Artist Spotlight
Javiera Electra

There’s something special about the way music communicates, with or without language. The first time I experienced Javiera Electra’s music was at Shangri-La in Austin earlier this year.

She began her performance on the outskirts of the crowd, singing acapella and using her heels for percussion as she made her way toward the stage, interacting with the crowd along her way. When she reached the stage, armed with nothing but an acoustic guitar and her voice, she completely captured an audience that didn’t share her language. Without understanding the words, you could feel the meaning in the delivery her performance – themes of grief, love and identity.

It’s difficult to pin down exactly what genre you’d best use to describe Javiera Electra, but the closest descriptor would be “art pop”, to be broad. Her music combines elements of Chilean traditional folk, ambient textures and alternative rock, with theatrical delivery and avant-garde production. To explore further, listen to her album Helíade and read on as we discuss storytelling, instinct and trusting emotion.

Your music feels deeply rooted in Chile, but never sounds too nostalgic. It feels like you’re taking tradition somewhere new. Are you conscious of this when you write music?

Honestly, it's never been my intention to carry the flag for some kind of musical revolution. Blending genres feels natural to my generation. Phuyu y la Fantasma mixed Chilean folk with noise rock, post-hardcore, and garage rock. In my own work, I'm drawn to art pop, ambient noise, and rock, so it feels completely natural to weave those influences together with the music that drifted through the city corners where I grew up. More than anything, I try to listen to what each song is asking for and use whatever tools I have to serve it. My goal has never been to take tradition somewhere new—it's always been to make sure the song lives up to its own emotion.

Sometimes your music feels like it’s on the edge of control and chaos. Moments of dramatic tension and resolution, where things feel like they could unravel before they find their footing again. Do you think your background in theatre influences the way you shape your songs?

Absolutely. A lot of my songs don't follow the traditional pop structure of verse, chorus, bridge, chorus. They're more like narratives that build toward a climax and then finally let you go— like "Ámbar" or "(te voy) a'mar," for example. Writing that way feels incredibly natural to me, and I think it's because dramaturgy is something I'm deeply passionate about.

You performed solo during that show at Shangri-La. Do you prefer performing with a band or by yourself? Do you have permanent members in the band when you perform with a group, and if so, who are the other members you perform with?

I genuinely love both formats. When I'm alone, I have much more freedom. I'm not tied to an Ableton session or to a click track keeping everything in time. I can stop a song whenever I feel I need to. During that Shangri-La show, for example, the power went out while I was singing "Ámbar." My solution was to step off the stage with my guitar and finish the song standing in the middle of the audience. It was beautiful. Playing with the band is a completely different experience. Everything feels bigger, more powerful, more energetic. The songs are able to exist in their fullest form, and I get to let go of my instrument, which opens up a whole new dimension to the performance. When I perform with the band, I'm joined by Franco Ibacache on trumpet, piano, and guitar, Frauke Steinhofel on bass, Oscar Hernández on drums, and Tely Carrasco as our sound engineer.

On Helíade there is so much dynamic range. Sometimes whispered moments move to huge emotional peaks. How much do you think about the listener’s experience versus simply following your instincts in the studio?

Usually, I'm my own first listener. I try to listen not as the person who created the music, but simply as someone experiencing it. Artists are also part of the audience—even if that sounds obvious, it's something people sometimes forget. When I listen back, I'm the first filter. If the mix, the performance, and the production move me emotionally, then I know I'm on the right track. If I feel the engineering isn't living up to the emotion of the song, I start over. If I can honestly satisfy myself as a listener, then I feel confident I'm offering something meaningful to everyone else.

Your profile has grown quickly over the last few years. What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned from this, and what’s something that you’ve stopped believing?

Mon Laferte once told me that I should always be ready and presentable—never walk around looking frumpy, LOL. She was right. You never know when you're going to leave a permanent mark on the internet. I've also stopped believing that the artists I admire are untouchable people living perfect lives.