I am surrounded by music on all sides.

My mother was a classically trained pianist in her youth. She was also a singer — a soprano — and recalled to me her fledgling dreams of lighting up the stage. Naturally, this led to the occasional song echoing through the hallways of our home. The occasional “Habanera” from “Carmen” and “Brindisi” from “La traviata” began my love for opera early on. Andrea Bocelli was a favorite during Christmas, with the Spanish version of his festive album going platinum in my home.

Funnily enough, my father, too, was a singer. In their younger days, my parents sang together. All the great tenor arias I know not because I am cultured and of a refined taste, but because my father took every opportunity to belt even the simplest “Happy Birthday.” I didn’t complain, however, whenever he graced us with his genuinely beautiful rendition of “Nessun dorma” from “Turandot.”

The great duality of my father lies in how different the rest of his musical tastes are. After all, I am sure that if I were my age in the ’80s, I would also rave about my love for Boston’s “More Than a Feeling.” 

But a particular song that always stuck out to me from my parents’ rotation is one whose melody I knew better than the back of my own hand, but simply could not recall the title or lyrics. Suffice to say that once I found the name a few years ago — “Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac — the memories all came rushing back.

But my musical education wasn’t close to ending there. For some reason, my third-generation iPod Nano only had Linkin Park and Green Day downloaded. There’s no video recording, but I can only imagine how funny it would have been to see the full-blown angst of a five-year-old pretending to know the English words to “Numb” and “21 Guns.”

I suspect my older brother was the culprit for putting me onto these two bands. Later on, when he was around 14, I remember how the trap he would blast all over the house slowly but surely went from annoying to amazing as I started to recognize the songs. I can still hear “About the Money” by T.I. and Young Thug ringing in my skull, for better or for worse.

This introduction to rap and hip hop led me down my own path. I am always very appreciative to have discovered one of my favorites — Tyler, The Creator — relatively late in his career. I don’t know that I would want that same angsty five-year-old listening to “Goblin.” 

If anything, I am glad to have found “Flower Boy” when I did, and to have been there for the release of “IGOR.” It’s always good to hear music, and an artist’s sentiment and experience that one can relate to, and those two albums certainly made me feel seen.

The pattern of my brother showing me the music I’d learn to love never really stopped. When he started making his own music and fully sinking into his love for the guitar, he slowly started favoring Jimi Hendrix over Future. 

My newfound adoration for “Live At The Fillmore East” then became a discovery of collaborator Buddy Miles and funk. My acceptance of older rock led me to glam-ier roads as well, finding some of my favorite songs ever in Blue Öyster Cult’s repertoire. 

Having befriended the guitar in all its forms, and constantly consuming media across the pond, I found myself also coming into contact with Sam Fender, Inhaler, and Catfish and the Bottlemen. The indie plague in the Daily Trojan also made me a fiend for Radiohead, Slowdive and Jeff Buckley. There are a lot of yearners in journalism, apparently.

I would be remiss to ignore the music that lies deeper in my blood. Beyond just what my family showed me, I miss the sounds of Latin America. I took for granted how often I would hear Héctor Lavoe and Willie Colón outside my own headphones. Elvis Crespo and Juan Luis Guerra were my first exposures to merengue and bachata. Trios like Los Panchos make me feel like I’ve been alive for 100 years.

To modernize myself a tad, the going out of it all makes it impossible not to love reggaetón and dancehall. Feid was my most listened-to artist last year. Like many others, Bad Bunny’s latest album was a particular highlight for me. And it’s never a bad time when I hear Vybz Kartel or even Toledo, a mainstay in Costa Rican music.

And while all those artists are amazing, there’s a specific musical community in Costa Rica that I miss most. I am happy to have been influenced by my brother because he is very knowledgeable about music but also an inspired musician in his own right.

I have had the pleasure of seeing some of our best bands live thanks to his influence. Lentamente, Marea Tranquila and Roca Bruja are all mosh-worthy. Adiós Cometa’s “Nuestras Manos Son Incendios” was my favorite album of last year. But my favorite group is undeniably biased.

ALTURAS kicked off with the catchy, sweet and high-octane “Todo Se Olvida” in early 2024. The more brazen and slow-cooked “Destellos” showed versatility, and the aptly named “Profundidad” has been one of their biggest hits to date thanks to its sonic and vocal depth.

“Llueve En San José” is refreshing, cool and mellow, just like the rain that patters in its intro and the crisp acoustics that echo throughout. Their latest release, “Bobinsana,” is my most-played track this week. I don’t get sick of the grounded riffs and high-flying chorus. 

It just so happens that ALTURAS is my brother’s project. I’ve gone from hearing the demos of his songs from the room next door all the way to hearing his songs on my phone and seeing videos of his packed shows, thousands of miles away.

I’m one of those insufferable people who say they listen to everything. I think I won’t be feeling nearly as bad saying that from now on, realizing where my tastes come from. All this music courses through my veins, figuratively as much as literally. All these songs and artists are like a home away from home, reminders of my love for my family, culture and art.

“Jam Journal” is a rotating column featuring a new Daily Trojan editor in each installment commenting on the music most important to them. Fabián Gutiérrez is a magazine editor at the Daily Trojan.