Why we are revisiting this conversation
In the popular imagination, certain music and certain substances seem to go hand in hand: reggae and cannabis, acid house and ecstasy, rock and everything else. It is a comfortable, marketable, and almost always lazy association. That is why we felt it pertinent to rescue this old interview with Def Con Dos—one of the longest-running and most corrosive bands in Spanish rap metal—from our archives, originally published for the release of “Hipotécate Tú” (Warner Music Spain, 2009). Among their answers is a statement that, in passing, dismantles an entire cliché.
Who is Def Con Dos?
The project led by César Strawberry was not born with longevity in mind. Its origins were almost a garage joke: under the name Freddy Krueger and The Masters of the Universe, the group was formed at the behest of Julián Hernández, of Siniestro Total, to play a January night in 1989 at a bar in Vigo, covering Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, and RUN D.M.C. without a single original track. Their first demo as Def Con Dos was recorded in a living room with a Revox tape recorder under the homemade label “Baterías Taponadas” (Clogged Batteries).
From then on, the group refined that blend of rap beats, heavy guitars, and electronics that became their trademark. Their breakthrough came in 1993 when Álex de la Iglesia commissioned them for the theme song of “Acción mutante”; they would repeat the feat with “El día de la bestia” (1995), a song that ended up on “Ultramemia” (1996). After a hiatus in the late nineties, they returned in 2004 with “Recargando.” Twenty years after starting, they were still, by their own description, “fighting against stupidity.”
“Hipotécate Tú”: Acidic lyrics in the midst of a crisis
The album that prompted the interview arrived in 2009, against the backdrop of the economic crisis. The title track, which opens the album, played with the idea that, trapped between debts and without resources, “it is more profitable to become inmates.” When asked if they were serious, the band settled the matter with their characteristic dryness: what is truly profitable, they suggested, is to be a thief with a political or banking position, because those people never see the inside of a jail.
The album was also released with a book of short stories, “Destino Zoquete,” written by Strawberry and Alejandro Feito, which they jokingly described as reading “for deranged minds.” Beyond the provocation, the group always cultivated black humor and incorrectness as a tool.
Digital control, before it was obvious
Two tracks on the album, “Arrob@” and “Cuando Apaguen Internet,” pointed to technological dependency years before the debate became mainstream. The band acknowledged the revolution brought by new technologies but warned of the flip side: new dependencies and “rigid control strategies,” with social networks described as a convenient way to “keep people on file.” Viewed from today, that intuition has aged well.
The phrase that dismantles a cliché
What interests us most about that interview, however, is a brief response. When asked about the relationship between cannabis and their music, they answered without solemnity: “What you listen to and what you smoke do not have to be related.”
It seems like a quip, but it contains a sensible idea. Psychoactive culture is full of automatic associations—this genre with this substance, this state with this sound—that rarely withstand analysis. Neither does music “demand” a substance, nor does a substance guarantee an experience. What one listens to and what one consumes are distinct decisions with distinct risks, and it is best not to confuse them or let the environment confuse them for us.
Critical reading
It is worth reading this piece for what it is: a 2009 promotional interview, with its load of calculated provocation and deliberately incorrect humor. Some answers sought headlines rather than nuance, and they should be taken as such.
Regarding the psychoactive background, it is worth highlighting what the band themselves pointed out: the idea that a musical style and a substance form an inseparable package is, above all, a cultural narrative. Uncritically associating music and consumption can normalize the latter or, conversely, stigmatize music for its supposed company. From a harm reduction perspective, the useful message is the opposite of the cliché: separate your decisions, do not take anything for granted based on context or environment, and remember that no cultural narrative replaces information about interactions, contexts, and real consequences. You will not find consumption recommendations here; you will, however, find an invitation to be wary of automatic behaviors, including aesthetic ones.
