99% Invisible - 540- The Siren of Scrap Metal

Episode Date: June 14, 2023

Amid the noisy bustle of Mexico City, there is a particularly iconic sound echoing on repeat in the background. This recording blares from trucks that cruise the streets all across this massive city. The crews inside are looking to buy old household items and appliances to fix and resell or to just sell for scrap. Basically, they’re scrap metal haulers, and the recording is their pitch to prospective sellers. Their pitch culminates in "o algo de fierro viejo que vendan," which basically means “or any old metal thing you’re selling.” This last bit has become the recording’s namesake: fierro viejo, literally “old iron.”How this recording (and its subsequent remixes for live performances and otherwise) managed to achieve icon status in Mexico is a story of an unlikely alchemy: a family that, through grit, talent and a bit of luck, transmuted scrap metal into poetry, music, and joy.The Siren of Scrap Metal

This is 99% invisible. I'm Roman Mars. Mexico City in case you've never been, is full of distinctive sounds. There's the bell the garbage men ring letting you know when it's time to come down and throw out your trash. On some corners you can hear organ grinders cranking out tunes for tips. There are of course the roving mariachi bands. And there are the public markets where you can hear countless vendors hawking their products. But there's one specific sound that cuts through the den. A voice that, if you've never lavadoras, microondas, or something of fierrofias, what they sell.

What you're hearing is a recording that trucks in Mexico City play on a relentless loop. Reporter Ted Seaford. The crews inside these trucks are looking to buy old household items and appliances. Basically, they're scrap metal haulers, and the recording is their pitch to perspective sellers. We buy mattresses, bed frames, refrigerators. The list of appliances continues with stoves, washing machines, and microwaves, and then crescendos gloriously with this line.

Which basically means, or any old metal thing you're selling. This last bit has become the recordings namesake, Fiero Viejo, the d'Orly Old Iron. The recording started popping up in neighborhoods surrounding the capital city in the early 2000s, but steadily the sound caught the attention of the internet and a growing number of amateur and not-so-amateur DJs and musicians. One of Mexico's major newspapers referred to Fiero Viejo as the most popular sound in all of Mexico. Its status as a national icon may have been cemented at the World Cup last year when a Mexican

fan blasted it out of a massive speaker he had strapped to his back. So how and why did Fiero Viejo rise from the streets of Mexico City to become this huge sensation? The answer it turns out starts with a 9-year-old girl. A 9-year-old girl who helps solve a pressing challenge in a city that is busy, loud, and brimming with street vendors. Fiero Viejo is just one voice amid the cacophony of street selling in Mexico City. More than 50 percent, that's 5-0, of residents work in the informal economy. In a metro area of 22 million, that's a lot of vendors who go out every day, selling

tamales, pressing fast juice, collecting all the appliances for scrap. The main driver of this massive part of the economy is necessity. There simply aren't enough jobs in Mexico's formal economy to go around. That makes streetbending both a crowded space and a competitive one. You can hear the intensity of that competition playing out at the public markets or Tiongis as the locals call them. There's a name for the calls vendors use to grab customers attention in the middle of all this commotion. They're called Pregones, and there's an art to them, one that's been refined over the centuries. This type of sound or this type of pregones that can be called names and have a story that's been reared in the past.

That's Liliana Hamika Silva. She's an anthropologist at the National School of Anthropology and History in Mexico City. She says the term Pregon has a long history in Mexico and can be traced back to the period of Spanish colonial rule. In those days, Pregonis referred to the Proclamation's a designated town cryer would make about new laws or notices of execution, that kind of thing. This purpose has, of course, fallen by the wayside, but the tradition of Pragonus has been carried on by street vendors who have long been important figures in Mexican culture. So we can already find in the movies, especially in the Mexican cinema, some of these like pregones, right? For example, there's a movie about...

Amica told me that street vendors and their Pregonists were often depicted during the Golden Age of Mexican cinema. In a 1951 film, you can hear the famed Mexican comic known as Teen Thanh, singing the praises of his freshly baked bread while riding his bike through the city. Panadero con el pan, tuntun el pan. Panadero con el pan.

El panadero con el pan. El panadero con el pan. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada.

Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada.

Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. Tundun, espada. breadsellers using that little horn which people associate with the bonadero. The street vendors you hear in Mexico City do not generally burst into song, but there remains an element of performance in their bregones. Vendors use distinctive intonations, cadences, and often clever turns of phrase to an effect to create their own sonic niches.

This is especially important for itinerant vendors, the ones who sell their products and carts, trucks, or on foot. After all, they not only have to contend with the ambient noise of the city, but distracted customers who are busy doing other things. This recording is played by vendors who ride around selling tamales guajácños, tamales in the style of the wajáca region. Many mobile vendors, like the breadsellers, enhance their pagon with sounds like bells. And sometimes, the sound is so loud and so distinctive that no words are needed, like that

of the sweet potato seller. The cart he pushes, by the way, is an ingenious contraption. A little wood fire steams the potatoes and powers that piercing whistle. Then there's the roving cooking gas seller, who opts for simplicity with his prugone. Before Fiero Viejo, the recording caught on, many scrap metal collectors shouted their pergones just like that gas cellar, and some, though not many, still do. And some, though not many, still do. And some, though not many, still do. Before it was the prisoner who was repeating it. Antes era el pregonero que lo iba repitiendo. Ahora ya es un caseto, es un disco, o sea, se han ido transformando

las maneras, pero el significado y el uso, no? Amica explía que, while things like cassettes and CDs have changed the means by which vendors deliver their pergonis, their basic function has not changed. And Fiero Viejo may be the clearest and loudest expression of that trend. While the Fiero Viejo recording fits squarely into Mexico's rich tradition of pergones, it's also a stark departure from it, and that has everything to do with the voice that delivers it. and that has everything to do with the voice that delivers it. So high-pitched, it occupies its own sonic register. Each syllable delivered forcefully, it almost weirily.

The incongruity of it is arresting. I don't know what causes the sound of the child, that all the dogs start to cry. For her part, Hamayke isn't sure what it is about the voice, but it does make all the dogs in her neighborhood howl. To get the story behind this iconic recording, I took a drive away from the swankier neighborhoods in Central Mexico City to a place called Icatipec, a sprawling dusty area of blocky buildings on the city's northern outskirts.

That's where I met Marco Antonio Tucho, in central Mexico City to a place called Icatibeck, a sprawling dusty area of blocky buildings on the city's northern outskirts. That's where I met Marco Antonio Taron and his family. Hey, can you tell me some words in English? Yes, I can. Marco's had many jobs in his nearly 60 years, cop, chef at a Japanese restaurant, bed frame seller, but the family business and his greatest love is entertainment.

Hey, espaya, si, tajos, espaya, si to, y es chambonvita, y os e chambonvin. My daughter is a clown. But the family business and his greatest love is entertainment. My daughter is a clown. I'm a clown. Her stage name is Chimbon Vita. Mine is Chimbon V. However, making a living as a clown is not easy. Like everything, there's times when the clown business went down. The number of contracts went down. So talking with a cow's in a mind, he says, well, why don't you work with your brother who's already working in scrap metal? After a short time on his brother's scrap metal crew,

Marco decided to venture out on his own. But he didn't have a truck, so he built a push car. And that's scrap metal crew, Marco decided to venture out on his own. But he didn't have a truck, so he built a push cart. And that's what he would use to load and move heavy appliances. He would push the cart under the hot sun, backening sellers by shouting through an improvised cardboard megaphone.

You can imagine that in a pie, you get wet. And you can imagine on foot your arrive exhausted. And after so much screaming my throat feels the same. With the sun, the heat, the dust, I had a sore throat, bad feet, super tired. I will take the boss to my house and there I will sit on the steps because my feet couldn't take it anymore. When they Marco had an idea, he would make a recording of his pitch, something other vendors sometimes did.

That way he wouldn't have to strain his vocal cords all day. But Marco being Marco, he wanted to do the recording his own way. And since he felt his own voice was too low and gravely, he turned to his 9-year-old daughter for help. So I'm the original voice of the pregon. Se compran colchones, tambores, refrigeradores, estufas, lavagras, microondas, o algo de fija roviejo que venda. Meet Mary Mar, Taron Martinez, aka The Voice of Fear of YeHo. It wasn't exactly a stretch for Mary Mar, who is now 20 years old, to help out her father. She had already elbowed her way into his clown act.

Yo empecé a los 8 años. Yo le dije, ¿sabes qué papá? Yo quiero ser payacita y me siento panón, todavía no. I was say the other soul when I started. I say to him, you know what, Dad? I want to be a clown. And he was like, no, not yet. And I was like, yes, please, I want to be.

And he will say, you're too small. And I was like, no, please, that until I convinced him. And he said, okay, fine. But now let me be. He said, well, no, it's okay, but it's okay. So it's okay. He's going with me. So the people are dying of laughter.

Yeah, she will come with me and people die laughing. Because I fold down and she folds down. And we're dancing and my pants are falling off. And I'm trying to pick them down. And we're dancing and my pants are falling off. And I'm trying to pick them up. And we're still dancing. And I drop her and she falls on me. People thought it was hilarious. No, people attack this.

However, recording the pre-gone was no time for funny business. Marco is a bit of a perfectionist. Every word was rehearsed. And since she forget what she had to say, I will put drawings of a mattress on it, a drawing of a washing machine. So for her, it was easier to read. Marco and Marie-Mar did take after take after take after take, trying to get the sound

right. They started recording at 12 o'clock at night and we finished at about 4 a.m. And that's because we wanted there to be no noise, but you know, there's always a dog that barked or some boyfriend who was looking for his girlfriend at 4 a.m. So suddenly, it was like, dog that bark or some boyfriend who was looking for his girlfriend at 4 a.m. So it took us several hours and I was very tired. And you could hear it.

All of the sudden I was like, say, come on, call John, and my dad will yell at me. Marimar, say come on, call John, he's done bodies. Or he was like, no, no, no colchones and my dad will yell at me. Marimar, say compran colchones, some bodies, and he was like, no, no, no, you're already falling asleep. And I was like, I'm tired.

And he was like, I know, but let's try to make sure that the recording goes well. This may help explain these somewhat exasperated quality of the voice in Fiero Viejo. As much as Marie-Marre wants your old refrigerator, she also just wants to go to bed. Eventually, the cassette was finished and Marco began playing it on his rounds. Other scrap metal crews heard it and liked it. So Marco sold it to them for a pince, five paces,

the equivalent of about a quarter. La buena feza siempre tiene recompenses. Hay una cosa por tu compañero que es muy personal, ahí está, no más dá me lo descacé de cinco pesos. I believe that good faith always has rewards. You do one thing for your partner, like giving the cassette for five pesos, which is what it costs. But you take it, no problem. They are like crops you plant that will harvest later. And so steadily, the sound began to spread across the city,

through the megaphone's and loudspeakers of a growing number of beat-up papers. And so, steadily, the sound began to spread across the city through the megaphone's and loudspeakers of a growing number of Mexico's massive informal economy. People have long carved out ways to make money whether or not the government approves of the activities. In fact, street fending is technically banned on the subway

and in parts of the historic center. Yet these settings are prime turf for vendors. So why do the authorities allow so many people to work on the streets? The short answer is they don't really have a choice. The state has no capacity to generate the conditions for there to be economic growth and employment. But it has the responsibility to attend to this people.

That's Carlos Alba Vega, a professor at the College of Mexico who has written books on the informal economy. Carlos says the Mexican state does not have the capacity to create the conditions for economic growth and jobs, but it does have the responsibility to serve those who work in the informal economy. The state says, among the companies, well, I don't have the possibility of helping you solve many problems. The state says in effect to street vendors,

well, I can't help you solve many problems. You don't have social security. If you get sick, you're on your own. But what I can do is cover my eyes, so that you do what you need to do in itallery. So tolerance as a form of social redistribution. So tolerance as a form of social redistribution. Because there are laws in the books against many aspects

of informal commerce, enforcement often comes down to political expediency. This leaves a huge gray area, Because there are laws in the books against many aspects of informal commerce, enforcement often comes down to political expediency. This leaves a huge gray area governed by unspoken codes and occasional bribes. There is a regulation, but that regulation is not a formal regulation. It is an informal regulation. There are rules that are not written, that the people who live and work in these places existen reglas no escritas, que la gente que vive y trabaja en estos lugares conoce y respeta. Y si no lo respeta, le cuesta cargo, ¿no? can be severe consequences, including violence. As parts of Mexico City become more gentrified, there are signs that the tolerance alba refers

to may be wearing thin. A recently enacted policy requires street food vendors in certain neighborhoods to display standardized signs with a city seal. This did away with a long, rich tradition of colorful, hand-painted stalls. The city also recently passed rules concerning noise pollution. While primarily aimed at construction sites and industrial businesses, it also applies to vehicles, and trucks blasting Furo Viejo would very likely exceed the 68 decibel limit. None of the scrap metal crews I spoke with said they had received any tickets or fines,

but one guy did say that they were more likely to be hassled in certain areas. He said they sometimes have problems in wealthier neighborhoods, because people are bothered by the noise. And Fiero Viejo does have a way of injecting itself into one's daily life in Mexico City. This is something Mike Fortu was well aware of when he was studying music production about 10 years ago. He would often hear Fierro Viejo coming through the windows. It's so iconic, so loud. You can't even complain. I live here in an apartment, I hear it three times a day, and you can't be mad at it, you know, it's part of the city. One day, four two was struck by something in the recording, the rhythm. It has a lot of musical elements in it, and just the timber,

the timber of this little girl, I put this 128 BPM electronic music intro and stuff. And it absolutely matched like I didn't edit it much. And she just crashed the lines and lyrics. Soon, Fiero Viejo, the dance remix was born. For two, it may have been one of the first producers to sample Fiero Viejo, but he certainly was not the last. You can find tracks on Spotify and YouTube that riff on the Pregon in various ways. Probably the best produced song featuring Fiero Viejo dropped earlier this year. It's a collaboration between three producers and rappers who go by Oeix Coiotte, Fano

and Skiper. The video is excellent. The three rappers vamp it up like they're rolling in a tricked-out Lambo, but they're actually in an utterly ragged old pickup, piled high with old mattresses and junk. A way coyote told me it's sort of an homage. It's a celebration of doing what you have to do to make a living with a certain degree of style and ingenuity. In this sense, songs that sample fear of YeHo are about more than winking irony. They're about an identity. Here's Mike 4-2 again.

Yes, like if you play that, it's almost like an anthem, you know, you played it as you said in the World Cup and people are going to turn to find the wolf pack of the Mexicans, you know. We can be scattered around the world. And if you give us something to unite for and something to party, we're going to we're going to rug the night there. My interpreter, Jose Luis Viesca, a lifelong Mexico City resident artist and writer, had an interesting perspective on why fear of Viejo has resonated the way it has. It speaks, I think volumes, I think we're very proud of our creativity, how we always solve things like this, with three clips and one piece of

tringo, but at the same time I think it's something to be expected from Mexicans. You will have somebody that takes a loud speaker on their back back in order to make noise, in order to attract attention, in order to precisely do something maybe surreal. Surreal might be a good way to describe how it felt for Marie-Mar when Fiero Viejo first started to spread across the city. She was self-conscious about her voice, and even she found it a bit intrusive. You're listening to a radio call, are you listening to the sound of the sound or are you

listening to a romantic moment with the sound of the sound of the sound? You're taking a shower, you're in a meeting, you're talking on the phone, you're arguing with your husband or you're having a romantic moment with your husband and the recording place. So you hear the recording a lot all day long, a hell of a lot. Despite her initial misgivings, Marie-Mar has embraced the fame that comes with Fiero Viejo's popularity. She's performed Fiero Viejo live and she's set for interviews with prominent TV journalists. She's even active on social media, under the names Lavos Del Fiero Viejo and Niña Del

Viejo. Literally, girl of iron. And social media has helped Marie-Mar and Fiero Viejo gain an international fanbase. Versions of the Pregon have been posted in other languages on TikTok and Instagram, like this one in French. De tom buch, de frigo, de gazinier, de machinaleve, de micrôles. Mary Mar has also used her fame to call attention to more serious matters, like Mexico's high rates of violence against women and femicide.

Last year for International Women's Day, trucks rode through the streets of Mexico City, blaring what sounded like fear of Yeo, but with a very different set of messages. International Women's Day was one of the few times Mary Mar agreed to lend the tune and her magnificent pipes to alternate versions of Fierro Viejo. In this clip, the Pregonis played from speakers in the Zocalo, the massive historic plaza in the heart of Mexico City, the word say in part. We invite you to the struggle that demands respect, equality and justice for us and the new generations. Marco and Mary-Mar hosted me earlier this year in the front yard of their home,

a small house with a cement floor that they share with Mary-Mar's three kids Despite the famed fiaro viejo is brought them the family still hustles to make ends meet Marco for his part believes they haven't always gotten there do He considers fiaro viejo an artistic creation and he says he's registered it and retained a lawyer And the idea is well those who can pay if registered and retained a lawyer. The idea is that those who can pay should pay. Songs, comedies, movies, short films. If they want to use it, they should pay because they can afford it. But for the carreteros, the people who buy scrap metal,

it's very difficult, very difficult. Marco doesn't collect scrap metal as much as he used to, but he's still very much involved in the industry. Knowing how challenging the work can be, he started a union for collectors. Members get help repairing their trucks dealing with the authorities and unlimited access to the recording of Fiero Viejo. There is at least one constant in the lives of Marco and Mary-Mar since the days he was pushing a

cart and hollering out of a cardboard tube. They still perform as clowns. Only now, Fiero Viejo has become central to their act. To true this, it surprises me when we go to events and do that number. You have to tell me a sound from Mexico City. And the children start the one with the water, the one with the gas, the fiero viejo. And then they start, se compran colchones. And it's something really cool. It's something that I love to do.

Y es algo padrísimo, es algo que me encanta hacer. It's something that I love to do. And it's something that I love to do. Making a living collecting household castoffs for scrap isn't easy. By crafting what is basically an extremely effective advertisement, the Torontoes ease the toil not only for themselves, but for legions of collectors in Mexico. But it wasn't just what those scrap metal trucks were collecting. It's what they ended up offering, the unbridled, unbouded shout of a nine-year-old girl, that for some reason echoed across Mexico and then the world.

More on the sounds of Mexico City, after the break. So we are back with Ted Seifer, who has more to tell us about some of the street-winning calls you heard earlier. Hey, Ted, hey, so you may have noticed the recordings of some of those calls, specifically those in the public markets were really well done. I did notice that. I mean, many of them were just really clean and crisp. chico pesos. Like that one, you can even hear his intake of breath. It's that clean. I know.

So I can't take credit for that recording. More for some of the other ones that we heard of the market vendors. They were made by a French sound engineer and sound artist named Felix Bloom. He first came to Mexico City in 2009, and he was staying in the historic center of the city. So it's super quiet during the night.

It's really silent, probably one of the most historic center of the city. So it's super quiet during the night, it's really silent, probably one of the most silent places of the city. But during the day, you have hundreds and hundreds of people, street sellers screaming and announcing what they are selling and people going through. And it was amazing for me to be there and to listen to all those sounds. So Felix, sound artist that he is, wanted to record the vendors. So he got to know some of them and started recording their pergones one-on-one,

away from the noise of the public markets. And these recordings would become the basis for an exhibition that ran a few years ago called Coro Informal, which means informal chorus. It was held at a place called the Phonoteca, a sound library and cultural center in Mexico City. Basically, when visitors walked in, they'd see all these little wooden boxes and when people opened them, out came a pergone.

And then they could also see its musical score along with an illustration of the bender. I wanted to be beautiful in life. I wanted to be beautiful in life. I wanted to be beautiful in life. I wanted to be beautiful in life. I wanted to be beautiful in life. I wanted to be beautiful in life. I wanted to be a little girl, but I wanted to be a little girl, I wanted to be a little girl, I wanted to be a little girl, I wanted to be a little girl, I wanted to be a little girl, Wow, that is so amazing. What a great exhibit.

And also just like, so fiercely, it was so useful for our story to have all these clean, beautiful recordings that he made. Totally. But Felix was not content just to be a documentarian. He decided that he would try his hand at street bending as well. So he makes a CD called disco pirata, which means pirate CD.

Viva Mexico! Cielo son ellos. Viva, te quedo por reje! Más de tres horas de duración. That's Felix in the intro to the CD, saying it's three hours long with over 100 sounds of the city. Whoa, okay. It's pretty ambitious.

Basically, Felix styled the disc after the Pirate CDs that you can find being hocked in public markets and subway cars. They made offer, say, the top 100 Cumbia or regatone hits of the current day. As you can imagine, Felix's desk did not just feature jams like Furo Viejo, but deep cuts like the balloon vendor. And the knife sharpener. Felix then boarded subway cars and tried to sell the CD in the committed to the bit. I mean, it's pretty gutsy to, you know, sell your Pregonis CD with a French accent, you

know, like on a crowd in some way, Kar like, did he end up selling a bunch of these? Well, from a commercial perspective, it wasn't so successful. He said he only sold a few desks. So it wasn't so easy to scream. And then I met some people selling disk at this time and they said, well, you should do it like this, you should go on this line, the green line, the green line is better for you because it's like university and they would like this kind of stuff. And they even tried to sell it for me.

I gave, well, I can give you a few copies and try to sell it. So the other vendors were giving them pointers for how to shout and sell some things at the same time. That's really amazing. It sounds like Felix was really inspired by the sounds of Mexico City. I mean, did you get a sense from him like what he was really going for in his art when he was archiving these and presenting them?

Yeah, we chatted about that. One of his goals was definitely documentary, right? He wanted to record the vendor calls because they are such an easily overlooked and a femoral part of the city's identity. I think the act of recording in general, it's like building a memory of a place, it's building a memory from a moment or from people living these territories, or probably those sound will disappear, at some some points I will change, at least. So I personally experienced what Felix is talking about here,

how the sounds of the city change and evolve over time. For example, this is Felix's recording of a tamale vendor. Ita males, guajacuños, tamales, calientitos. And here's the progón by the same guy mind mind you that I heard when I was in the city. I mean, I personally like the current one. The lyrics, so to speak, are more complex. It's got a nice flow. These are the kind of things that you start to notice when you spend a lot of time, maybe too much time listening to Pragonus.

Anyway, it was important for Felix to try and capture and preserve these sounds, but he had another goal with his sound projects. And that has to do with the notion of public space. The public space is a space for all in the place to be able to be listened. And this all happens is a public space. And I think that's the important things of listening to this public space, to listen to what people want to say, to what people are saying, and maybe not enough people are listening to them. That's so true, and I'm so glad that more people are listening.

And I'm so happy with the story, and I get to hear these progones for myself. So I really appreciate it Ted. Thank you. Absolutely. It was my pleasure, Roman. It was a really fun story to work on. 99% of Lisbon was produced this week by Ted Sefer and edited by Jason De Leon, fact-checking by Sona Avakin, boys overworked by Johann Rache Vega and Laura Obate, This week by Ted Sefer and edited by Jason De Leon, fact checking by Sona Avakin, boys overworked by Johann Rache Vega and Laura Obate, original music by Swan Rihau, sound mix by

Martin Gonzalez. Delaney Hall was our senior editor, Kurt Colstead is our digital director. The rest of the team includes Vivian Lang, Chris Baroube, Emmett Fitzgerald, Christopher Johnson, Kelly Prime, Lashmadan, Jacob Moltenonna Medina, Joe Rosenberg, and me Roman Mars. The 99% visible logo was created by Stefan Lawrence. Special thanks this week to Jose Luis Vieska, Aaron Reese, Jorge Mendoza, Eric Cernaluna, Felix Bloom, and to Marco and Mary Mar, to Rome. We are a part of the Stitcher and Sirius XM podcast family,

now headquartered six blocks north in the Pandora building. And beautiful. Uptown. Oakland, California. You can find the show and join discussions about the show on Facebook. You can tweet at me at Roman Mars and the show at 99PI org. We're on Instagram, Reddit, and TikTok too. You can find links to others' Stitcher shows I love as well as every past episode of 99

PI at 99PI.org.