“Some music we learn to play. Some music we learn to understand. And some music, for reasons we may never fully explain, we simply never stop feeling. For me, Louisiana Blues belongs to that last category.”

Damián Martín Duflós: Blues Breathes

Damián Martín Duflós is a prominent Argentine blues singer, harmonicist, and songwriter born in Esquel, Chubut, a town located in the scenic Patagonia region of Argentina. Deeply influenced by the 1940s and 1950s Chicago blues era, his musical style as a vocalist and harmonica player draws heavily from legendary icons like Little Walter, Muddy Waters, Jimmy Rogers, and Sonny Boy Williamson II. Renowned for his soulful vocals and virtuosic harmonica playing, Duflós delivers a powerful, authentic sound that captures the true essence of vintage blues, blending raw emotional depth with a captivating stage presence that resonates with audiences. Throughout his career, he has driven the regional and national blues scene forward through various projects, most notably the electric ensemble Damián Duflós Blues Band—alongside long-time collaborating guitarist Alun Lloyd—and the acoustic project DD Blues Dúo, which focuses on the raw roots of country and delta blues.

(Damián Martín Duflós / Photo by Roberto Campos)

Beyond his local performances and live sessions like the Fontana 978 sessions, Duflós is a frequent headliner at the Festival de Blues de la Patagonia and has participated in national collaborative projects such as 4 Armónicas Argentinas, earning widespread respect for preserving the timeless spirit of traditional electric blues from the heart of southern Argentina.

Interview by Michael Limnios

You started playing the harmonica at age 17, deeply inspired by the legendary old cats of the blues. What was the greatest lesson you learned from studying the legends’ playing, and how did you manage to shape your own signature "retro tone"?

When I started playing the harmonica at seventeen, everything was new and fascinating to me. It was an entire universe waiting to be discovered: musicians, recordings, names, dates, bands and sounds. Back then, I was particularly attracted to virtuosity. Fast players, technically impressive performances and musical complexity seemed almost magical to someone who was just beginning. Looking back after more than thirty years, I realize how much my perspective has changed.

Life itself has been my greatest teacher. Through experiences, relationships, losses and personal transformations, I gradually came to understand that what moves me most deeply is authenticity. Not appearances, not showing off, but a simple and honest musical statement that carries emotional weight. Sometimes I think certain musicians are born with that maturity, almost like old souls. Others, like myself, need to travel a long road before understanding it.

My retro tone is the result of many years studying the language of traditional blues, particularly the phrasing, articulation, dynamics and silences of the great harmonica players of the 1940s and 1950s. Vintage equipment certainly helps us approach those sounds, but microphones and amplifiers cannot perform miracles. They simply color and amplify what we already have to say. For me, the real challenge is using the musical vocabulary of that era to express something genuine in the present.

The Chicago blues style relies heavily on the right combination of harmonica, vintage microphone, and tube amplifier. What is your go-to gear to achieve that authentic, fat electric sound during live performances?

I have always imagined that the saturated sound of electric blues harmonica may have emerged partly out of necessity. The acoustic harmonica has a relatively limited volume when competing with electric guitars, saxophones and drums. As harmonica players pushed their small, low-wattage tube amplifiers harder, they probably discovered new textures, compression and distortion that eventually became part of their expressive vocabulary. What began as a practical solution may have evolved into one of the defining characteristics of Chicago blues. But the sound is not produced by the amplifier alone. The way we cup the microphone with our hands, open or close that seal, control our breath pressure and articulate each note can dramatically change the tone. Feedback has always been one of the main limitations of amplified harmonica. Today we have technological solutions that help control it, but the pioneers had to deal with those limitations using the equipment available at the time.

Finding the right combination of microphone and amplifier is essential. Crystal, ceramic, controlled magnetic and dynamic elements all have their own characteristics, and the same microphone may sound wonderful through one amplifier and disappointing through another. For recording, my favorite combination is an Astatic microphone with a crystal element and a vintage Masco ME-8 tube amplifier connected to two six-inch RCA AlNiCo speakers.

For live performances, I usually use a Premier 50 amplifier with an eight-inch speaker and an Astatic microphone fitted with a Shure Controlled Magnetic element. I also play Seydel harmonicas, particularly the 1847 Classic. However, this kind of equipment works best when the entire band understands the importance of playing at moderate volumes. I once heard B.B. King compare playing guitar to speaking. That idea stayed with me. When we speak slowly and articulate our words, people can understand us. If we speak too fast, the message may become unclear.

I believe volume works the same way. Playing too loudly is like shouting. And when everybody in a conversation is shouting, nobody understands anything. A good band should work like a good conversation. Everybody has something to say, but everybody must also know how to listen. There is another essential element: the artistic commitment of the band.

You may have developed a wonderful traditional harmonica tone, but if the band plays with the rhythmic approach, phrasing or aesthetics of a completely different musical era, the elements may never truly blend. This is why I believe traditional blues should be studied deeply, almost anthropologically. Behind every recording there are layers of historical, cultural, technological and musical information waiting to be discovered. Authenticity is not simply about reproducing an old sound. It is about understanding the musical relationships that made that sound possible.

(Damián Martín Duflós / Photo by Roberto Campos)

For a young musician wanting to pick up the blues harp, what do you consider the biggest challenge? Is it the technical aspect or understanding the raw emotion behind the notes?

I believe one of the greatest challenges is not simply acquiring technical skills, but making that knowledge available when we actually need to express ourselves. Throughout my teaching experience, I have observed something fascinating. A student may spend months learning a Little Walter composition note for note, mastering its technical difficulties, phrasing and dynamics. But when that same student joins a jam session and suddenly has the freedom to improvise, something unexpected happens. The mind seems to betray them. Everything they learned disappears, ideas become inaccessible, and the harmonica may begin to sound lifeless.

It is like learning a foreign language, memorizing its vocabulary and grammar, and then finding yourself unable to speak during a spontaneous conversation. The real challenge is transforming knowledge into a living, accessible musical language. I also believe professional blues musicians gradually develop a kind of stage vocabulary. Through experience, they discover which musical ideas work, what creates excitement, what surprises an audience and what establishes an emotional connection. Improvising in front of an audience can feel very similar to acting onstage. Sometimes you feel almost naked, completely exposed.

That is why I encourage students to begin within their comfort zone.Start with phrases you know well. Use musical ideas that feel natural and do not require extraordinary speed or technical complexity. As confidence grows, you can gradually take risks, explore new possibilities and become more spontaneous. And there is something I consider absolutely essential: improvisation should always feel like playing a game. We must allow ourselves to experiment, make mistakes, surprise ourselves and, above all, have fun. Technique gives us the tools, but freedom appears when we stop worrying about demonstrating what we know and begin enjoying what we are creating.

Argentina has a very unique and deep history with blues music, boasting legendary names like Pappo and Luis Salinas. How do you see the current state of the local blues scene? Is it resonating with younger audiences?

Argentina has a very particular relationship with blues, especially through its influence on Argentine rock. Musicians such as Pappo and the members of Manal helped introduce this language into our popular music. However, I believe we should distinguish between the influence of blues on popular music and a scene specifically dedicated to its traditional forms. Fortunately, blues festivals are now being organized in many parts of Argentina. Behind them are musicians and producers facing similar difficulties and challenges. My friend Gabriel Grätzer, director of the Escuela de Blues de Argentina, once told me something I have never forgotten: "If you go to a beer festival and they serve you wine, you are going to leave confused."

I think that metaphor describes one of our challenges. When blues festivals begin featuring too many musical acts that are far removed from the genre's roots, we risk confusing audiences about the tradition we are trying to preserve. But I also understand the other side of the situation. As an organizer of the Esquel Blues Festival, I know how difficult it can be to balance artistic convictions with the need to attract audiences and make an event financially sustainable. Sometimes booking a popular band that is not entirely rooted in traditional blues helps bring new people to a festival, where they may discover artists they would otherwise never have heard.

Another major challenge is Argentina's enormous geography. Distances make it difficult for musicians to travel and develop a sustainable touring circuit. I believe the blues scene will truly grow when festivals become connected through networks that allow musicians to circulate, exchange experiences and find regular professional opportunities. For this to happen, we need cooperation between public institutions, private companies, transport providers and cultural producers. Culture creates employment and economic activity in tourism, hospitality, transportation and many other areas. In Patagonia, we have been developing a strong relationship between musicians and festival organizers in Esquel, Comodoro Rivadavia and Trelew.

As for younger audiences, I believe blues still has enormous potential. Its language is present in much of the music young people listen to today, even when they do not recognize its origins. Our responsibility is to create opportunities for them to discover those roots. Cultural movements tend to be cyclical. There are periods of great popularity and others when traditions survive through the dedication of small communities. I hope that when the next blues wave rises in Argentina, the musicians riding it will be genuine representatives of the genre. Until then, our responsibility is to keep planting seeds.

(Damián Martín Duflós / Photo by Roberto Campos)

You live and create in Esquel, Patagonia. How do the landscape, the geographic isolation, and daily life in the South of Argentina influence your music? Is there such a thing as a "Patagonian blues"?

I believe landscapes and climates deeply influence people's emotions and, consequently, their cultural expressions. You can hear remarkable differences between the traditional music of warm regions and that of places with colder, harsher climates. Living surrounded by mountains, experiencing long winters and dealing with the enormous distances of Patagonia certainly influences our sensitivity. However, my relationship with blues has accompanied me through many different landscapes and stages of life.

I was born in Esquel, but I left at eighteen to study in Córdoba. That was where I learned my first harmonica bends and began developing as a musician. Later, I lived in Neuquén, where I continued growing musically before eventually returning to Esquel. Looking back, I feel that blues has been a constant presence throughout my life. Perhaps I have always had a rather introspective emotional nature, regardless of where I was living, and music has helped me express myself and find support through different experiences. There is something else I consider very important.

Throughout my journey, I have shared music with many wonderful people who left their mark on me. When we talk about our teachers, we usually think about legendary musicians. But I also consider my friends and fellow musicians to be teachers. Every rehearsal, performance, conversation and shared experience taught me something. I feel that I carry a little memory of all those people in my music. As for the idea of Patagonian blues, I personally prefer to speak of blues made in Argentina rather than Argentine blues or Patagonian blues. Blues has a very specific historical and cultural identity rooted in African American experience.

Those of us born elsewhere can study that language, respect its origins and express ourselves through it without necessarily creating a new regional category. After all these years, blues has become an inseparable part of who I am. I believe it will continue accompanying me wherever I choose to live. Although, at this stage of my life, I would prefer those places to be filled with happiness and joy! Haha!

Besides being a musician, you are actively involved in organizing festivals in your region. How challenging is it to keep an underground genre like the blues alive in provincial Argentina?

Keeping blues alive outside Argentina's major cultural center is an enormous challenge. But for me, organizing festivals is not simply about producing concerts. It is part of my commitment to music and to the community. Before returning to Esquel, I lived for many years in Neuquén. Together with my friend and bandmate Rafo Grin, we produced thirteen concerts featuring international artists, organized an Alto Valle Blues Festival and became the first local band to present our album at the Teatro Español. I also organized the first Alto Valle Acoustic Blues Festival. Those experiences taught me that cultural spaces do not appear spontaneously. Somebody must imagine them, take the initiative and work to make them happen.

After the death of my daughters' mother, I returned to Esquel to begin a new chapter of my life. I was offered the opportunity to serve as the city's Secretary of Culture, which allowed me to understand public cultural management from the inside. Later, I continued developing independent projects, including the Esquel Blues Festival, which celebrated its fourth edition in 2026. Over the years, we have also built a wonderful community with musicians and producers from Comodoro Rivadavia and Trelew. But I must admit that every year feels like starting all over again. Funding is never guaranteed, transportation costs are high, distances are enormous and maintaining personal motivation can become one of the greatest challenges.

Sometimes I remember the story of a man who spent years digging a mine in search of gold. Exhausted and disappointed, he finally sold it. The new owner dug just a little farther and discovered the treasure. Producing cultural events can feel like that. You keep working, hoping that someday the project will achieve the recognition and stability it needs to survive. But when I speak about recognition, I do not mean simply receiving an official declaration of cultural interest. I mean genuine institutional and private commitment that ensures continuity. My dream is that these festivals will eventually transcend their organizers. That if one day I am no longer there, the wheel will keep turning. Of course, the effort can be exhausting, and sometimes motivation becomes difficult to maintain. But when a festival ends and I see musicians talking, embracing, sharing stories and building new friendships, something lights up inside me again. And I remember why I continue doing it.

My daughters have always been one of the greatest driving forces in my life. Blues has been another. I deeply believe in the value of action. Words can be beautiful and inspiring, but what truly remains is what we actually do. My energy may become exhausted from time to time, but my commitment to this music keeps reigniting the flame. Perhaps the greatest challenge is making sure that flame can continue burning beyond our own individual efforts.

(Damián Martín Duflós / Photo by Roberto Campos)

The blues was born out of the culture and hardships of the Southern States of US. How can a musician from a completely different cultural background, like Latin America, authentically connect with that heritage?

Some experiences can be explained and described down to their smallest details. We can reconstruct facts, circumstances and historical events. But other experiences seem to exist beyond words. They are sensations, emotions and connections that happen on a much subtler level. In physics, there is a phenomenon called resonance, where one vibrating system can cause another to respond when they share certain characteristics. Perhaps it is not a scientifically precise analogy, but I like to imagine that something similar can happen with music. Sometimes I think my soul was already resonating with blues long before I even knew what blues was.

I cannot fully explain why this music moved me so deeply from the beginning. It simply felt familiar, almost as if some part of me already understood its language. Of course, blues has a very specific historical and cultural origin. It emerged from African American experience, shaped by slavery, segregation, injustice, resilience and an extraordinary capacity for artistic expression. Those of us who come from different cultural backgrounds have a responsibility to study that history, respect it and acknowledge the people who created this musical language. I have always believed that approaching blues seriously requires an almost anthropological curiosity. Every recording, musician and historical period reveals new layers of information. But I also believe music has an extraordinary ability to cross borders. Political boundaries are human constructions. Differences in skin pigmentation are biological, while racism and segregation are part of humanity's social history.

Ultimately, we all belong to the same species, and we share the capacity to love, suffer, hope, lose and begin again. That does not mean our historical experiences are equivalent, nor that we can claim experiences that were never ours. It simply means that we can be deeply moved by cultural expressions born from very different realities. Sometimes I even joke about reincarnation and past lives. Perhaps one day humanity will have the knowledge to investigate those mysteries more deeply.

I don't know. What I do remember is that whenever I heard a harmonica or a slide guitar as a young boy, I became completely captivated. Sometimes I almost held my breath, as if the slightest movement might interrupt that wonderful sound, and I desperately wanted it to continue. So when someone asks how a musician born thousands of miles away from Mississippi or Chicago can feel such a deep connection with blues, I don't always have a rational explanation. I can talk for hours about its history, instruments, musicians and techniques. But something came before all that knowledge. An emotion I felt long before I could understand it. Perhaps someday we will discover why certain kinds of music seem to find us before we even begin looking for them. Until then, I like to think my soul was already resonating with blues long before my mind learned to recognize it.

Through your record label, Retro Tone Records, you focus heavily on roots music. What is your ultimate vision for this project, and what kind of artists are you looking to showcase through it?

Retro Tone Records is a very recent project that emerged quite naturally through my work as a music producer. The idea came to me while mixing No Whisky No Blues, an album by my friends from Halftime Blues, a band from Comodoro Rivadavia. During that process, I began thinking about creating an identity that could represent my production work and future recordings with Damián Duflós Blues Band and Good Fellas. That was the beginning of Retro Tone Records.

It is still an emerging project, closer to an artistic and production identity than a traditional record company, but I am excited about its possibilities. I have always been fascinated by the history of recorded music, particularly blues, rockabilly, early rock and roll and roots recordings from the 1940s and 1950s. There is something about the sound of those records that connects me with a feeling of truth and authenticity. Modern recordings have reached extraordinary levels of clarity and fidelity. Sometimes their technical perfection is truly impressive on first listen. But personally, I experience something curious. After repeated listening, that initial sense of grandeur sometimes begins to fade. With old recordings, exactly the opposite happens.

I can listen to the same song hundreds of times and feel that it continues growing inside me. Every time I discover new details, subtle interactions between musicians, little imperfections or expressive nuances I had never noticed before. It is almost as if those recordings contain a depth that never completely reveals itself. I am not suggesting that old technology is necessarily superior to modern technology. I believe it has a great deal to do with the philosophy behind the performance and the recording process. I am particularly interested in capturing the interaction between musicians, their dynamics, spontaneity, groove and individual personalities. With Retro Tone Records, I would love to recover something of that spirit. Not simply to recreate an old sound or artificially manufacture a vintage aesthetic, but to preserve the human character of the music.

Naturally, I would love this project to grow and eventually become a meeting point for other blues and roots musicians. But I would prefer that growth to happen organically, through genuine musical relationships and concrete projects. For now, Retro Tone Records is a small seed I have just begun cultivating. And if I had to summarize its philosophy in one sentence, I would say that I am not interested in producing recordings that impress you only the first time you hear them. I want to make music that has something new to reveal every time you return to it.

(Photo: Damián Martín Duflós)

In your bands (Damián Duflós Blues Band, Good Fellas), you blend blues with rockabilly, rock 'n' roll, and folk elements. Where does tradition end and experimentation begin for you?

I believe almost everything we do culturally is inherited in some way. Throughout our lives, we learn by observing, copying and imitating. That is how we learn to speak: reproducing sounds, words, gestures and expressions from the people around us. Eventually, we develop our own way of communicating, but always through a language that existed before us. Music works in a similar way.

Sometimes we believe we have invented something completely new, only to discover that someone else had already done it decades earlier. That is why I have a particular relationship with the idea of creating our own versions of classic songs. This is entirely personal, but I sometimes feel uncomfortable when musicians decide beforehand that they are going to reinterpret a composition without first making the effort to study the original deeply. There is an old anecdote about a musician who performed his arrangement of a famous composer's work in front of the composer himself. The composer supposedly replied, "I didn't know my composition was broken and needed to be fixed."

I don't know whether that story is historically accurate, but I have always found it amusing and thought-provoking. Blues is obviously a very flexible musical language. Much of its history involves musicians borrowing, adapting and transforming existing material. But personally, I believe that before transforming something, we should first try to understand it. When I study a classic recording, I try to reproduce it as faithfully as possible: the tempo, articulation, dynamics, phrasing, silences and even the occasional mistakes. Not because I believe we should remain permanent imitators, but because this process reveals details we might otherwise overlook. After playing a song many times and truly absorbing its language, something wonderful begins to happen. Our own personality gradually emerges.

The phrases change, the dynamics respond to our emotions, and the interpretation begins to carry our signature. However, there is an important difference between how I approach other musicians' compositions and how I approach my own. When I play a Jimmy Reed blues, for example, the original recording is playing in my head. Its groove, tempo, phrasing and remarkable economy of musical resources. But when I compose my own songs, stylistic boundaries become much more permeable. I imagine them almost like a membrane that allows different influences to pass through and meet.

Chicago blues, West Coast blues, rockabilly, folk, country, Piedmont blues and swing begin having a conversation. It is as if they shake hands and naturally decide which one will take the leading role in each composition. I don't consciously plan these combinations. All these musical traditions live somewhere inside me, and they find their own way into my songs. Perhaps that is how I understand the relationship between tradition and experimentation. When I interpret a classic, I try to understand what another musician wanted to express. When I compose, I allow everything I have learned to help me discover my own voice.

If you had to choose just one blues track that defined you both as a person and as an artist, which one would it be and why?

What a difficult question! After so many years listening to and studying blues, choosing just one song feels almost impossible. Different recordings accompanied different stages of my life. The first harmonica song that truly captivated me was Whammer Jammer, by Magic Dick with the J. Geils Band. Later, I discovered a Little Walter compilation and heard Juke, which immediately reminded me of that first fascination. The first blues harmonica album I consciously decided to buy was Harp Attack. However, I learned my first bends listening to Alone & Acoustic, by Buddy Guy and Junior Wells. When I began exploring the guitar more seriously, T-Bone Walker moved me deeply. His elegance and phrasing always brought a smile to my face.

Later, discovering fingerpicking and the music of Mississippi John Hurt was almost hypnotic. Slide guitar also occupies a very special place in my musical universe, both in blues and country music. But if I absolutely had to choose one song, I think it would be Louisiana Blues, by Muddy Waters. There is something about the entire atmosphere of that recording that fascinates me. Muddy's slide guitar, his voice, the acoustic harmonica of a very young Little Walter... everything seems to coexist in an extraordinary balance. And there is something else that moves me deeply.

For me, that recording captures a fascinating transition between acoustic and electric blues. You can still feel the depth of the rural Delta tradition while hearing the emergence of a new musical language that would help define Chicago blues. It is almost like listening to two eras meeting each other. Perhaps that is why it means so much to me. In my own musical journey, those two worlds have always coexisted: the amplified harmonica and vintage tube amplifiers, alongside the intimacy of acoustic guitar, slide and fingerpicking. I don't know whether a single song can completely define who I am as a person and an artist. But Louisiana Blues brings together so many of the sounds, emotions and traditions that have accompanied me throughout my life. And after all these years, it still gives me that same feeling of wonder I experienced as a teenager hearing a harmonica or a slide guitar for the first time. Some music we learn to play. Some music we learn to understand. And some music, for reasons we may never fully explain, we simply never stop feeling. For me, Louisiana Blues belongs to that last category.

(Photo: Damián Martín Duflós)