Javiera Mena has moved from indie to art-pop and club dance music, always remaining deeply committed to the song format in the classical sense. She isn’t interested in making fleeting music that accompanies an Instagram story and then fades into obscurity. Each album can be a statement of intent reflecting the moment she is living. Today, her mood is introspective, connecting her to melancholy and memories of her childhood in Santiago, Chile—ballads, films like *Cria Cuervos*. She’s not in the mood to talk about romance, nor does she carry herself with dominatrix-like airs.
In the promotional photos for her first album, she was seen blowing bubblegum bubbles. Then she became a vampire straight out of a classic vampire movie, a hard-core dance club girl—what else was missing? Well, going back to her roots and revisiting that innocent magic.
The Chilean artist will present her new album Inmersión in Mexico City. The event is set for April 19 at the Lunario at the National Auditorium. AW Magazine spoke with her.
Your new album seems to mark a return to the intimate style of your early days. Why the shift?
It was something I had let go of after the second album, when I became more assertive and less tender. This album reconnects with that tenderness, and now that’s what holds the most power. I think the other albums were a response to a specific moment, and the new album connects with allowing myself not to be powerful. It’s a different kind of energy—one that’s even harder to achieve.
And besides, the letters also run in the other direction.
Yes, it has the merit of speaking openly about heartbreak, jealousy, and other topics related to love, but not about romance or seduction.
And I imagine your upcoming concerts will be infused with that duality…
Yes, I have tracks that connect with the dance floor. So, on one hand, there’s dance music and synths, and on the other, there’s the more vulnerable side, with the guitar and the piano.
I’ve always wondered what the line “there is a living creature swimming in the water” means in “Winter Sun.”
It’s actually one of the songs from my early days that I just can’t stop playing—otherwise, they’ll kill me. It has to do with when I used to go to summer camp, and there were these water towers called silos. When I was little, I’d stick my head inside them, and I was scared that a monster might be living in there.
Do you consider yourself a nostalgic person?
Yes, I like it, but more than nostalgia, it’s like looking back on the journey. I think every stage has its own story and its own reason for being. It’s not about thinking about the past and saying, “How nice that was,” but rather, “I’m still here, and it helps me grow.”
Your first band was called Televisa… Did the company sue you, or was it just a warning?
They found out about it on social media or something like that. Yes, it was a warning we received from Televisa’s lawyers—a letter stating that they were going to take legal action.
I guess the name was a tribute to what you used to watch as a kid, right? Because Televisa was broadcast in Chile.
Yeah, especially the soap operas and all that drama. Plus, that’s where I used to watch Juan Gabriel.
Has he had a big influence on you?
I think my music is a mix of Juan Gabriel and Berlin-style electronic music. That simplicity in expressing things, which ends up being profound. Some of his songs have electronic elements; there’s one that’s about six minutes long. I think he would have been a great artist in that genre.
I feel like Latin American alternative music—whether Mexican, Chilean, or Argentine—hasn’t moved past the ’80s; it’s still rooted in ballads. So much so that listening to you, or Julieta Venegas, or Natalia, sometimes sounds like an updated version of what we used to hear on *Siempre en Domingo*, and I don’t mean that in a bad way…
It’s very much a part of me, because of my childhood. It’s really hard to break away from that because you have to be honest about what you like, and I grew up with that music. It’s hard for me to let go of that, not just lyrically, but also instrumentally. But you also have to be mindful not to repeat yourself on every album.
Your song with Santiago Motorizado could easily have been one of those ballads they used to play at ’80s parties…
Yes, that was the intention: to sound like a song by Jeanette (the Spanish-English singer who sings “¿Por qué te vas?”), who is gaining popularity again. I wanted to create that sensitive, gentle ballad, with string arrangements and Rhodes pianos.
Who do you think is an icon who embodies feminine perfection?
When it comes to art, I really love Björk. I think she’s a force to be reckoned with, as they say in Argentina. I admire her career as a composer and producer. I liked what she did with Rosalía and everything she does. I also really like this girl from *Sisters with Transistors*, the documentary about the pioneers of electronic music. She’s really important as a female pioneer in that musical universe.
You don’t talk much about your family. For example, what do your parents think of your music?
At first, they had a hard time with it because they wanted me to pursue a traditional career, especially my mother. I wasn’t one of those musicians from a family of artists; I was the first one to take the plunge. That’s exactly why I think I placed even more emphasis on doing things right. They associated it a lot with nightlife, partying, and shady stuff, but little by little I showed them that I was serious about it.
How do you currently experience sexual freedom?
There have been many impressive changes in the LGBTQ+ community since the start of my career. When I came out as a lesbian, it made headlines—not many women were speaking out about it back then. Now there are many; it can even be a plus. At first, I was made invisible. I’ve noticed impressive progress: how the press reacts, what people want to hear, how brands now have their own agenda on these issues. At least now it’s more normal to say you’re a lesbian, because before it was big news.
Have you ever experienced homophobia that affected you?
I knew it affected me, but I always tried to look at it in a positive light so I wouldn’t get depressed. I knew there was a lot of homophobia in Latin American culture—even the invisible kind, which is the worst because you don’t know where it is, but it’s there. I always tried to ignore those prejudices so I could be happy. I think my art is based on that too—on creating a safe space.
What else can we look forward to this year, besides this new album?
I’m going to celebrate the anniversary of my first album, *Esquemas Juveniles*. That will be really fulfilling for me, too. I’m going to play the whole album again; we’re figuring out where to celebrate it, because it was a really important milestone.
