Welcome, to this befuddled universe, Janel.
How do you take your coffee?
I love coffee. It's the one vice I defend with a guiltless, moody, aggression. I've been accused of being obsessed with the stimulant, and I always answer with, ``Just be grateful this is my only vice.''
But is coffee really a vice? It can give you head aches, and, as I mentioned, make you moody when not taken, but I don't know if it ruins lives like other infamous substances do. So I guess it's all relative.
To answer your question, I take my coffee with a bit of milk to calm the edge off of some strong coffees. I believe anything else ruins it. Now I do admit I'm guilty of grabbing the occasional four dollar, yuppie, mocha extravaganza, but coffee black, or with a touch of milk is always welcomed by me.
Let's get right to the questions.
I understand you're winding up work on your video. Can you tell us about that experience?
Well, the experience all happened within two days, very quick and emotional.
We filmed under this mammoth sized oak tree on my reservation, which is just beloved by the Tribe. So it was a real honor to be there, as well as such a full circle moment for me, because I played under that same tree as a little girl.
This video shoot had a certain magic to it… the weather was really strange that day, with this wild unnatural wind. I wondered if the gods were mad at us, or if they were just adding their own little wind machine for dramatic effect.
We also filmed at the ``Batman Cave'' in Los Angeles; I felt like a movie star with the Hollywood sign a couple hills from us. I'll admit I indulged in a childhood dream of being a glamorous actor, even though I was climbing through good old California desert brush most of the time.
Why is your band called The Removal Act?
I chose The Removal Act from reading through history books.
I knew I needed the new music I was creating to stand under a title that felt encompassing. The themes I was dealing with felt much bigger than me.
The Removal Act jumped off the page. It's the Act passed by Congress to remove the Indians from the east coast westward. For me The Removal Act became the idea of removing a word's power, or anything's power, by creating a new purpose under it. The name, The Removal Act, is no longer only a dark part of history to me, that's power.
I understand there was an error in the CD insert regarding the naming of your Tribe. Please, take this opportunity to explain and provide a correction.
Yeah, the CD insert should have stated,
``The Pechanga Band of Luiseño Indians''.
How do you correctly pronounce ``Pechanga'' and ``Luiseño''?
You pronounce ``Pechanga'' like ``Peh-chon-ga'' and ``Luiseño'' is spoken ``Loose-en-yo''.
``Indian'' reservations are like foreign countries to most non-native peoples, so I would like to spend more time than usual talking about your childhood and teenage years. But before I get into that, I feel like I need some background.
Would you give us a brief history of the Luiseño people and the Pechanga tribe?
I can understand the comparison of Indian Reservations to foreign countries, because we kind of are.
We're sovereign nations, living like little islands across the U.S. The government set it up that way deliberately. I grew up in Temecula, California at the edge of an upper-middle class town on my Reservation, two very opposite worlds living side by side.
For thousands of years our people had beach-front property. The sea was a natural resource of ours as hunters and gatherers; we had our run of the entire southern-most part of the Golden State. We lived in Wigwam type homes; dome shaped and made of wood and brush, not in Teepee's as stereotyped.
Our ancestors were nearly wiped out by the first contact with the Spanish Missionaries. Later the Spanish missionaries would found a mission (San Luis Rey) and with it brought our people, the Luiseño, into slavery.
Once California was a state, the court granted a decree petitioned by a group of ranchers to have us evicted from our land. After our resistance proved unsuccessful, we decided to leave our established lives for the welfare of our tribe. We were ``dropped off'' with our possessions at hills south of the Temecula River. Within the canyon a spring provided the tribe with water. This spring is where our name Pechanga comes from, which translates to ``at the place where water drips''. Our Reservation was established in the late 1800's. This gave us our land-base and our Pechanga Tribal sovereignty.
The Reservations lands were allotted to the heads of each household. I grew up on my grandfather's piece, until I was 19 years old. Now 26, I'm making my way back home.
Your family name seems Spanish in origin; therefore, I'm curious if it dates back to the time when California was part of Mexico.
I'm also curious if most members of the Pechanga band of the Luiseño people have ``Mexican'' (i.e., Spanish) names? If so, is that an influence of the Spanish missions?
Oh yeah, a lot of Luiseño people have Spanish last names. The Luiseño being the closest North American Indian Tribe to Mexico, there's understandably been mixing going on for centuries in Southern California.
You know, I don't know how much the Spanish missions have influenced the names we currently have. What I do know of my last name, Munoa, is that it comes from one of two Basque brothers who emigrated to California from Bilbao, Spain. My cousin and I were the first North American Munoa's to step foot in Bilbao since the brothers left.
Could you tell us about your early childhood?
You know, parents, siblings, home life, friends, play activities, early schooling, and such stuff?
I grew up surrounded by aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents, on my grandfathers' piece of Reservation land we all called ``The Ranch'' (even though there were only a bunch of dogs and a goat at one point).
This oak filled patch stood as the Mecca for our entire family to come together. My parents little mobile home sat at the center of it all.
My backyard was every kids dream, more than enough land to explore and more than enough oak trees to build a hundred forts in. Our cove of the Reservation was always lively, the men working on cars, the women watering their gardens and kids on bike's zooming back and forth down dirt roads.
My household was fairly non-musical. Not because my parents didn't enjoy music, but because they were more casual listeners, ``whatever's on the radio'' kind of people. So much of my musical discovery was done on my own.
The first definitive introduction to music I experienced was with my mini radio. I remember the rush of independence I felt from turning the radio's dial, listening to whatever I wanted; I was about 8 years old then.
From there grew my love of a good pop song. My love of pop would later clash and eventually meld with my love of more obscure, underground punk rock and hard rock bands.
Can you describe your teenage years?
You know, your friendships, changing relationship with family, schooling, interaction with non-natives, beginning development as a musician, development of outlook on life, and such stuff as that?
My teenage years start with a memory of me sneaking into my older brothers room and stealing one of his mixed tapes. It was the early 90’s and Grunge Rock was just exploding. I was in agreement with the generation I grew in by rejecting Glam Rock, a scene that seemed more fixated on image than making good music.
What I found on my brothers tape was another kind of music I had been searching for, a sound that reflected pure uncensored passion, Punk Rock. I had fallen in love, but like most first loves there was a good dose of dysfunction involved. I became obsessed with a tunnel vision that knew no other music but Punk Rock. I drove for hours every weekend to L.A., San Diego and everywhere in between throughout high school just to see bands and go to shows.
The rest of my teenage years grow fuzzy for me after the death of my mom, I had just turned 17 years old (she died of cancer and it’s still somewhat difficult to talk about). Through high school I did the whole garage band thing, and sang in choir my entire senior year, but none of those roles fit me well. Soon after graduating I stopped singing. I had nothing to sing about, when most of my life it had been difficult to shut me up. The loss of my mom along with feeling the pressure to grow up and be practical wore me down. I was in survival mode at that point and music became an old friend I kept meaning to call.
People say music comforted them in times of need. Nothing could touch me in those years, not music, not religion; I lost both of those by 19.
You mentioned that you left home at the age of 19. How and why did you arrive at the decision to leave? And how and why did you end up in Salt Lake City?
Like most my age, I didn’t know what I wanted to do at 19,… but loved all mediums of art, so I decided, ``What the hell, I’ll go to London to study drama and Shakespeare for the summer.''
I was trying things on. I absolutely loved my time there. Seeing the world changes you, but becoming a theater historian, or an expert on Shakespeare, wasn’t my calling…
I wound up in Utah, going to college there under that same youthful indecision, to try it on. I hated it there. Within 6 months I was ready to leave.
I had never experienced a place so lax about the separation of church and state. I was disgusted by it, but as I started to build a life there, I began to see how it became one of my best moves. That environment forced me to think, when a more comfortable place would never have presented the challenge. My identity formed at warp speed there. It was a good chapter in my life.
Tell us about your life and career as a student?
I really liked college, but I never found a degree written on the list of majors my college councilor gave me that could up-stage the title Artist slash Singer-Songwriter.
Right at the point you left college, did you have any immediate prospects? ...any long range goals?
No prospects, I really had no idea what I was doing. I just held on to the possibility that I could create something relevant.
When, and why, did you decide you wanted a career in music?
The exchange of thoughts between groups of good storytellers is my idea of a good time. Coming from a long line of storytellers, telling stories was a thing I picked up on at a very young age. Every get-together in my family was a chance to laugh or captivate each other with some ironic tale.
The word on my singing is: always sang always loved it. Singing is where I fall right into my skin. In 2002 the question of pursuing the art became almost a dare. Like, if you don’t try what keeps nagging you, you’ll grow to hate yourself for it.
I didn’t want to be the middle-aged woman talking the ears off strangers about what could have been.
How did you get from that decision to the point where you had this CD full of all this wonderful music?
In 2002, I was simply a girl who used to sing and write. Luckily my ambition and naivety outweighed my inexperience.
After some time in this creative world, my liaison to the business side, manager Alex Vazquez, and I met Eric Campbell, a Hip-Hop producer out of Washington, DC. Eric and I started writing music that blended Hard Rock and Hip-Hop. We flew back and forth from DC to Salt Lake, sleeping on each other’s couches and working from each other’s basement home studios. After a full set of music was created, I formed a band under my name, and we played the humble Salt Lake music circuit.
Last year we crossed paths with Executive Producer Steve Thomson who brought in multi-platinum engineer/producer Frank Gryner. Within three days of meeting we drove down to California to start writing for The Removal Act’s debut. We spent nearly 10 months writing and recording the album. This January we met with artist management in New York and were offered a contract.
We then attended Midem Music Conference in France, and met with labels from around the world. And here we are today, with a full album under our belt, our eye’s set on touring the country with The Removal Act’s first music video nearly cut and printed.
What are your plans after your video is finished?
For now the focus is to get out into the world and play music.
We’re looking at doing a west coast tour first. We’re really into ideas about what the future of the project will be. I don’t want to give too much away, but I see T.R.A. adding some great visual elements live.
As the year evolves it will be fun to watch The Act unfold.
I understand the lyrics to ``Reparation'' are written in your native tongue.
Will you translate it into English for us?
Yeah, the translation is: Noyó', puyáamangay héelax mómyuk. My Mother, always sing to the ocean. Nokáamayum, puyáamangay héelaxam pálvunik. My Children, always sing to the valley. When I say this, I'm speaking to my past and to my future. It's a prayer. Mother is the past. Ocean is the grand possibilities. Children are the future. Valley is where I come from.
This is the last time I am going to rate someone's art. That's right! After this interview, my rating system is being retired.
Because I won't be rating CDs anymore, I decided I should do something historic. And it makes sense, in this case, because The Removal Act album by Janel Munoa's band The Removal Act is truly historical at so many levels. Therefore, I decided to give the album my never before awarded rating of ``Historic''.
Click n Play to hear The Removal Act perform:
``Reparation'', ``Exhuming Andrew'', and ``Rewired''.
