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Ana Tijoux doesn’t talk much about how having been born in the wake of her father’s political exile from Augusto Pinochet’s Chile inspires her work. We’ve only got 15 minutes to chat before her next sound check; and a near-Grammy win earlier this year for her return to raw beats and rhymes, “1977,” means that Tijoux’s officially on tank half-full. She hasn’t stopped performing since landing in The Golden State a few days ago. “You can answer me in Spanish if you’d like,” I tell her. And from there our meandering bilingual conversation goes from her picks for classic Spanish-language bangers to why we need to stop obsessing about the issue of women in rap.

On her song “1977,” in a rhyme as boastful as it gets for Tijoux, she spits: “like an architect constructing each effect/correct or incorrect, I know how to learn anything…”.

Apparently this includes succeeding in the rap game without name-checking designers, taking off her clothes, or even rhyming in English. Not many rappers, in any language market, can return to minimalist, boom bap fare (“1977”) from the candy sweet nothings of Latin pop (check Tijoux’s 2007 collaborations with Julietta Venega), and gain in both underground and industry popularity for it.

Intense and intelligent, with a laser focus and a flow that calls to mind the rhythm of a champ going H.A.M. on a little punching bag, Ana Tijoux could very well be the Great Latina Hope for women in rap. Just please, don’t tell her I said so.

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What was the first rap song you ever heard and how’d it make you feel?

I think when I saw the movie of Spike Lee, Do the Right Thing and I heard Public Enemy. I was 11 or 10. I was still living in France at the time and I found they were talking about so many things I could relate to–immigration, racism, integration, culture, alienation…

So you were born in France; but when did your family move to Chile?

When I was 14…

How did you feel going to Chile for the first time in your life then?

It was complicated! It’s difficult to move to a totally new country, and learn a new country, and you don’t know how to go about it. On top of that, Chile was like an imagined country; it was like encountering a ghost that in reality I didn’t understand at all. I had to learn to see the world from an entirely different perspective. Almost with adult eyes…in the beginning it was all incredibly complicated for me. 

Well, French is technically your first language so, how did you decide to rhyme primarily in Spanish and not French?

I started rhyming at about 18 or 19 years old, so I really discovered rap in Chile… I heard hip hop for the first time in France, but I started MC-ing in Chile.

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Would you ever rhyme in English?

Why not? If I can speak it properly…

People who want to know more about rap in Spanish always ask, “Where do I start?” So give us your starter’s playlist–3 songs we gringos interested in Spanish rap MUST hear.

First is Solo los Solo, a group from Spain. The song you need to hear is called, “Baila o Te Mato” (“Dance or I Kill You”). The second would be by the Chilean group Tiro de Gracia, and the song is called “Melaza” (“Molasses”). Last, is another Chilean group, Salvaje Decibel. And I would say that the song from them that you need to hear is “Poblacional” [this translates to a combination of population, nation, and village].

Is it difficult for you to resist, as a female rapper, being oversexualized or objectified?

I think that, no, because it’s about the music. It’s more interesting for the media to ask these questions, but in the end it’s about being an MC more than it is about feminine or masculine. I’m sure no one asks a male MC if he feels weird to make hip hop music as a man! With women, it’s always an issue. So saying this, making music is about feeling and emotion. There are always stupid people that I don’t pay attention to, but I think there are more people who care about the music over the gender than the other way.

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Do you think hip hop has an obligation to be political, or to be the voice of “the streets”?

No…music cannot free anyone. We’re not politicians. We’re not publicists. We’re not…lawyers or lobbyists. We’re musicians and music is free. Everyone is free to do whatever is in their hearts, and the people who live like this are the most honest of human beings, I think. As long as it’s honest, that’s good enough for me.

Who are you listening to right now?

These days I’ve been listening to a lot of White Stripes, Clara Hill, and Moodymann…I’m not closed off at all. I really like listening to all kinds of music.

What’s your dream collaboration?

I’d prefer not to say with whom I’d like to work because in the end, a collaboration is a magic moment. When you meet another artist, it’s not only about the music, it’s about the feeling or connection that you have with them. You never know with whom you can have this kind of magic. I think you can be prejudiced or limit yourself when [you make these kinds of statements].

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Tell me about your creative process. Because some of your songs, like the verses on “Humanidad”(off “1977”) sound like they were meant, first, to be spoken word.

My way of making music is not organized at all. It depends on my mood. So, for the last few months, I’ve been super visual. I start with an image. Then I link all the lyrics and, finally, the music with that image. I think it’s the contrary to what I was doing before. I’m actually in the [stage] of exploring and experimenting with different ways of creating.

So, what’s next for you?

I just finished the new album. Now I’m in the process of doing the things that go into launching a new project–

Can you tell me anything about how this new album is different from “1977”? What we can expect?

You’ll have to listen! I’m too involved to see it clearly or tell you about it from an objective place. I just finished mixing yesterday, so I still have my whole mind, body, and soul in this project.

Ieishah Clelland