By B. Caplan
By Laurie Charles
By Laurie Charles
By S. Pajot
By Laurie Charles
By Jessica Militare
By Kat Bein
By Kat Bein
Tabloid gossip, not music, ruled her life: She impulsively married a gringo (and months later divorced him) in Miami. Her ex-husband's conviction for drug dealing further damaged the reputation of a star who had had her own drug problems (she swore off them in 1997). An attempt to kidnap her daughter Frida Sofia was mercifully thwarted, but her foray into a business venture, a Mexico City clothing boutique, was botched. And finally, her career stalled.
Gritty Mexican rocker and engaging balladeer Guzman, often more American-sounding than many of her U.S. counterparts, grew up in a media fishbowl (her parents are veteran actress Silvia Pinal and Latin rock pioneer Enrique Guzman) and rode her own rocket of fame and notoriety in the early Nineties. Toward the end of the decade, however, after too much partying, ill-fated affairs, and skin-baring publicity (she posed in the Mexican edition of Playboy in 1994 and every once in a while would flash her chest at audiences in concert), she seemed on the verge of crash and burn.
Her 1999 release, Algo Natural (Something Natural), bombed -- despite a nomination for a Latin Grammy Award and a boost from the writing talents of Bacilos' Jorge Villamizar on the title track -- mainly owing to a lack of support by the Mexican branch of her record label, BMG, and to the Mexican entertainment media's new object of titillation: fellow fallen rocker/alleged cult slave/pregnant inmate in a Brazilian prison, Gloria Trevi.
What a difference two years and a good manager make. Her October 2001 release, Soy, has earned mostly glowing reviews and already gone gold. Guzman serves as guest-star anchor for Mexican TV giant Televisa at the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics, and she will begin a full-force U.S./Mexico/Puerto Rico concert tour in March.
Guzman's rise and fall and rise again can be traced to the slow but steady emergence of women rockers on the Latin-American scene. Alejandra Gabriela Guzman Pinal began her career as a teen acting in telenovelas and theater. Her first album, Bye Mamá, was an instant hit followed by a new production almost every year. But soon her wild behavior onstage and off began to chip away at her credibility. Guzman admits she's guilty of excess but adds that the tabloids had a field day embellishing stories about her.
"It was I who chose to be the bad girl, I who have to withstand the pressure," Guzman acknowledges one afternoon on Lincoln Road, her petite yet curvaceous figure hugged by tight leather pants. Her many tattoos look even darker against her white top and deep tan. Her raspy voice is unmistakable, making others turn around and take notice.
She owns up to her commercial flop as well. "[Algo Natural] didn't flow," says the thirtysomething star. "It just didn't flow. It was a very difficult project, one that took a lot of time and showed the turmoil I felt inside. The producers and I never defined where it was that I was going. I mainly showed up and sang."
Still, when Guzman thought her record label was dragging its feet, she promoted the disc herself. "I did tour Mexico and the U.S., and somehow I showed the company that if we all really wanted, we could move my career forward," she says.
Diplomatically Guzman attributes the lack of promotion of Algo Naturalto the reorganization undertaken by BMG at that time that left her working with no one in particular. Nobody there seemed to be in charge of her career. "We spent a lot of money on that record, and then it just languished," she observes, "until my last concert, in Puerto Rico, in February 2001."
That concert proved a turning point in her career. A favorite of Puerto Rican youth for years, beloved for songs such as "Mala Hierba" ("The Weed"), "Eternamente Bella" ("Eternally Beautiful"), and "Mírala, Míralo" ("Look at Her, Look at Him"), Guzman was booked by veteran promoter Cesar Sainz to do a one-night show at the finest concert hall on the island, the Centro de Bellas Artes Luis A. Ferré in Santurce. But the demand was such that two more shows were added; even members of the Mexican media attended the event. Guzman put on a performance unlike any other.
"I wanted to show my label that I could go on," she explains. "At that moment I changed my management. I restructured it from the bottom up. Then I invited my lawyer of the past six years, Alfredo Castellanos, to be my manager. And he brought me to a higher level."
A high-powered, handsome 37-year-old entertainment lawyer in Puerto Rico (his roster of clients reads like a who's who of Puerto Rican talent: Olga Tañon, Son by Four, and even Marc Anthony use or have used his services), Castellanos brokered a deal with BMG that put Guzman back on top of the company's list of priorities. "I always thought of her as a great star, with a lot of unfulfilled potential," says Castellanos one afternoon from his offices in San Juan. "I saw [it fulfilled] when she packed Bellas Artes with little promotion and no singles on the radio."
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