Two years ago, on July 30, 2022, singer, songwriter, producer, and guitarist Fabi Reyna received the devastating news that her musical partner and best friend, Nectali "Sumohair" Diaz had tragically passed away in an electric scooter accident in Los Angeles. The 42-year-old DJ, producer, and activist from Guerrero, Mexico, was a talented artist who used the power of music to heal, challenge, and transmit love.
Fabi was born in Cancun, Mexico, where she was raised for six years before living in Texas. When she met Sumo at a workshop for emerging musicians, she was building She Shreds, the world’s first magazine dedicated to women and nonbinary guitarists, which she still runs today. They had an instant connection, and they formed the band Reyna Tropical in 2016, making what he described as "music with a purpose," with lyrical themes “Mestizaje” and “Queer Love and Afro Mexico.”
They released their self-titled EP in January 2018 and featured Ableton-made beats produced by Diaz—using Afro-Indigenous drum patterns and environmental samples. Along with Fabi's ethereal voice and guitar riffs, they created a unique sound and began regularly selling out shows, supported Bomba Estéreo on a US tour, played in major festivals, and traveled together to places like Colombia.
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The duo worked without managers, booking their shows and choosing their next movie following their intuition. But Sumo always put Reyna first. If an opportunity arose, and when discussing their future with friends, he would always reply, “Whatever Fabi wants.” When Sumo died, Fabi had to ask herself that same question.
She decided to move forward with Reyna Tropical, following her heart and ancestral guidance with the help of her newest spirit guide, Sumohair. Fabi continued with their scheduled shows but soon experienced a physical manifestation of grief and pain, sharing photos on social media of rashes covering her entire body, including her face, as she struggled to find out what was causing it.
She stepped back from performing and began her journey to get physically and emotionally well. Behind the scenes, she worked on her long-awaited debut album, Malegría, released in March and dedicated to Sumohair. Inspired by a 1998 Manu Chao song by the same name, blends the Spanish “mal” which means “bad" and “alegría” which means “happiness.” She graced the cover with a parrot on her back as a symbolic representation of him. The beautiful body of work includes audio recordings of Sumo, some of his beats, and new tracks in collaboration with producers like Busy Twist.
Two years later, on the anniversary of his death, Fabi can say she performed on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert’s #LateShowMeMusic, is deep into her North American tour, which has been nearly sold out, and will soon perform in Europe. She enlists the help of different musicians and DJs for her shows and is one of the most captivating performers you could ever watch. Fabi's voice is a gift, and you would never believe that it took some convincing for her to start singing when she first met Sumohair.
It has not been an easy road for Fabi to get here, but she finds herself in a new phase of life as, "the new Fabi." HOLA! USA had the opportunity to talk to Fabi virtually earlier this month about her journey and the past, present, and future of Reyna Tropical as she navigates her personal and professional career without the physical presence of her best friend.
I’m ready to be the Mexican queer femme Bad Bunny.
Fabi Reyna
You were just on tour with Portugal the Man, you performed on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert’s #LateShowMeMusic Series, you've released your debut album, and you're about to start your headlining tour - how are you feeling?
I oscillate between feeling really free and just abundant and creatively abundant, and feeling like the future is so unknown in this really beautiful way where I feel like the doors musically have opened for me in a way that I could go as far as I wanna go. And that feels really big and expansive and freeing, and then oscillating between that and then at the same time, this deep feeling of loneliness because in some ways, sometimes I catch myself feeling like I'm kind of doing this alone, you know, and so I'm really living 'Malegria' in so many ways. And that's kind of how I've always been, but the duality of like I'm entering this life-changing moment, and I am also like, 'who do I really get to share this with?' Who gets to see every moment of this turn, and just feeling like, 'Oh, I used to share this with my best friend and bandmate, and we could sit down at the end of it and like debrief,' and now I find myself kind of sitting by myself on a plane after all these shows like, 'wow, this is so different.' So I feel like that - I feel really big and also really small at the same time.
You went through so much, obviously, with Sumo's passing, we saw how it took a toll on your health with those weird rashes. Tell me a little bit about how you were physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually able to come out from that grieving period that was taking a toll on your entire being.
I feel like I'm really gonna contextualize this with Sumo because you knew him, and I'm excited to contextualize it with Sumo, with someone who knew him. And so I wanna just say that; because I'm also at the same time trying to move away from Sumo in my own life. But at the same time, it also really excites me to talk about him. So when Sumo was alive, he would always make fun of me because I never cried and I was just like a steel wall. He would always be like, 'You're made of steel. You don't feel anything.' And I was like, 'Yeah, I don't.' So after he passed away, I got really sick and I was forced to cancel all these shows and I was forced for the first time to really do bodywork and go deep inside. I had to do a regimented twice-a-week bodywork massage, acupuncture, take vitamins, go to different specialists, and just be really conscious of my body. At the same time, I was crying a lot, which I wasn't used to doing, and in this interesting way, I feel like if Sumo hadn't passed away, it would have taken me so many more years to get to really pay attention to my body and being in a relationship with my body, maybe potentially in a way that would have been too late. Because yeah, I've historically just really abused my body. So now my relationship with my body is like as soon as I haven't drunk enough water, I feel it. As soon as I'm overstressed or I've hit my capacity, I start getting a rash again and I know exactly what to do to bring myself back to health. So that whole situation has been really wild. And yeah, and it's new, it's like I thought that I really understood myself and was like, 'oh, yeah, I know who I am.' But once the body stuff started to come through, I'm back at zero, you know, like I need to relearn myself.
I assume that you also started learning things about yourself and your mental health that weren't related to Sumo during this period.
Yeah. I mean, so much. I really feel like I'm a whole different person. I didn't want to let go of who I was pre-Sumo passing. Like I really liked her. I was really excited to keep her around. But the new me is just way more self-aware. And I'm still getting to know her and she's still being built, you know, but I'm excited to allow her to flourish, and it seems like guided by so many.
I feel like when we watch you on stage, you are like Beyonce, like transforming into this otherworldly presence. It feels like your ancestors are helping. You and Sumo were so close in this life that I can imagine he's still around you even though he's not with us.
Yeah. I mean, I think I've said this before, and maybe not, but in the last two years of Sumo and I collaborating, a lot of our collaboration, especially on stage, was about being in communication and relationship with our ancestors and we really set the container for that. I felt really comfortable in that, and he was learning about what that meant for him. But, in this interesting way, we were really preparing for ancestor communication, and then he became an ancestor. In so many ways, I just feel like I feel him so much on stage and just in my journeys, which is another thing that oscillates between feeling alone and feeling like I'm really protected. So yeah, the stage for me is like my chance to be with him and to be with the ancestors that gathered when we were around. And interestingly enough, there's not necessarily this feeling of painfully missing him. Like I really don't feel this heartache of 'where is he?' Because I really do feel like he's constantly around, you know, and sometimes I'll just start laughing because I hear his jokes, and it's like a little bit psychotic, but I don't mind.
How was that process going from becoming a duo to making your own music? You still have Nectali's beats and are collaborating with other producers, but were you feeling any type of pressure or insecurities about doing it alone?
Well, I think one of the biggest things that happened to me when he passed away was that I just, in general, became super, super insecure. I don't know why, I have never been like that. It's actually the first time in my life that I've ever felt this level of insecurity. And one of the things that I had to sort of remember was Sumo is a beat maker, and I've been a producer for a long time and a writer and an instrumentalist, and actually I was arranging a lot of these songs too as a writer. So for some reason, I wanted to give him all of this weight, like I wanted to give him everything that was actually me, and I was forgetting that so much of it was also me. And I don't know, I just became really kind of obsessed with his legacy and how I was gonna remember him and how people were gonna remember him, and I started to forget about myself. So I think a lot of those insecurities came through because I kind of lost track of who I was. And once I came back, maybe like the bodywork really helped and I started therapy for the first time and the whole full healing process, I started to really remember like, 'oh yeah, I'm a writer.' I've been arranging these songs for a long time. I've been doing all the instruments. Let me fully, fully go in on that. And that's when Malegria came through, because I just remembered, I've been doing this, I can do this and I have Sumo's beats and I have Sumo's communication and what else do I need? So I guess to answer your question, the hardest part about the process was just remembering who I was and what I'm capable of and breaking through all that insecurity. Once I could break through all of that, it was actually easy.
Now that Malegria is out, do you feel like this weight has been lifted off of you? Like you've honored his legacy. You mentioned earlier that you want to start stepping away from Sumo. What does that look like for you?
Well, there have been things that have been happening that are kind of out of my control. Like in a way, I'm being forced to kind of forget about him, and the way that that has come through has been sad but also really necessary because I do have to move on, you know. So some of the moving past him is out of my control and also really necessary for my own health. I feel like releasing this album was just something beyond my control, like I had to do it. I guess maybe to tell our story before everyone else tried to or before I wasn't allowed to tell my side of his story, and it was this perfect timing thing. And yeah, I actually just feel like, thank goodness I was able to do that because had I not had the chance to tell my version of who he was, I would have lived with deep regret, and then the deep loss would have come through. But because I was able to share a little bit of the world that we lived in, the conversations that we had, and just my own growth while he was in my life, I feel extreme relief, and I feel extreme joy, and I'm proud, and I feel like I've built myself this little space that I can go back into to remember the memories of who we were. I feel like I got to experience Sumo in this really unique way that no one else did, and I think that in a way that was a version of him that he really wanted to live. But because of the machista and all the different things that brown men had to be, he was afraid to really present himself in these ways. So, you know, that's just my version of him, and I feel just grateful to share a little bit about him through my eyes.
Two years later, you've talked a lot about how you've changed. You've mentioned an old Fabi and a new Fabi. This is such a cheesy question, but who is the new Fabi?
Oh boy. Well, I'll start by saying that the old Fabi was such a bad b***h, she was. It’s taken a lot of grieving to realize that that old Fabi left with Sumo, a big part of her, you know? And I actually think a big part of the grieving process was letting go of her and just allowing myself to welcome in my newness and the potential that I have now with the experience that I have now. I feel like the new me is like 20 times, 40 times bigger. My energy field and my sort of powers of energy work are so much faster and more vast. I almost feel like I can see through everything. The duality of how I understand duality now and how I understand pain and love in such intense, extreme ways allows me to really be present in the moment and with people's energies in a way that feels just infinite, you know? I feel like before I couldn't really hold moments; I couldn't really hold energy the way that I can now.
And so I almost feel like a señora in this way where I feel so much wiser, and I feel so much more connected with myself—not even just my body but also my mind and my spirit. They all feel aligned, and I can just have more understanding and more compassion for myself and therefore have more compassion for others and be able to just listen better, you know? And not be so impulsive and like sit a little bit longer. But also I still love to party, and I still love to dance all night and be in the moment. But I think that kind of grounding that I can do now allows me to really ride those waves of joy for a lot longer without depleting myself.
I feel like people who don't know Sumo will listen to those voice recordings and relate because everyone has had a best friend, everyone has loved, and everyone has unfortunately grieved.
I think one thing that really comes through with those interludes is, when I listened back, I felt his love for me. He was so attentive, and if anything, I learned how to love a little bit more because of how dedicated he was to us. I think that's an important thing to also tell the story of, like as a brown man just to be platonically in love.
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You are about to embark on your Malegria tour, I mean you're going to Europe. How are you feeling going into it, and what can we expect?
I feel like it's gonna be the sweaty, queer, sweaty body make-out session of my dreams every single night. I feel so much energy about this tour like so many of the shows are getting ready to sell out. Some of them are already sold out. We're going to Europe. I just think these shows are gonna be like a ceremony. Like we're all coming here to just be at our fullest potential and also to continue to learn about our movements and dance and cry and make out. And it's gonna be like chaotic and messy and hot and sweaty, and it's summertime, and we're going all out.
I think that one of the coolest things about your shows is the kind of people you see there. We see wheelchairs, all genders, male, female, non-binary, everything. I consider it one of the safest places for these marginalized communities. How do you keep that safe and sacred?
I think by being myself on stage. I think the best thing that I can offer everyone who's in the crowd is the space for them to be themselves without embarrassment, fear, or judgment. And for me, getting on stage and just being authentically me—whether I make mistakes on stage, whether I say something really crude and sensual, which I usually end up doing, or like I'm out there touching myself or whatever. I just feel like that's the best, that's the safest way it can be. If I'm vulnerable, and I'm opening up and I'm giving everyone my truest raw self, then everyone can feel like they can too, you know? And also I always tell the crowd, 'I'm only gonna give you what you give me. And if I don't feel accepted, if I don't feel like y'all are accepting me, then I can't give you who I am.' So I think it also teaches people acceptance and just not judging. We're all in process and let's just give each other what we have in the moment.
I know you are inspired by Chavela Vargas. Tell me a little bit about what she means to you as a figure and that connection.
I feel like Chavela Vargas is just such an icon, a lesbian icon, right? For me, for Mexicans, and for the queer community in Mexico. And I think just growing up having to hide who I was from my own family and just seeing that and feeling that for my community, for people that are from Mexico and were raised here, and wanting to really break through that Catholicism and that shame. Chavela Vargas to me is how I understand that she was one of the first women to have really done that, and she wasn't from Mexico. And so I really want to, in her legacy and in her blueprint, be that Mexicana guitarist, singer, and songwriter that is vocal and without fear as myself as a queer woman.
Last question, the future of Reyna Tropical, the future of Fabi. Hopes, dreams, is there anything that you're still hoping to overcome? Are you just kind of riding this wave? What's next?
Well, definitely, there are a lot of things coming up. We have music videos coming up. The headline tour is just the beginning, you know? Next year I want to go to South America to get to Mexico more. I want to go to Japan. I want to take this everywhere. And also like, I really want to be breaking through in more Latin communities, I mean, in mainstream Latin music, you know, and really start to bring in my values and my voice and 'Queer Love Afro Mexico' to the Latin Grammys. And I want that representation to be really, really loud and really clear in a really big way.
So my vision and my goal really is to go as far and as big as possible with Reyna Tropical and with Queer love in Afro Mexico and with the visuals that we have and continue in those collaborations with cinematographers in Mexico that are doing work in indigenous and Afro-indigenous communities. So, yeah, I’m ready to be the Mexican queer femme Bad Bunny.
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