Gepe chats over 20 years in the music industry, his new album, collaboration and more [Interview]

For more than two decades, Chilean singer-songwriter Gepe has carved out a singular place in Latin American music, moving fluidly between contemporary pop, Andean influences, and the rich traditions of Latin American folk music. Across a celebrated catalog spanning ten studio albums and two EPs, his music has continued to evolve without losing sight of the melodic instincts and distinctive artistic voice that have defined his work from the beginning.

Now, with ORO, Gepe turns his attention toward the songs that have shaped his more than 20-year career, revisiting 12 compositions alongside an impressive collection of artists from across Latin America. Featuring new interpretations with artists including Daniel, Me Estás Matando, Daniela Spalla, Silvana Estrada, Macario Martínez, Alex Ferreira, Javiera Electra, Alanys Lago, and Fuerza Maestra, the album breathes new life into familiar material while allowing each song to reveal another side of itself. Produced by Latin GRAMMY®-nominated Julián Bernal, ORO ultimately becomes both a celebration of Gepe’s musical journey and a reminder of the enduring power of a great song.

Yet ORO is more than a collection of career highlights. For Gepe, revisiting these songs became an opportunity to recognize the artistic path he has built over the past two decades, and to reconnect with parts of himself that existed when many of these songs were first written and recorded. He describes each recording as a kind of “photograph” of a composition at a particular moment, while the composition itself continues to exist beyond that moment, open to new interpretations, new collaborators, and new listeners.

In the following interview, Gepe reflects on the deeply personal process of revisiting his catalog, the meaning behind the album’s title, the unexpected discoveries he made along the way, and the creative chemistry behind its collaborations. He also discusses musical identity, the shared sensibility of Latin America, the challenge of staying curious after more than two decades of creating, and why, despite eleven albums to his name, every new record still feels like a first.

After more than 20 years of making music, what was it like to look back across your catalog and decide which songs would become part of ORO? Did you approach the process more as an archival project or as a way of discovering something new in your own music?

Yes, it helped me discover a new way of looking at and understanding what I had done before. It allowed me—or, in a way, even forced me—to recognize that there is a path I’ve been building for the past 20 years, one that is valid, that belongs to me, and that no one can take away from me, in the purest sense of the word.

It isn’t exclusively about music or art; it’s also about the journey of dedicating your life to a craft or a body of work. And that perspective isn’t necessarily nostalgic. I’m not a particularly nostalgic person, especially when it comes to music. I like what exists now, I like what has already been done, and I like what is still to come equally.

With that same mindset, I can look at everything I’ve done up until now and understand that, regardless of whether I like some things more than others, it has all been part of an organic body of work—a process of moving forward and building something. It is valid, it is mine, it is organic, and it has been part of my process as an artist, as well as my team’s process, because I haven’t done this alone.

That makes me proud. Going back and digging into the work I’ve already done definitely helped me recognize myself. I think, ultimately, that’s the most fitting word for it: recognizing myself.

The title ORO suggests something precious that has endured over time. What does that word mean to you in the context of your career and these songs?

Well, the word ORO has two direct references for me, the first one is probably the most valid. When I was trying to find a way to describe this collection of songs, I thought, “What term could most immediately sum up what we consider valuable?” And “ORO” came to mind. I can’t think of another word that expresses it more clearly.

I also think it’s a beautiful word because, visually, it almost looks like “OJO” [“eye” in Spanish], almost like a face. I don’t know, it made a lot of sense to me graphically. I think a lot about what words look like; I love the way they’re written. There’s something there. I’m a designer, after all, so that fixation probably comes from that.

I think ORO is a beautiful word, and it immediately captures this idea of value. Even today, I think everyone identifies gold as something extremely valuable, almost like the ultimate symbol of value. I’m sure there are things that are much more valuable than gold these days—platinum is one, I think—but gold is universally understood that way. The treasures inside those chests buried by pirates are usually filled with things made of gold, so I suppose some of it also comes from literature and that whole imagery.

The second reference is that—I don’t know if this happened in other countries—but here in Chile, there used to be greatest-hits albums or compilations by English- and Spanish-language artists that were called Gold in English or Oro in Spanish. They were collections that often had a black background with the word ORO or GOLD on the cover. As a kid, during the ’90s and early 2000s, I remember seeing those CDs and cassettes, and that idea stayed with me: that what was considered “valuable” about a particular artist was gathered together in those songs.

Still, I lean more toward the first explanation because it’s the clearest. But the second is an anecdotal connection that carries some weight for me as well.

Was there a particular song on ORO that surprised you the most when you revisited it? Perhaps one that revealed something you hadn’t noticed when you originally wrote or recorded it?

I’d say that with most of them, I discovered, not necessarily something new, but perhaps the opposite: something that had always been there that I hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the first time I recorded them.

What I ultimately realized with this album is that every time you record a composition, even if it’s a demo, with the intention of releasing it, it’s as if you’re taking a photograph of it. That recording is a snapshot of that composition at a particular moment. And I get the sense that there are several songs on this album, and many songs in the world, that can be recorded at different moments, in different years, and even by different artists. The composition will always transcend that particular recording. Every time you release a composition, you’re essentially presenting a photograph of a specific moment. It’s nothing more and nothing less than that.

So, with all of these songs, I encountered some very pleasant surprises, as well as things I didn’t fully understand. For example, there’s a song called “Los Barcos” that appeared on my first album, Gepinto, in 2005—whew, a long time ago. When I decided to record it again, I tried to remember what I had been thinking when I wrote those lyrics because they felt very cryptic to me. I didn’t really understand them anymore.

Through that exercise, I started remembering things. Reconnecting with who you were 22 or 23 years ago is undoubtedly a beautiful exercise. There was a kind of jewel that I found through that journey back in time.

You invited an impressive group of artists from across Latin America to reinterpret these songs. How did you decide who belonged with each song? Were the pairings driven more by friendship, musical chemistry, or something you heard in their individual artistic voices?

I’d say it was the third option: hearing a particular artist singing a song or, in the case of the instrumentalists we invited, like Cuarteto Astral and Fuerza Maestra, being able to hear them within the idea and arrangement of a particular composition. But I think the most interesting and emblematic example was “Hablar de Ti.” This happened on several occasions, but that was probably the most intense one.

I sent most of the guests several songs to choose from, usually two or three, so they could choose whichever song they felt most comfortable with or simply liked the most. Every one of them, without exception, ended up choosing a song that not only made sense to them musically, but also carried some kind of memory or previous connection. Silvana, in particular, told me that she had always loved “Hablar de Ti” and that it brought back beautiful memories for her. So she embraced the song from the very beginning.

That makes a big difference compared to inviting someone to collaborate on a new song, where neither artist has any previous history with the composition. In this case, these songs were already out there. You either like them or you don’t, but they already have a history, and there was a good chance that each of these artists already had some kind of relationship with a particular song. That was the case with Silvana and “Hablar de Ti,” and with Alex Ferreira and “Por la Ventana,” for example.

And I come back to “Hablar de Ti” because it was the most extreme example. Silvana came to Chile, recorded the song, and sang the entire thing. In the end, I was thinking, “So, how do I fit into this now?” It was very unusual because she had sung everything, and she had done it beautifully. Suddenly, I had this huge file with her voice everywhere, and I thought, “Now I’m the one who has to make the effort to find my way into this.”

That was really beautiful. It had never happened to me before, and I don’t know if it will ever happen again. We could even take the story a little further because Silvana ended up designing a large part of the single artwork as well. So it became this very interesting and unique case.

Some of the songs on ORO receive significant new arrangements, while others remain remarkably close to their original productions. How did you determine when a song needed to be transformed and when it was better to simply let the original breathe?

There are songs like “Los Barcos,” “Por la Ventana,” and especially “Invierno,” which I think is the one that remains closest to the original version.

With “Invierno,” it has to do with the fact that the nature of its melody and composition is inherently tied to that rhythm. “Invierno” couldn’t really have an arrangement that strayed too far from bachata, bolero, or cha-cha-chá. At most, it could move within that circle.

So when we revisited it, rather than transforming the song, what we did was take the rhythmic style and musical arrangement of the original version even further. In this case, we had the opportunity to make it even purer: to turn it more fully into a bolero and give the musical coda more of a cha-cha-chá feel, with a sound that is more classic, more old-fashioned, and somewhat Central American. That’s where the idea was headed.

There’s a strong sense of musical dialogue throughout the album, not just between you and your collaborators, but between different generations and traditions of Latin American music. Was creating those connections part of your intention from the beginning?

I think it has a lot to do with my personality. I’m someone who really enjoys involving other people. There’s always an element of that in what I do. It’s not something I force; it just tends to happen naturally because of who I am.

Some of the artists I collaborated with on this album were people I had never worked with before. Macario, for example, was someone I didn’t know personally and had never even spoken to. It was also a remote collaboration: Macario recorded in Mexico while I was in Chile. But involving people in the process is something that comes naturally to me, and I don’t regret that at all. I like people to really become involved.

In the end, Macario came back with an arrangement that went far beyond what I had asked him to do, which I loved. Most of the others are people I already know. Silvana, Alex, Dani Spalla… they’re people I’ve spent time with many times before, and having them participate in this album made a lot of sense to me.

I also like being around people I trust, while at the same time working with people I don’t know yet who have a lot of talent. I tend to like having a friend or two close by.

Your music has always moved between pop, Andean influences, and different forms of Latin American roots music. How has your understanding of your own musical identity changed over these two decades?

I think I’ve been searching for a common thread, a meeting point between all of those things. I feel that I make songs with a pop structure. I don’t know if they’re necessarily pop songs, but they do follow a pop structure: chorus, verse, chorus, verse, and so on.

Sometimes, to a greater or lesser extent, those songs are connected to folklore. But ultimately, if I had to reduce it to a single word, I would say I’m a songwriter, regardless of whatever label you might want to attach to it. A songwriter.

Do you hear your younger self differently now? When you return to songs you wrote many years ago, do you feel like you’re having a conversation with the person you were when you created them?

Definitely. In many cases, yes. I wouldn’t say it happens with every song on this album, but for the most part, I do feel like I’m having a conversation with the person who wrote those songs. It’s a really beautiful exercise in that sense.

ORO brings together artists from Mexico, Argentina, Chile, and beyond. What does collaboration across Latin America mean to you at this particular moment in music?

I think Latin America is a shared feeling. There’s a Latin sensibility that stretches from Mexico through Puerto Rico, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Colombia, all the way to Brazil, even though Portuguese is spoken there. Even here in Chile, there’s a common feeling that I imagine has something to do with the blending of Indigenous America, Africa, and Europe.

There’s something inevitable that emerges from those three cultural forces and makes us who we are. I’m very proud to be Latin American. I embrace it deeply, and I feel that we share a sensibility with a very unique and profound depth.

Geographically, Latin America is vast and incredibly powerful. I think the world has also come to understand that many things are happening here that are deeply compelling and that enrich the experience of being alive.

So yes, I’m very proud to be someone from Chile who works from Chile, but through a distinctly Latin American sensibility.

You’ve experienced several different eras of Latin music throughout your career. What has changed most dramatically about being an artist in Latin America since you first began making music, and what has remained surprisingly constant?

I don’t know if it’s because I’m a Libra or what, but there are certain things that I feel have remained the same. I’m still the same person. Although, on a cellular level, I understand that our cells renew every seven years, so I suppose you could say I’m the same feeling in a different vessel.

I hope I’ve matured, at least professionally. I hope that feeling, which at its core has remained the same, has grown richer and more complex in a positive way, allowing me to enjoy it personally while also sharing it with others through my music and my work.

ORO is described as both a celebration of your career and a love letter to the fans who have accompanied you. What do you hope longtime listeners feel when they hear these new versions alongside the memories they have attached to the originals?

That’s an important question. I think the answer will reveal itself over time, once people have the opportunity to experience the album, meaning after October 8.

For now, I can only speak to my intentions. In that sense, I hope what ultimately comes across through this album is that music has no sense of time. What gives music a place in time is the release of a particular song on a particular album, but there are songs, melodies, lyrics, and images that transcend time. Of course, that doesn’t happen with every song.

I tried to create that kind of experiment with time through these songs, and I hope people can feel what they felt when they first heard them, and perhaps even more.

At the same time, these recordings potentially introduce your older songs to listeners discovering you for the first time. What do you hope a new listener takes away from ORO without knowing the history behind these songs?

I think the accumulation of music or albums throughout an artist’s career is somewhat irrelevant to me, in the sense that I don’t necessarily see it as a chronological line. With this album, and really with any album I’ve released, my hope is that it doesn’t matter when it came out. I want it to simply be a snapshot of a composition that people can enjoy.

In the case of ORO, these are songs that have been recorded before, and I’d like people to be able to experience them as if they were hearing them for the first time. To me, both experiences are equally enriching: hearing a new version of a song you already know, or discovering that composition for the first time without even being aware that it had been recorded before.

Is there a song on the album that you feel represents where you are artistically today more than where you were when you originally released it?

Excellent question. Let’s see. This might sound a little tricky, but I’d say “LA ESGRIMA DE LOS OJOS.” It’s a small song, a short one-minute track that combines two songs: “Esgrima” and “La Enfermedad de los Ojos.”

There’s something about the collision of two things that seemingly don’t have much to do with each other, but ultimately do. They come together almost like a Frankenstein, creating a very particular kind of vitality.

It’s a track where I tried an experiment that I found really fun, and that’s exactly what I’m looking for: something musically exhilarating in response to what I create.

What keeps you curious after more than two decades of making music?

I feel like every time I release an album, it’s as if it were my first. No matter how many I’ve already made, eleven albums including this one, I always have this feeling of, “Now, with this album, I’m finally making exactly what I love most, and now it’s all going to become clear.”

But that sense of certainty and confidence always seems to slip away from me. Ultimately, that’s what motivates me to keep creating: the idea that maybe one day I’ll make an album that doesn’t need another one to follow it, although I hope that day never comes.

Looking back at the journey from your earliest records to ORO, is there anything you understand about songwriting now that you wish you could have told yourself 20 years ago?

No, the truth is, I wouldn’t want to tell a version of myself from 10, 15, or 20 years ago anything. It would be like what Back to the Future illustrates so well: if you change one element of the past, the present would no longer exist exactly as it does today.

So I think it would be a mistake to interfere with or offer advice to my younger self. I have a lot of affection for everything that has happened, both the times I got things right and the times I didn’t.

What’s next?

Right now, what comes next is putting what I’ve come to understand about this album to the test through interviews like this one. I think this may be the album I had the least mapped out beforehand. I didn’t need to conceptualize anything in order to record it. I only started processing all of the concepts and ideas around it last Wednesday, and I’m still processing them now.

I want to find the clearest possible way to explain this album and then play it live. I’ve already performed the original versions of these songs live, but to me, this album still feels 70% new because it contains new music. So, of course, I want to share that with people.

There will be shows in the Northern Hemisphere, but for now, we’re here in Chile, playing a few shows in the south and in the north, and I’m happy with that.

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