It’s a sunny January afternoon in Colonia Narvarte, Mexico City—a traditional neighborhood known for its eclectic architecture, where 1950s houses coexist with modern buildings. Wide, tree-lined streets invite passersby to enjoy its peaceful atmosphere, while its vibrant culinary scene makes it a foodie destination, blending specialty coffee shops, signature restaurants, and traditional street food that reflect the city’s diversity beyond the famous Roma, Condesa, and Juárez neighborhoods.
I ring the bell at one of these old buildings, and from a second-floor window, Zemmoa—an electronic pop singer and artist—peers out. With an enthusiastic “hello,” she buzzes me in from above. At the top of the stairs, I’m greeted by a Xoloitzcuintli dog wearing a striped hoodie, tongue out. Right behind him, Lucía Anaya welcomes me and introduces him—his name is Mole.
The apartment belongs to Zemmoa, a friend and collaborator of “Uchi,” as many in the Mexican music industry know Lucía. The living room is full of people, including Mare Advertencia, a Zapotec rapper, activist, and poet from Oaxaca. They’re all gathering for a lunch in honor of Composer’s Day, to which they’ve been invited at the facilities of the Society of Authors and Composers of Mexico.
We step into a small studio, with Mole following us. I ask “Uchi” to describe herself musically. She chooses to do so through a genre: no wave. “That movement in New York at the end of the ’70s—’78, ’79, and ’81, I think—I really identify with it because I believe it broke away from what music was. It swam completely against the current of what the industry was or was becoming at the time. There was a community of punks making music with instruments they didn’t even know how to play. That’s why I love it. In a way, I’ve learned like that too—through struggles, figuring things out as I go, from writing for the press to booking artists.”
And indeed, her punk spirit is evident in her early days as a creator of unique experiences. From her first party, Euforia, to a show by the Chilean band Astro in a garage, or a Grimes concert at an art school in Escandón. Then came Traición, a party combining music with performance and a very punk feel, and later, her direct work with artists and festivals. “I think what I love most is artist development and curating projects, always steering toward the independent side.”
Over time, “Uchi” has ventured into different areas of the industry. During the pandemic, she began managing Mare Advertencia’s career (without knowing anything about management), later working with Tayhana and Zemmoa. That experience led her to formalize a company, Mixta Music, alongside Mariana Uribe (formerly of Apple Music), Tayhana, Mare, and Marta Fritz. The company offers management, label, and publishing services. Their first official release was Luisa Almaguer’s album. “We cover these three areas because we understand that for independent artists, we need to solidify an infrastructure so that everything is organized and professionalized within a single framework.”
Along the way, Uchi has found other opportunities that complement what she does with her company, such as music supervision—something she’s worked on with her friend Ali Gua Gua—and curating the lineup for one of Mexico’s most representative festivals: Bahidorá, with which she has collaborated for over eight years.
If there’s one boutique festival in Mexico that stands out, it’s Bahidorá. It’s one of the few remaining independent events in the country, not only because of its lineup—spanning electronic, world, jazz, R&B, hip-hop, indie, and experimental genres—but also for its immersive experience in a natural park with a river and springs. It has a strong ecological focus, offering a sensory and communal experience where art and wellness also play an essential role. Some say it’s the only real festival left in Mexico. “Yeah. What I understand by ‘real’ is that it’s different from all the others. You don’t arrive at a stadium or a parking lot—you go to Las Estacas, a natural paradise. Plus, it’s not just about the music; it’s a whole experience—camping with friends, listening to music, and having a great time.”
Lucía didn’t end up at Bahidorá by chance. She met Íñigo Villamil, the festival’s director and founder, in high school. Over the years, they shared music, and eventually, she was invited to meetings where they discussed which artists to bring. Finally, it was made official: “Uchi” would be part of the team, curating the lineup alongside Íñigo. While she’s been on the team for eight years, the festival has remained independent for thirteen—surviving the pandemic and industry monopolies. This independence is largely thanks to the festival’s loyal audience, who buy tickets year after year, as well as sponsors that make everything possible. “That’s another reason why it’s real—it’s part of an ecosystem of festivals that have survived the odds. In a country like Mexico, you can’t run a festival without a commercial element. Let’s be realistic. In Spain and other countries, the government provides funding, or the city pitches in. Here, how do you keep a festival running? Brands and ticket sales.”
In a fleeting world where things come and go quickly, Bahidorá stands as an oasis offering much more than a headliner. The curatorial challenges are fascinating, but so is the broader vision of what a festival like this should be. “I think we’re witnessing the death of headliners—especially for a festival like this. Bahidorá doesn’t need a headliner. It can have three sub-headliners, and people will still come. The location, the conditions, the weekend, the climate, Morelos, Las Estacas, the river—it all adds up.”
Time passes, the world changes, and so do the festival-goers. While Bahidorá has built a strong community with shared interests, there’s a generational gap between the attendees of its first edition and those who will attend in February 2025. “There are more young people now—a new generation is awakening. That’s why, in recent years, I’ve insisted on having Spanish-language talent on the main stage, Latin headliners. That’s what the new generations are listening to. There’s no longer this ‘Malinchismo’ [preference for foreign artists] of only wanting U.S. bands. Now, young people listen to Indian music, Arabic music, Brazilian music… The industry has become much more globalized.”
Bahidorá effectively responds to and integrates with this globalized industry. Its booking efforts have been more than ambitious—whether it’s waiting years for a band to accept an invitation, bringing Damon Albarn and dozens of musicians with Africa Express, or positioning itself firmly in the minds of international booking agents. “We spent four years trying to bring Ezra Collective, but for one reason or another, it didn’t happen. I think 2025 was the perfect moment—two years after they won the Mercury Prize and a year after they released an album, now they will perform at Bahidorá. It took time, but we did it. And the same with other projects. Now, many agents recognize the festival and know which talent fits and which doesn’t. They also understand that it’s an independent festival, not part of a corporate group—it’s real, as we said. That credibility plays a big role in how artists see the festival.”
One of Bahidorá’s standout features is its inclusivity. The curatorship isn’t closed off; instead, it invites key players from the local scene to actively participate—curating stages and bringing in young talent. Collectives, parties, and labels all have a space to express themselves and collaborate. The festival reflects Mexico City’s rich musical landscape. “CDMX is a melting pot—you can hear salsa on a Sunday, or go to Búho at 5 a.m. on a Saturday for a 24-hour salsa marathon. You can dance cumbia in Tepito, watch drag shows at Rico, or dance to techno at Funk. Every genre exists here—it’s mind-blowing.”
Someone like Lucía, navigating different parts of this turbulent industry, has contributed a lot. But what does she consider her biggest impact? “Creating spaces for the community I live and work with. Also, working with artists—I love helping their artistic development, watching them grow, and achieving their goals in a way that makes me proud. Everything is a machine designed so they can live off their music while we all grow together.”
The studio door opens. Mole glances up but doesn’t react. They have to head to the Composer’s Day lunch. Time to wrap up. But since we’re talking to a music curator, we can’t leave without a few recommendations—one old, one new, and one she’s working with: Bush Tetras, Valgur, Luisa Almaguer.
Thank you, “Uchi.” Enjoy your meal—see you at Bahidorá.
View this post on Instagram
For more information on Bahidorá’s epic 2025 line-up, visit www.bahidora.com and for a chance to win two tickets to the one-of-a-kind festival in Las Estacas, Mexico from Feb 14-16, see here.
All Photos by Ana Alonso