A lot of great records came out of South America in the mid-20th century. World music fans pay a lot of attention to 60s-70s Brazil. But Perú also was churning out countless records during this time, and digging into them can really blow your mind. You can divide Peruvian folk music up into three main categories: Huayno (an indigenous folk music from the Andes), Criolla (more Spanish-influenced music from the coast, with classical guitars and cajons, similar to Colombian boleros), and AfroPeruvian music, which overlaps with some of the elements of Criolla, but with overwhelmingly more percussion and group harmonies.
There's a ton of vinyl in this country which you won´t find anywhere else. But finding it can be a challenge.
Online, the only information I could understand about buying records in Lima was on one message board. Someone posted a link to a youtube video where the guys from Secret Stash Records went record-hunting in Lima. A guide took them to a vinyl vendor(s) in Callao, on a street called Quilca that was right near the airport.
Callao is the most dangerous neighborhood in Lima. The guide made the Secret Stash guys promise to leave all valuables behind except the cash for their purchases. And supposedly they got a great haul, with pictures to prove it. I believe this place is called Galería Musical.
I asked several Limeños about this vinyl El Dorado in Callao, and none of them had ever heard of it. My gringo friend Matteo said that there was no way I could go snooping around in Callao by myself and that he would go with me when he got off work on Friday. Friday came and Matt's schedule changed and we had to reschedule for Saturday. This was cutting it close, as I was catching a night bus out of Lima at 5:30pm.
But then Friday night I unexpectedly met up with an old friend, Pepe. He offered to take me record hunting and explained that there might be some confusion involved; there's a Quilca in Callao and also a Jiron Quilca in El Centro (downtown Lima) which is lined with thrift-shops and junk vendors. It was a much better idea to look for records in El Centro. It's loud and chaotic, but it's safer.
Trying to provide directions in a cluster-fuck city like Lima is impossible if you're not a local. It's what happens when a third of the country moves to the capital and yet the government never invests in urban planning or public transit. My friend Pepe drove me from San Miguel to El Centro, and it still took an hour. Lima is a beast that will devour your time and energy if you try to navigate it as a newcomer.
All I can say is that we parked in a garage on a narrow section of Jr. Quilca, or "Calle Quilca" in El Centro. Walking down this street and eventually making a left, we hit three or four thrift shops that had stacks of records collecting dust in corners. Many of these only cost 1 Sol (something like 40 cents). At first, I was buying some random stuff, like a record of Soviet military songs and the soundtrack to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (come on, it was 1 Sol!).
Pepe helped me spot some good criolla LPs and compilations. Aside from that, the best finds in these little shops was a Sergio Mendes LP, and a record of songs by Zenobio Dagha, a famous fiddler/ folk hero from Huancayo, Perú.
Then we hit the motherload. Heading about 2 or 3 blocks south from Jr. Quilca (or perhaps we were on Quilca), we came to a 5-way intersection. On one of the corners we found a small shop that only sold vinyl. This store is run by a man named Vincente. Vincente knows his shit.
Whenever I asked him what he had in a certain genre -- Huayno, AfroPeruvian, Brazilian/Bossa Nova-- he would quickly produce a stack of records that were in excellent condition. If I was deliberating between two or three records by one artist, he would recommend the best.
Whenever Vincente saw me looking at something, he would take out the disc, clean it with a solution of water, alcohol, and shampoo, and play it on good speakers, loud enough drown out the roar of traffic outside.
For all this, Vincente knows he can charge 20 Soles for any record in his store. (He also had plenty of older cumbia and rock records, if that's your thing). I ended up finding a lot of stuff that I had to have, like LPs by Nicomedes Santa Cruz, Jão Gilberto, and Zambo Carvelo. And equally desirable for me: several pristine, diverse huayno compilations from different regions of Perú. I also got a Brazilian compilation from the 70's, with Gilberto Gil, Caetano Veloso, Jorge Ben, and Gal Costa.
My favorite thing that I found though, was a brand-new-looking LP of the Andean singer-songwriter Manuel Silva. Silva plays a melancholy classical guitar, sings in a breathy mix of Spanish and Quechua, and writes gorgeous, mournful ballads about heavy topics (think the violence Perú's civil conflict with the Shining Path).
The clock was ticking and it was with great difficulty that I narrowed my selections down to 10 records. Pepe told me to bargain with him. Ten used records for 200 soles (about $80). I offered him 150. With a smile on his face, Vincente waved me away, "Lleva! Lleva!" Take 'em.
I think that this might have been the Calle Quilca in Lima where the Secret Stash guys actually went-- not in Callao. But I might be wrong. All I'm saying is that before you venture out into Callao, which has an extremely high crime rate, check out El Centro first. There is a ton of good stuff here and it's not dangerous at all.
If you're interested in visiting Vincente's store (and need actual directions), you can reach him by phone at (+51)951019504.
Pepe and I finished our errand in 3 hours which flew by. We raced back to San Miguel. Brenny, Ginny and I scrambled to pack and get to an overnight bus to Cusco. As the bus pulled out of Lima, I realized that I had forgotten to eat, all day.
So...Why would you buy a small collection of records when you are about to backpack across South America? It's rare stuff and I got it at a deal. And I guess it was just one of those things I wanted to do. Pepe promised to hold on to the records for me until I passed through Lima again--hopefully with a plane ticket home in hand. Or maybe the two of us will sit down, drink some beers, and give 'em a spin.
