It’s been a while since Manu Chao released his last studio album, La Radiolina, in 2007. Seventeen years later, his latest, Viva Tu, is here. This occasion is tinged with a particular sort of melancholy and bittersweetness. He is a prolific artist and activist who believes in the power of music as a force for good. Before the release, Manu Chao was doing what he does best: disappearing into the world – not entirely absent from the limelight, but still required a little effort to find.
Viva Tu‘s impact will not be the same as his first two albums, Clandestino and Próxima Estación: Esperanza. These were revelatory projects that adapted the LP format into humanist sonic collages. As both the DJ and the artist on these projects, each song offers a glimpse into the majority world with all its hopes, dreams, and problems.
I first listened to Manu Chao while living in the Dominican Republic. The first songs of his I heard on the radio, “Clandestino“, “Bongo Bong“, and “Me Gustas Tú” felt like a direct acknowledgment of my people’s experiences. Now, after having the privilege of traveling the world, I know many people across our little dot who felt the same about Manu Chao’s music. He is adored across Latin America, his songs blast through speakers in West Africa, and he performs in Europe to sold-out shows.
When Clandestino was released at the end of the 20th century, Latin America was slowly approaching a period of prosperity. Much of what he professes in his music—love, solidarity, social justice, and economic opportunity—became part of the political platforms across the region during the so-called Pink Tide. I mention Latin America because it’s where I’m from and where Manu Chao found inspiration and recorded many of his songs. Ultimately, much of what was promised remains unfulfilled.
Accompanied by an exceptional cast of musicians and filled with resilient optimism, Manu Chao sings to those unfulfilled promises on Viva Tu. Unlike many of the most heralded political music of the 21st century, like Green Day‘s American Idiot, Viva Tu doesn’t give into despair. After all, Manu Chao is a romantic who is also keen to pinpoint society’s ills while providing alternatives. He has been sharing new songs for free on his website before streaming before Radiohead proposed that we pay what we wanted for In Rainbows.
Viva Tu‘s opening song, “Vecinos en el Mar”, a hypnotic folksong ornamented with synthetic sounds, sets the tone — the LP is about our world as it is today. “Vecino ahí en el mar buscando tu camino [my neighbor in the sea looking for a path]”, tenderly sings Manu Chao, accompanied by Lucky Salvadori on acoustic guitar. It’s an acknowledgment of the plight of the hundreds of thousands who undertake the perilous journey of crossing the Mediterranean seeking a better future. Listening to it transports one to Greenwich Village in the 1960s or La Rambla in Barcelona before the increasing regulations on street musicians.
Viva Tu features an impressive array of genres, styles, and languages. In “River Why”, Martita Perejil and Pupa Congo’s backing vocals add to the song’s rambunctiousness. The joyous title track, “Viva Tu”, boasts an impressive use of stereo sound. Many voices speak and sing throughout, as Salvadori’s Spanish guitar and Mauro Mancebo’s percussion provide a pocket, a place, to feel accepted. “Viva Tu” is like being in a boisterous neighborhood where all the inhabitants love being alive.
The album has two guest features. Country legend Willie Nelson accompanies Mau Cao for a duet on “Heaven’s Bad Day“. The two troubadours, in true country folk tradition, croon alongside a harmonica, guitars, additional harmonica, and an accordion played by Joan Garriga. In the bilingual “Tu Te Vas”, French singer Laeti participates in the most straightforward pop song on the record.
Manu Chao has much to say, and weighty songwriting is most evident in the exquisitely contemplative “Cuatro Calles”. In “La Colilla”, Chalart58’s rhythmic percussion and Manu Chao’s confrontational bravado brilliantly contrast the ponderous and poetic “Cuatro Calles”. Manu Chao wrote, produced, and mixed Viva Tu. Charlar58 aided with the mixing and created its sound effects. There is no need for wall-of-sound production or pop extravaganza here. Viva Tu’s veiling of profundity within its simplistic composition is its strongest suit. Viva Tu showcases Manu Chao’s music as foremost an art of feeling. So, translating these songs would be a disservice to listeners who don’t understand the non-English songs, live in the album’s intimacy.
“São Paulo Motoboy”, accompanied by an excellent documentary, is about the plight of the courier—the model professional of the gig economy—those who hazard for our convenience. It speaks of the times when I found it bracing to hear a song about working people, something markedly absent from contemporary popular music.
Manu Chao’s closest analog as an artist is Bob Marley if the English language did not inhibit the latter. According to music historian Vivien Goldman, it embodies punk’s inclusionary spirit. Manu Chao’s raison d’être as a musician is to communicate clearly and with as many people as possible. Hence, why the polyglot sings in half a dozen languages (Four in Viva Tu: English, Spanish, French, and Portuguese). He does this while upholding his leftist values and artistic integrity.
Though a globetrotting collection of eclectic songs, Viva Tu doesn’t share the radio as an influence like past Manu Chao records. The medium facilitation of communication served as a cohesive influence, tying many songs and themes together. As a result, I had misgivings about Viva Tu. At first, It felt too optimistic, too naïve, and not realistic. I was wrong. With further contemplation, Viva Tu reveals something profoundly disturbing about our modern world: the ironic withdrawal of meaningful connections between people across borders in a world where communication technology is ubiquitous. Popular media and political discourse are rampant with divisive rhetoric. Depression and exhaustion are a common byproduct of simply living in the times as a result. Call this an excuse for my initial misunderstanding of the album.
Viva Tu‘s closing song, “Tantas Tierras”, samples the words of Argentinian activist Carina Diaz Moreno and has a similar tone to “Vecinos en el Mar”. “Yo ya no se qué hacer [Now I don’t know what to do],” sings Manu Chao in an admission to our aforementioned collective disconnection and exhaustion. Diaz Moreno’s words “Acá estamos. No estamos solos. [We are here. We are not alone]” act as a foil. These aren’t empty remarks by Diaz Moreno. Her words carry the weight of someone who has organized alongside communities against extractivism and the creation of sacrifice zones in Argentina. She states the message at the heart of the album: Together We Live.
All that being said, with Viva Tu, Manu Chao continues a conversation between an artist and his audience in a beautiful yet fucked-up world. Regardless of the message and the somber tone of many songs in Viva Tu, there is also hope and joy. This music is meant to be lived with. These songs are intended to be sung and played out loud in celebrations, on the streets by performers and crowds of strangers and familiar faces stroll by, and at protests alongside comrades. As the liner notes dedication stated. “Pa que baile Felisa [for you to dance to Felisa].” The troubadour shares the nueva canción with us.