Turf

What defines Turf is not just their sound, but how that sound anchors itself in national rock without standing still. Their music blends pop with guitars reminiscent of British bands from the 90s, yet their lyrics speak with acidic humor or the irony of Buenos Aires. It’s not a style that fits into a single label: their albums bring together britpop with psychedelic touches, surprising orchestrations, and melodies that stick effortlessly. The riff of Casanova — the song that launched them — sounds direct, yet carries an air of nostalgia that’s no accident: Joaquín Levinton had previously played in Juana La Loca, where he had already explored that melodic side, albeit with more rawness. When he joined forces with Leandro Lopatín, Fernando Caloia, and Carlos Tapia, the plan wasn’t to sound like anyone else, but to find a balance between what the under scene of Buenos Aires needed and what they themselves wanted to hear.

The leap into the broader scene came in 1998, when they were seen performing at River Plate stadium as an opener for the Rolling Stones. It wasn’t a minor detail: thousands of people who had come to see a foreign band ended up discovering a local group that, until then, had only packed crowds in the under scene. But the real turning point had arrived earlier, with their debut album, Una pila de vida (1997), where Charly García appeared on Despiole generacional as an unexpected nod. That album put them on the radar of specialized press, such as when Revolver magazine included them in their Superpop compilation and defined them as part of a movement blending retro with modern. However, the album that cemented them as a massive phenomenon was Siempre libre (1999), a work where the sound became brighter, almost hippie-like, with orchestrations that contrasted with their debut. The production, done with limited resources from Musimundo, proved they didn’t need big budgets to sound great.