Tras 45 años de desaparecer bajo toneladas de periódico, hoy desenterramos las cintas matrices, para conocer los secretos guardados en ellas. There were about one hundred tapes, uncovered, no plastic, no boxes, and they were stuffed into an old leather suitcase covered with hotel stickers from all over Colombia and Ecuador. Although some of the tapes had been labelled in the past, the scotch tape
that had been used to tape the typewritten paper labels onto the reels, had lost its stick and most of the reels were bare, unidentified mysteries. The suitcase was a tangle of obsolete media, a complete unknown. I searched for months before I found a working reel-to-reel, an Ampex Atr-700. I cleaned the oxide gunk out of the heads, fixed the transformer, dusted all of the connections, and then began the long process of digitizing the audiotape. It became clear that the tapes could contain absolutely anything. I found old hits and demoreels that had been used for mailing promoters and radiostations, but I also found recordings of my grandfather’s telephone conversations; it seems he had configured his TK20, via a series of strange German cable adaptations, (3,4,5 and 7 pin din) to tap his own phones just in case he caught some dirt on somebody that he could use in the future. There were also extensive recordings of radio interviews and perhaps most strangely, an archive of his incoming phone messages that he had taken the time to comment. The deeper I dug, the more strange my grandfather appeared to be, and the less I seemed to know him. But I felt a strange camaraderie for him, as though I was tying the loose ends of his life. I never knew grandpa, and from what I know of him, I am not sure I would have wanted to. But I cannot do anything but thank him for the gift he accidentally gave me. The music on those acetate reels had me from the start:
A full orchestra in a room with one microphone, live, the VUs saturating, botched takes and retakes, imprints flowing virtuously from the souls of polished session musicians; odds and ends, broken edits, failed jokes; interesting bits from long dead radio hosts, and also, finished, complete pieces, recorded beautifully, the matrices that had been used to press the records. Crackling sound. For about three weeks, I spent all day everyday in front of the reel-to-reel, loading and playing as many tapes as I could, listening to the stream from the past. getting in touch with the sound of another generation, so far yet so close to mine.
‘Memoria Analoga’ details the process of rediscovering the CAIFE catalog and the artists that made it, 45 years after it was buried under three tonnes of newspaper. to read the full blog: https://soundsandcolours.com/articles/ecuador/episode-1-the-suitcase-tapes-28222/
