It's been more than 20 years since Isaías Guerrero and his family left Colombia. Like many others, the armed conflict and economic turmoil there prompted them to make their way to the United States.

Guerrero moved to Indiana on a tourist visa when he was young, and it eventually expired. So for many years, he was undocumented and unable to visit his home country. "The physical distance has made me long for a lot," says Guerrero, who's lived in Washington, D.C. for the last six years.

While Guerrero is now a recipient of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals – known as DACA – he says it's still not easy for him to leave the U.S. and return to Colombia because his travel needs to be authorized by the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. But, despite being thousands of miles away, Guerrero says that nothing makes him feel closer to home than playing music from Colombia for the District's late night crowds.

"Music has been like the bridge that has connected me with my land, with my country, with my cultures, with my roots," says Guerrero. "It's like a safe space where I can celebrate my tradition and share it with the world. A rhythm that crosses borders."

Guerrero is a percussionist for the band Cumbia Heights: a ten-person ensemble featuring the accordion, guitars, bongo, and trumpet (just to name a few of the instruments) to create cumbia, a highly-danceable fusion of African rhythms, Indigenous sounds, and European elements. The group is part of a growing movement that's bringing the genre – which is widely accepted as having originated in Colombia – to the U.S.

And yes, the band's name is a play on Columbia Heights, one of D.C.'s most diverse neighborhoods. That might also be a parallel for the members themselves, who hail from Colombia, Mexico, Chile, Peru, and even Texas and Louisiana. Because many countries in Latin America have their own take on cumbia, the group has blended the signature styles of their home countries while adding a tropical twist, and even a hint of rock and soul.

"Everybody has their own definition of what cumbia is," says Fernando Hernandez, who was born in Chile and is one of the group's co-founders and guitarists. "It's all about flavor. And as long as you can make people dance, I don't really care what you call it, you know?"

Formed nearly two years ago and in the midst of the pandemic, Cumbia Heights started out with free performances at Malcolm X Park before moving on to play at one of Hernandez's house parties. From there, he says they were asked to perform at the Embassy of the Earth, with many gigs following once live shows were back on the table.

"I feel like we hit a niche of like, the need for Latin music and live music in the city, because nobody was playing live after the pandemic. And we just had really good timing," says Hernandez.

That's a sentiment that Charles Lawrence of Leon City Sounds agrees with. He's been running cumbia DJ sets at clubs for nearly ten years with his wife, Claudia, who was born in Peru (which is famous for its psychedelic cumbia rock, called chicha). Lawrence says a Cumbia Heights performance gave him hope after seeing the scene take a hit in the wake of the pandemic.

"This is exactly what we need to recharge Washington, D.C.," says Lawrence, who grew up in the region. "With a band like Cumbia Heights showing other kids, 'Hey it's possible,' you know?"

Since then, the band has brought the world of cumbia to the heart of D.C., whether they're jamming out for fundraisers or within late-night institutions like Haydee's in Mount Pleasant. And they've become known for their unique ability to play their own stuff, turn out Latino classics like Jose Jose's "Una Mañana," and even remix George Michael's "Careless Whisper" to fit their neo-cumbia sound.

"Somebody called cumbia once, like an amoeba. It can grab other genres and turn it into part of its own," says Tomas Monnarez, a co-founder and keyboard player who was born in Mexico City.

Along with Guerrero, Hernandez, and Monarrez, the core group consists of Oliver Contreras on the bongo, Xavier Bure on the timbales, Henry Widener on the bass guitar, Zaira González on the accordion, Esteban Tovar on the saxophone, Demetrio Baptiste on the trumpet, and Celestino Barrera on the tambora.

In true Washington fashion, many of the members work at a think tank, non-profit, or places like the Library of Congress or the White House. Monnarez, who was formerly undocumented and now works as an economist for the Department of Education, says it's no surprise they've been using music to shake off the work day.

"It's like all of that DC stuff that you'd expect," says Monnarez. "You do the 9-to-5 and then at night you got to find the scene. And if there's no scene, then you make the scene, man."

While many of the players are lifelong musicians, it's been a learning process to create the band's unique sound. Bass guitarist Henry Widener says he's played since he was 12 and is inspired by some of the Latino influence from his hometown of Austin, Texas. But he's had to learn a different kind of phrasing for Cumbia Heights.

"I kind of grew up playing a lot of jazz and blues and stuff like that so my tendencies are a little different," says Widener, who works for the Library of Congress. "But I think I'm trying to now put a little bit of myself into it too."

González, who works for the Federal Communications Commission, says she actually took up playing the accordion as a project during the early days of the pandemic. While she does have a background in son jarocho – a style of regional music from Mexico – she also says there's been plenty of learning.

"I was not as familiar, for instance, with Colombian cumbia, which is kind of crazy since cumbia is from Colombia," says González, who was born in Los Angeles, but grew up in Mexico. "Music is intrinsically, in a big in a big sense, political. I think that's something nice that I also have gotten to learn about."

In addition to putting on fun events like last year's Fall Cumbia Ball or Halloween-themed shows, the group does have an affinity for the political. According to Barrera, it's more than just music when you consider the origins of cumbia itself – which is over three centuries old and was born out of resistance from enslaved people in the Spanish colonies.

"So it's not only a drum for music, but also a tool for communication to keep in contact with my ancestors," says Barrera, who was born in Cartagena, Colombia.

One of their original songs, called "Poder del Pueblo," was dedicated to their namesake neighborhood in a campaign for social justice and immigration reform. Guerrero, who wrote the song, says it's important to understand the history of cumbia when remolding it here in the U.S.

"It is from the African and Indigenous who came together to sing their freedom. So, understanding that essence of cumbia and adapting it here as immigrants, as beings of resistance, for me is a big responsibility. That also brings a lot of joy with the space we create for people to dance and enjoy," says Guerrero.

Originally from the state of Louisiana, trumpet player Demetrio Baptiste says he first met Monnarez and others at the local bar, Madam's Organ. He says they have grown into what he calls family because music is itself a "world-renowned language."

"We have a love for music and that's the beautiful thing that brings us together," says Baptiste. "It doesn't matter what language you speak, as long as you have that music to bring you together and that heartbeat – you'll always make it, baby."

Oliver Contreras, who was born in Chile, says the band has been a space for him to connect not just with his bandmates but anyone who comes out for a show. He says it's an amazing feeling to put on a performance and feel the crowd reciprocate the energy.

"We're always super thankful for that," says Contreras, a photojournalist for the White House. "We feel like part of D.C. – like we're making something new."

And Cumbia Heights has been creating its own community. Over the past six months, the band has grown from small outings at local haunts to full blown performances at the National Arboretum and even the grounds at RFK stadium. They're also working on an EP (which is scheduled to debut in October) and have officially released their first single called "Tumbado."

Cumbia Heights is not only starting to have commercial success, but has been able to create a sense of belonging for its members and the Latino communities who love to hear them.

Stephanie Lanham, a first-generation Peruvian American, says her lifelong love of music was inspired by her mother, who was a back-up dancer on Peruvian television in her youth. Her mother died earlier this year and Lanham says the band's music is a reminder of her and their heritage – and has been there for her when she needed it most.

"I feel mi mama's spirit within me when I'm dancing," says Lanham, who was raised in the D.C. region. "Cumbia Heights, for me personally, has been there through life's ups and downs."

This story was originally published on DCist.com

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