Crimson Sinclairformer member of the eighties band Papaya Pop, was outside Peru when Jaime Bayly’s novel, “Don’t tell anyone” (1994), which details her relationship with the writer, was published. The “Terrible Uncle” mentioned the musician again in the video “Los hombres de mi vida”, published on July 6 on YouTube. In conversation with La República, the Peruvian rocker —whose music is available on Spotify— gives her side of the story, detailing how she met him and what impact he had on her life.
—How was your time at Papaya Pop?
—Papaya Pop is a group founded by my friend Pepe Barreto, I got involved and it was the stage in my musical career that had the most exposure to the public. I remember that we played at the Tarot Pub, a place frequented by musicians from the professional circuit, like Micky González.
—Why do you say you had more exposure?
—It was because of an article published by Sí magazine, on a subject that had little to do with music. The journalist put me on double page. And it was a scandal in the family. My mom woke me up with a swipe.
What was that article about?
—It was because of my stance on marijuana. I have always been a very open person. And at that time, in Peru it was not very well regarded (talking about drugs). Curiously, it opened many doors for me within the musical circuit.
—How did you meet Jaime Bayly?
—Precisely in the Tarot Pub. A girlfriend of mine told me: ‘Hey, there’s a guy who’s looking at you. He wants to meet you. He is Jaime Bayly’.
“Have you heard of him before?”
—I am very little of television and much less of national programs, much less of that cut. However, he introduced me to him, we hit it off very well from the beginning.
What was your first impression when you met him?
—He was a very nice person, well read, a boy from his house, well educated. We became very close friends, quite intimate.
What anecdotes do you have about him?
—Once before entering a concert of mine, he told me: ‘I want to be a writer, you who write such commercial, attractive, horny lyrics, what do you recommend?’ I tell him: ‘Well, if you don’t want to try too hard, the simplest thing is to talk about homosexuality, drugs, things that nobody dares to talk about, which are always controversial topics.’ And years later we already know what happened.
—How was your relationship with Jaime Bayly?
—For a long time, he went to practically all the concerts. He treated me very well, he conceited me, he took me for a walk (in his car), he invited me to chelas (beers). We would then go to the after party. At six in the morning he invited me to have a juice in a juice shop called Silvestre, on av. Benavides. I love fruit juices. It was kind of routine. It was a simple friendship between two people with a certain level of mutual admiration, respect. I considered him a friend.
“And what else happened?”
The relationship has always been like that. From the first day I saw Jaime Bayly until the last day it was always a friendly and respectful relationship. Then I went to Switzerland in ’91.
—How did you find out that he wrote about you in “Don’t tell anyone”?
—Someone tells me that this book had come out and gives me a review.
“Have you never read the novel?”
“I tried to leaf through it once. It’s not the kind of literature that appeals to me. And I left it. One thing that few know is that in the first edition of “Don’t tell anyone”, in the chapter that concerns me, it bears my name as a title: Crimson Sinclair. He was very direct.
—What was your reaction?
—At best, it caused me a certain laugh. And somehow I was flattered, because no matter what I said, someone is writing about you, you made such an impression on him and he considered it necessary to relate his intimacies with you publicly.
—When you returned to Peru, did you try to resume your musical career?
—Yes, I joined a band that already existed, La Crisis, my friend Michelle had formed it. They played some of my songs. We started to have gigs, I was in charge of calling some media to tell them ‘we’re going to play here, there’. And in one of those They say to me: ‘Who are you?’, ‘I’m Crimson Sinclair,’ I replied. ‘You exist? Is that your real name?’, they asked me. ‘What’s up?’ I say. ‘Are you Bayly’s Crimson Sinclair?’, they insist.
It had already been 10 years. She surprised me and I was amused. She told me: ‘Yes, of course. We make you the note. And the next day, at 9 in the morning, they ring the bell and there were 20 reporters outside with cameras and tripods. And all because of the fury of the book.
– What happened after?
The group practically dissolved on the spot. In my opinion, other groups, in other cultural contexts, would have said: ‘Goal, we’re on all the covers, even for whatever topic it was.’ But some said: ‘I don’t want anything to do with homosexuality, nothing about Jaime Bayly.’ Everyone had an excuse and the group disappeared.
“How did you feel about it?”
—I was disappointed in the attitude of the band, people I considered my friends, young rockers who shouldn’t be afraid if any member slept with someone or not.
“Did they discriminate against you?”
—I wouldn’t call it discrimination, it would be easy to call it that. But it is the simple cucufato fear that is easy to understand when you are raised in Catholic, Apostolic, Christian Lima; where the public pays attention to irrelevant things, not to the music. I can’t blame them.
—Did you try to contact Jaime Bayly?
Yes, many years later. His producer answered me and said: ‘You don’t know Bayly, don’t want to get in his car’. That was in very bad taste. I tried several times to contact him, one way or another. And at that moment, indiscretion, tactlessness aside, I remember Jaime Bayly with great affection, but I can no longer speak of a friendship, because what he did is a stab in the back.
—How long did your friendship with Jaime Bayly last?
— It must have been between six months and a year. He was one of Papaya Pop’s fans, he went to all the concerts and stayed until the last moment, for a ticket. It was a friendly relationship pulling professional.
— Did you get to work with him on his show?
—At some point my friend Michelle and I proposed (or I proposed) to musicalize part of his program. We started to compose with my friend (…). But it never happened because it coincided with my trip to Switzerland. There it was.
“Were you expecting royalties for appearing in the book?”
-No, at all.
—Did you think about denouncing Jaime Bayly?
—My lawyer friends from the beginning told me ‘why don’t you sue Bayly?’ Report? Because? Why does he want to write about me? That is adding fuel to the fire. But there are moments of bad humor and I say: ‘What a bad cruelty, bad attitude, she should be reproached and punished.’ It’s what anyone would do, but I’m not just anyone.
— When you started did you want to be a rock star or just make music?
— I started playing guitar for fun. When I lived in Mexico, some friends would take me ‘bundle’ to their rehearsals, to help in the choirs. They taught me. In Peru, it can be said that I played the guitar, but it never crossed my mind to go on stage or pursue a musical career.
– Then what happened?
I was invited to a concert by Los Reyes Rojos, and it was a combination of ‘stick face’, shamelessness, rebellion, energy, that’s what I saw on stage. It didn’t sound like music, it was noise, but this caused a fantastic reaction in the audience. Something that I did not expect could be generated without having a major or talent or profession. Then I thought: ‘Well, if they applaud you at this level, then I can play the guitar and compose songs and I can also shout’. And so it all began.
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