“There are things that transcend borders; beyond language, human beings possess the capacity to feel and express emotions. In a sense, one becomes a kind of minstrel or troubadour, keeping alive a tradition as significant today as it was in its beginnings: the need to survive persists, and one is transformed into a chronicler, a communicator.”

Jose Maria Rearte: The Blues of Patagonia

José María Rearte, widely known as “JR,” is one of the most prominent and authentic blues artists in Argentina. Born in 1977 in Trelew, Chubut, he discovered the blues in the early '90s, picking up an electric guitar that would define his artistic path. With a career spanning over 30 years, Rearte has developed an explosive sound that bridges traditional American blues with Argentine rock, drawing inspiration from legends like Stevie Ray Vaughan and B.B. King, as well as local icon Pappo. An old-school showman, Rearte has shared the stage with Argentina’s biggest rock and blues figures, including Pappo and Botafogo. As the leader of "JR y la Hora del Blues," he earned the title "The Blues King of Trelew."

(Jose Maria Rearte, Esquel Blues Festival, Argentina 2026 / Photo by Roberto R Campos)

His music has taken him far beyond Patagonia, leading to international festival performances in countries ranging from Mexico to Nepal. Additionally, he is the founder and organizer of the Trelew Blues Festival, turning his hometown into a vital cultural hub for the genre.

Interview by Michael Limnios

Do you feel there is a distinct "geographic stamp" on the blues written in southern Argentina and South America compared to USA and Europe?

I feel that, on one hand, there is a distinctive geographical imprint that shapes identity—an identity rooted in the unique character of each region. This is influenced by factors such as geography and climate, which play a decisive role, further enriched by a unique blend of the heritage of the original inhabitants and that of the Welsh settlers—a legacy that remains deeply embedded in the lower Chubut River valley.

In my own work, I tell stories in Spanish—the language we speak here—unlike other artists who sing in English. I incorporate instruments such as the washboard, musical spoons, the kazoo, the washtub bass, the harmonica, and guitars. Through these, we explore diverse rhythms in every performance, recreating the spirit of rural laments or work songs, while also delving into the *shuffle*, *zydeco*, *ragtime*, *swamp blues*, *boogie*, *slow blues*, and various Latin influences.

You could say it’s all like a stew: a combination of diverse ingredients, well-mixed and slow-cooked. Furthermore, the variety of geographical landscapes—the valley, the coast, and the blend of rural and urban settings—along with characteristic Patagonian elements like the wind, create a rich diversity. In some places, the landscape is reminiscent of certain parts of the United States—such as river deltas—and agricultural practices like harvesting take place; though, instead of cotton, what is grown here are fruits like cherries or apples. My compositions highlight iconic landmarks, such as the Hotel Touring Club, and explore the history of these sites—as reflected in tracks like "Rifleros del Chubut," "Herrero de forja," and "El hijo del viento." 

You are often called the "King of Trelew Blues." What does this title mean to you, and what is it like keeping a traditionally African-American genre alive in a city with such deep Welsh and Patagonian roots?

Often, these labels are used by the press to highlight the career path or impact of certain artists. Being considered a "benchmark" or a leading figure does not entail a strict obligation, but it does carry a certain responsibility as an ambassador for the genre—especially in a region where the blues is not a dominant style. The work of performing every week requires actively seeking out opportunities, creating spaces, and often organizing independent, self-managed events. While the audience enjoys the final result of each performance, the work that goes on behind the scenes often goes unnoticed. These labels carry weight; people expect you to give your all. My approach to performing is free from preconceptions: for some time now, I have adopted a highly recognizable look—white shoes in the style of Muddy Waters, a black suit, a string tie (or "Mississippi tie"), a white cowboy-style hat, and Telecaster-model guitars, which I complement with an acoustic guitar. I want everyone to have an authentic blues experience. That is why I value a direct, personal connection with the audience; it is not just about playing an instrument, but about using it to reach people’s hearts through the rhythm of the blues. By setting aside pure technicality, the "showman" side emerges—and that is where I take risks. I draw inspiration from figures like Charlie Patton, Oscar Alemán, Buddy Guy, Albert Collins, Freddie King, and Stevie Ray Vaughan, incorporating classic stage antics: playing the guitar with a glass, between my legs, with my teeth, or behind my back or head. After all, a "show" consists, by definition, of showing something.

I tell stories that resonate within the community, portraying places, characters, and situations that capture the listeners' attention. Even those who speak Spanish and have never set foot in Patagonia can imagine and recreate these experiences through my songs—as Joseph Palmada, host of the Spanish-language radio show *Red Hot Blues*, once shared with me. It is no simple task; Many people play the blues, but for some of us, we don’t just perform it—we live it every single day. 

“I feel that, on one hand, there is a distinctive geographical imprint that shapes identity—an identity rooted in the unique character of each region. This is influenced by factors such as geography and climate, which play a decisive role, further enriched by a unique blend of the heritage of the original inhabitants and that of the Welsh settlers—a legacy that remains deeply embedded in the lower Chubut River valley.” (Jose Maria Rearte with JR y La Hora del Blues, Argentina / Photo by Roberto R Campos)

We notice that the blues is constantly evolving auditorily and blending with new genres, without ever losing its traditional identity. What drives this balance, and what do you think the next step in its evolution will be?

There are things that transcend borders; beyond language, human beings possess the capacity to feel and express emotions. In a sense, one becomes a kind of minstrel or troubadour, keeping alive a tradition as significant today as it was in its beginnings: the need to survive persists, and one is transformed into a chronicler, a communicator.

That is exactly right, and it has been that way since its very origins. It all began with displacement: one can imagine those slaves brought from West Africa, who used their voices as their primary instrument through prayers. Later, the sharecroppers emerged, with their field cries or the collective expression present in work songs, both on cotton and tobacco plantations and in prisons.

Gone are the days when someone could play a diddley bow on a farm porch; Over time, influences from distant lands arrived, enriching the music with diverse rhythms—such as the polka, and even melodies from the tango and the waltz—elements that helped shape what has come down to us today. There is a certain resistance to change—to the new, to progress, to development—which is nothing new. A sector of critics, collectors, and even some musicians has established criteria for what should or should not be considered "blues." This phenomenon is observed in various musical styles; for example, it has also occurred with tango in Argentina and flamenco in Spain. By failing to recognize that it is a living, constantly evolving music, this group attempts to confine a genre that, from its beginnings, has sought freedom through its key figures: itinerant musicians who incorporated everything from Hawaiian sounds to a wide variety of instruments to enrich their music. It is here that we pause to admire those bluesmen who broke the mold to take this music to a new level. Many of them were victims of prejudice—and even rejection—because of the way they expressed their music. Figures like Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters exerted a great influence on musicians from various parts of the world, leaving an indelible mark, but they paid the price by facing criticism. A musician from my country, known as Chango Spaciuk, invited reflection on this topic by asking: What is the archetype? Who decides? And why? Regarding whether something qualifies as a country's folk music, why not accept all possibilities?

Those anonymous blues musicians who exerted a great influence on later generations deserve immense credit; such is the case of Henry Sloan, who mentored Charlie Patton and Tommy Johnson, among others. Although no records exist about him beyond a few anecdotes, this musician understood that the way to continue growing was to share his knowledge. Researchers Ted Gioia and Jim O’Neal suggest that Henry is the same vagabond W.C. Handy encountered at Tutwiler train station, playing a guitar on his lap and using a pocketknife as a slide. From that moment on, recordings began to be made that included the term “blues” and a defined musical structure.

Another great example is Ike Zimmerman, who shared his knowledge with Robert Johnson; these encounters took place in the quiet of a cemetery. While Ike himself remained anonymous, his legacy gave rise to the legend.

For me, balance lies in being open to different forms of expression: remaining in the middle ground, rather than leaning toward extremes. Each person will decide for themselves what makes them feel best; Furry Lewis was as effective with his guitar as Elmore James, Blind Voy Fuller, or Hound Dog Taylor—different styles that can coexist. Hopefully, the next step will be with a guitar that has the same profound expression it has had for over 100 years. Meanwhile, he's surely spreading the Patagonian blues. (Laughs) 

“Blues is a convergence of various influences and nuances—a blend of balance and swing. I seek equilibrium by drawing upon the diverse influences left on me by a wide range of artists—a list that includes B.B. King, Buddy Guy, Jimmie and Stevie Ray Vaughan, Albert Collins, and Johnny Winter, as well as Oscar Alemán, Pappo, Claudio Gabis, Daniel Raffo, the Yaria brothers, and Daniel "Alambre" González, to name just a few.” (Jose Maria Rearte with JR y La Hora del Blues / Photo by Roberto R Campos)

As the organizer of the Trelew Blues Festival, what are the biggest challenges you face in maintaining and expanding such an event within the Chubut province?

Organizing festivals in this region requires a great deal of sacrifice, especially since they are often self-managed. Given that this genre is neither popular nor mainstream in our area, the level of difficulty is even higher. For someone like me—a driver who supplements his income by playing gigs on the weekends, all while raising four children—it is no easy task. We rely solely on the support of the musicians who join me; they always give their best to ensure a great experience for our attendees. Occasionally, we receive help from private-sector sponsors, which is truly invaluable for covering expenses like travel, promotion, lodging, and food. Sometimes the local municipality contributes, though this is rare; they generally prioritize acts from outside the city, offering very little support to local musicians—even though the festival includes free clinics and workshops that make a significant contribution to our local culture. While this attitude from those who hold the power to improve outcomes creates obstacles, it hasn’t stopped us. Although it can be disheartening at times, we have formed a tight-knit community with key figures in our province’s blues scene, such as Pablo Alonso and Damian Duflós, and we’ve found ways to keep these festivals alive in the region. Here in my city, Trelew, we act as hosts and raise funds through performances throughout the year to make the festival a reality. I hope that one day we will receive support from government entities—utilizing the resources at their disposal—to help elevate the quality of the event. Until that happens, we will continue to transform our festival into a series of "Juke Joint" nights. 

How do you see the new generation of musicians in Patagonia? Is there interest among younger artists to play the blues, or is the genre mostly kept alive by the scene's veteran "keepers"?

I believe we are the veterans—the guardians, as you put it—tasked with keeping the flame alive, while also showing younger generations how to honor those who first launched this movement in our country. When I was young, I made a point of surrounding myself with more experienced people; my older brother introduced me to the foundational ideas of the blues. At first, I encountered it through white musicians, but I eventually traced it back to its roots. Nowadays, I don’t see that same level of curiosity among young people, which is why I believe it’s essential to organize workshops and exhibitions—to spark interest within music schools and other arts-focused institutions. Simply picking up an instrument can awaken dormant talents and lead to all sorts of positive outcomes. In part, this lack of engagement may simply stem from a lack of awareness; that’s why it’s vital to have more programs that showcase the blues and its various styles. The work of researchers, historians, and journalists is absolutely crucial. This interview, for instance, is wonderful—it’s the kind of idea that could only come from someone truly passionate about the genre—someone who would take an interest in tracking down a blues musician in a remote corner of Patagonia. I am deeply grateful for this, and I’m happy to share my perspective from here. Figures like Alan Lomax, Henry C. Spier, and the Chess brothers made such immense contributions. I truly hope that today—in this age of technology, where young people have such easy access to information—they will explore the available material and keep the wheels turning, ensuring the music never stops. 

“For me, balance lies in being open to different forms of expression: remaining in the middle ground, rather than leaning toward extremes. Each person will decide for themselves what makes them feel best; Furry Lewis was as effective with his guitar as Elmore James, Blind Voy Fuller, or Hound Dog Taylor—different styles that can coexist.” (Photos: Jose Maria Rearte with Pappo | JR y La Hora del Blues)

Argentine blues has a massive history (from Pappo to Manal). How do you balance the American roots of the genre (B.B. King, SRV) with the authentic Argentine school of "local blues"?

Blues is a convergence of various influences and nuances—a blend of balance and swing. I seek equilibrium by drawing upon the diverse influences left on me by a wide range of artists—a list that includes B.B. King, Buddy Guy, Jimmie and Stevie Ray Vaughan, Albert Collins, and Johnny Winter, as well as Oscar Alemán, Pappo, Claudio Gabis, Daniel Raffo, the Yaria brothers, and Daniel "Alambre" González, to name just a few. Rather than getting hung up on technicalities, I incorporate whatever I encounter along the way, free from any preconceptions. The influence is undeniable, and the result is a style of "Patagonian blues." My approach—which I call the "JR style"—is shaped by these many elements, to which I add my own original material, written in my own language and rooted in real-life stories that reflect the various experiences of those of us who live in this part of the world. 

Have you shared the stage with local legends like Pappo and Botafogo? What is the most valuable lesson you hold from those collaborations? Are there any memories from gigs, jams, and open acts which you’d like to share with us?

The experience of meeting your influences and exchanging information is truly enriching. I met Pappo and Botafogo back in 2000.

The second time I saw Pappo, I pestered him with endless questions—for instance, I asked, "Is this the same hand you used to shake hands with B.B. King and Albert Collins?" He just looked at me, clearly taken aback by my excitement and enthusiasm. While we were in the dressing room, I played a little something for him on my guitar, and he showed me his Gibson Les Paul. He also signed two of my guitars—that was the last time I ever saw him.

As for Botafogo, he encouraged me to keep playing. It’s a funny story: he had just finished his set in Chubut, but the audience called for an encore. In the meantime, I pulled out a harmonica and started playing. The crowd began to applaud, leaving him no choice but to invite me up—haha! We ended up playing "Little Red Rooster," and we even played together again a few years later.

Among other guitarists, Daniel Raffo was incredibly kind; he invited me to his home, where we chatted and played some music on his guitars—he showed a level of humility I’ve rarely encountered.

Claudio Gabis has also shown me great kindness—he’s even reached out to wish me a happy birthday. For someone born over 1,000 kilometers away who grew up admiring these artists, having experiences like these is just fantastic. Another deeply meaningful moment was when Gabriel Gratzer, while with a group of friends, remarked, "I feel a sort of 'healthy envy' for what JR is doing"—referring to my own musical work. Alambre González also told me, "I see you never stop—you’re playing everywhere!" I feel truly blessed to know so many people I admire; it’s wonderful—a real blessing. 

“I tell stories that resonate within the community, portraying places, characters, and situations that capture the listeners' attention. Even those who speak Spanish and have never set foot in Patagonia can imagine and recreate these experiences through my songs—as Joseph Palmada, host of the Spanish-language radio show *Red Hot Blues*, once shared with me. It is no simple task; Many people play the blues, but for some of us, we don’t just perform it—we live it every single day.” (Jose Maria Rearte, Esquel Blues Festival, Argentina 2026 / Photo by Roberto R Campos)

Your band, "JR y La Hora del Blues," has been on the road for years. How has your chemistry evolved, and how does the provincial audience react when they see you live?

I decided to create a solo project that would be very flexible and informal—something I could perform every weekend without needing a fixed lineup. I named the rotating group of musicians who join me for these performances "La Hora del Blues" (The Blues Hour). Over the last ten years, about a hundred musicians have been part of it. It has continued this way, year after year; I don’t operate with a traditional "band" concept—I simply secure the gigs and then find people to accompany me. Generally, we don’t hold in-person rehearsals. Between my job, my family, and my religious commitments as a priest in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I don’t have much spare time. So, the process works like this: I send over the songs we’re going to play—though the setlist order often changes, as I prefer to follow the vibe of the moment. I believe the real chemistry lies in the freshness and the unique contribution each musician brings. I lead the performance, trusting in what we can achieve once we’re all on the same wavelength. I like to involve the audience—not just as passive spectators, but as active participants in what’s unfolding; I truly enjoy connecting with the crowd.

Often, I perform entirely on my own, switching between acoustic and electric guitar, harmonica, or just my voice—telling stories and bringing them to life through music.

I also provide music for dinners once a week alongside multi-instrumentalist Fabio Arabena, who is my most frequent collaborator. In short, the work never stops; wherever we go, we’re met with a warm reception. There’s a genuine interest in what we do, and that brings us a great deal of satisfaction.

What is the impact of Blues on the socio-cultural implications? Why is it important to we preserve and spread the blues?

The sociocultural impact is enormous; it positively affects the cities where events are held, bringing about a revitalization of the local economy. The venues where we perform fill with people who also take the opportunity to enjoy the local cuisine. Those traveling from neighboring towns often stay overnight in hotels or other accommodations. Furthermore, the events generate activity across various sectors—transportation, sound and lighting production, advertising (posters and flyers), and corporate sponsorship. We also strive to incorporate a charitable component, supporting hospitals and children’s homes. On another level, standing before a microphone can serve as a catalyst, bringing people together and fostering a sense of community. Emotions are amplified because music reflects the events and behaviors of a specific society, creating a profound sense of belonging. Many people identify with the stories we tell—exploring themes like love, failure, challenges, and insecurity—realities that are universally relatable. We must continue to spread this music through radio programs, interviews, magazines, books, workshops, discussions, and instrumental clinics. Each of us, in our own way, contributes to a genre that is meant for integration rather than competition—a space for sharing. The blues is for everyone; it finds you at some point, at some hour—at the hour of the blues. 

After more than 30 years in the music business, what is the next big dream for José María Rearte? Is there a project or a collaboration you haven't checked off your bucket list yet?

In musical terms, my dream is coming true: traveling and sharing my passion with friends I meet along the way—people who end up becoming like brothers to me. On another level, it would be wonderful to be remembered for acts of generosity. I like to think that someone might be inspired to pick up an instrument after seeing one of my shows and take it to the next level—much like the old bluesmen, who left behind a legacy of inclusion. People may often forget what you’ve said to them, but the impact of how you made them feel is something that can never be erased. From here in Trelew, I try to contribute in any way I can to broadening the cultural landscape. For instance, there’s a radio show called *L.A. Blues*—hosted by Guillermo Rolón in a town quite far from mine—where we collaborate to promote bands and solo artists from all over the world. We share anecdotes and details about various places and figures; for example, I wrote a song called "Muddy Waters' Shoes," which references a 1941 photograph taken when he was recorded by Alan Lomax. We dig into specific details, bringing stories to life based on a single image. This interview itself is part of my dream, because I know it reaches people in other places.

As for whether there’s any musician I’ve yet to play with, that would be Claudio Gabis—though, at this point, I feel like I already know him.

(Jose Maria Rearte, Esquel Blues Festival 2026 with JR y La Hora del Blues / Photos by Roberto R Campos)