Written expressly for Venezuelan musicians, Diáspora is a personal exploration of identity and heritage at a time of national fracturing. Being a Venezuelan abroad in 2019 meant navigating a volatile cocktail of worry, nostalgia, and helplessness. Rather than attempting to depict the physical suffering within the country—a task I felt would minimize the reality of those living it—I chose to write from the perspective I know: the anxiety of the observer, the tension of the long-distance phone call, and the "oblique" view of a tragedy from afar.

I. Bululú Rucaneao

In Venezuelan slang, a bululú is a mess or a swarming crowd; rucaneao refers to the syncopated 5/8 rhythmic pattern of the traditional Caracas merengue. This movement manifests the "good-natured resilience" of the Venezuelan spirit—the tendency to use humor as a pressure valve for tension. Here, the elegant merengue is heard constantly but is seasoned with irony and bitterness. The conflict is rhythmic rather than harmonic: other complex meters glide over the relentless 5/8 pulse, creating a sense of chaotic momentum that refuses to break.

II. “Todo bien, mijo”: Passacaglia

The title reflects the universal experience of calling home to Venezuela only to hear the protective refrain: "Todo bien, mijo" (Everything is fine, my son). On both sides of the line, there is a silent understanding that things are far from "fine."

To represent this subtext, I utilized a Passacaglia—a form based on a repeating, underlying theme. Throughout the movement, a harmonically ambiguous melody acts as the "unspoken" truth: the sadness and worry that Venezuelans experience daily. Other melodies and textures frequently overwhelm or obscure this theme, mimicking the surface-level normalcy of a conversation, until the structure eventually breaks down under the weight of what remains unsaid.