demoliendo hoteles" and an explicit reference to Sumo's "Mejor no hablar de ciertas cosas" in "Autoestima": undoubtedly the most powerful and impactful track on the entire album when it comes to reflecting the current Argentine political and social context. The satirical allusion to Spinetta is evident from the title of "Bajan de día, de noche espero." Charly García-esque sounds and samples from dozens of 80s archives appear in "El gordo." The music and atmosphere evoke horror films in the style of the Friday the 13th saga in "Monstruos."

From the first to the last song, everything in Para quien trabajas vol. 1, Marilina Bertoldi's brand new and daring album, brings back sounds, impressions, and music from Argentine rock of the 80s. “Light the candles, for the sorcerers are thinking of returning / to cloud our path,” Charly sang… “My life is passing me by, stopping monsters,” Marilina responds in “Monstruos,” now that the sorcerers have returned.

The lyrics of "Por siempre es un lugar" alone offer a refuge for (lost) love and a space for a certain voluptuousness.
After the sensual Mojigata, Bertoldi surprises once again with a completely disruptive, profoundly political album that appeals to social communion, community, and collective consciousness to resist the monsters in power, whom the lesbian artist prefers not to name.

When?

Marilina Bertoldi will present Para quién trabajás Vol. I on November 8th at the Malvinas Argentinas Stadium.

This article was originally published by our partner media outlet, Tiempo Argentino.