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Music

Ruido Fest Recap: Day Two of the Chicago Latin Music Festival Was Looser and Wilder

Jessy Bulbo got the audience jumping, but Silverio did most of the moshing himself.

All photos by the author

I arrived somewhat late to the proceedings on day two, missing out on Mariel Mariel (La Chilena Chilanga) and Mexico City rockabilly outfit Rebel Cats (who I heard gave crazy performances), but carrying onto the Mil Caras Stage where experimental band Descartes a Kant was seducing its audience with their dissonant bossa nova cold wave. Since they started in 2001, the Guadalajara-based band proved it excels at bringing a sexy-artsy side to its cold sound and aesthetic, also winning in nuances by ever expanding its horizons. The energy of the female leads of this boiling and unapologetic sextet was contagious. I didn’t catch they end of their set, but still got to be showered in giant glitters.

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I made my way to the Demon Stage where Jessy Bulbo and her band was warming up while joking around with the handful of early spectators. She’s basically the reason why I came down to Chicago’s Ruido Fest. The Mexico City riot grrl is one of the first Ibero-American acts I discovered back in 2008, and her crazy blend of punk and Mexican pop culture—rancheras, telenovelas, etc—triggered my quest for more music from that region. Over the years, Jessy injected some pop into her irreverent garage punk but lost none of her urgency and initial drive.

Jessy Bulbo

Wearing a fishnet leotard and skirt-shorts, the magnificent war machine that shouts love not without a touch of vulgarity started her set with “Mala Respuesta” from her first solo album Saga Mama, making the whole front row jump up and down (which they continued to do until the end of her blazing set, carrying the rest of the crowd). After a couple of classics, Jessy then perfomed “Alma Traviesa” off of her latest LP, Changuemonium.

Even with the new direction her sound as took, Jessy remains faithful to her enfant terrible image. Between songs, she answered back to the ones catcalling her with playful and eloquent remarks, kicking the shit out of machismo and patriarchy. The virulent, abrasive explosion of sexiness and wit that she is then transitioned to “Que Grosero,” a classic track from her Las Ultrasonicas days, introducing it by saying “this is when the girls se toquan la papaya." Jessy’s contagious energy and natural, sharp rock instinct made her one of the best acts of Ruido Fest, hands down. She finished off her performance bra-less (shit happens), with my all-time favorite “Maldito.” By that time, the whole crowd was moshing in jubilation.

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Silverio

Silverio followed suit with a performance that defied all expectations and subsequent categorizations. I suspected the self proclaimed Majestad would be frighteningly debauched but I wanted to get the best pictures I could get with my shitty phone, so I proceeded to the front of the stage. In his sequined two-piece suite and red shirt, Silverio flipped a middle finger to his half-shocked, half-allured audience while blasting glitchy industrial electro.

The showman is a freak, a hypnotizing synthesis of José José and your creepy uncle. With his epileptic pelvis movements and devilish voice, he quickly had the entire audience eating out of his hands. His intensity ramped up a notch after every song—a piece of clothing was removed too—the more Silverio would insult the crowd and shower them with beer and spit, the more we fell under his spell. After dedicating a song to himself, he took a mouthful of Corona and spat it on the photographers in the front (Remember how I wanted good pictures? Well, I received all of the contents of that mouthful and oddly enjoyed it).

Silverio and his masked sparring partner

At one point, a fan threw a t-shirt to the beast, who proceeded to shove it down his pants, floss and pull it out the other side, and throw it back to the crowd. Later, a shirtless, masked maracas player appeared on stage and entered into a dance / wrestling match with his Majesty, now in his red briefs. At another, Silverio drank from his red boot before an enthusiastic mosh pit. Just as his set came to a draw, the crowd clamored for more obscenity, but had he had destroyed his equipment with his intensity and body weight. Silverio deconstructed masculinity with such control it was scary. He offered us a dose of necessary discomfort in this apathetic world, literally kicking the shit out of every other performance at the festival yesterday.

Souad Martin-Saoudi is not on Twitter.