It's incredible to think that 26 years have already passed since that day that meant so much to us.
That was the day we stopped being a niche band—the kind that played clubs and bars for 500 people or opened shows on seemingly endless lineups—and became what we are: RESORTE, a band with a voice of its own, leading a guerrilla of followers who believed in every note we played and knew every word we sang.
To understand what that day meant, we have to go back a little further.
Even with República de Ciegos and América already out, and our first album on the streets, we were still that band that was too heavy for the preppy crowd and too strange for the metalheads. We didn't quite fit in anywhere. A lot of people still didn't know how to categorize us or fully understand what we were doing.
We had started something important, but I don't think it truly took shape until XL.
And then came that concert at the Monument to the Revolution.
To be honest, we had no idea how many people might show up that day, much less that the place would be packed.
You have to remember, it was a different time. There was no Instagram, TikTok, or Facebook. Not all of us even had email addresses! Getting the word out about a concert was much harder.
But for months, we'd been working on something that mattered far more to us than promoting a gig.
We had created a homemade platform, designed and run entirely by us, that we called LA GUERRILLA XL.
The idea was simple: recruit anyone who wanted to listen to us, support us, recommend us, and, above all, bring along someone else who might like our music.
We collected email addresses one show at a time, one person at a time. We had real back-and-forth conversations with everyone. We shared news, ideas, plans, music, and anything else that could bring us closer together.
Eventually, it became almost impossible to answer so many emails.
But we didn't stop.
Without realizing it, we were building something far more valuable than a fan club: a community that had made a commitment to us to carry our music everywhere.
And that's something we'll never stop being grateful for.
That's how all that energy came together on that day.
Suddenly, a band that had been playing to a few hundred people just months earlier was drawing thousands.
I remember every second.
I remember Tavo calling out to all the Indigenous people of Latin America, and all those people jumping, singing, raising their arms. I remember looking toward the back and not being able to believe how far the crowd stretched.
That day, we filmed the video for “Aquí no es donde,” a song that became an anthem for our followers and ultimately introduced us to all those people who still didn't know us.
It was the song that opened so many doors for us and, in a way, finally earned us the recognition we deserved.
What came next was extraordinary.
It took us across the United States and Latin America, brought us face to face with thousands of people who responded with that same intensity, and put us onstage alongside bands we had only dreamed of playing with a few years before.
And all of it began with a community that believed in us when, to so many people, we were still nobody.
To this day, it fills me with pride when I meet people who tell me they were there, that they remember that concert with the same excitement I do.
And I still find that incredible.
Today, concerts, festivals, audiences, and the ways we connect with people are on a completely different scale. But 26 years ago, without social media, algorithms, or the tools we now take for granted, we managed to bring thousands of people together in one place for one reason: the music, and the desire to be part of something.
I like to think we changed something that day.
I don't know if we changed the history of Mexican rock, but I'm certain we changed our own history—and the lives of many of the people who chose to stand with us.
Because that day, we didn't just play one of the most important concerts of our career.
That day, we understood that RESORTE no longer belonged only to us. It also belonged to all those people who had made our music their own.
And today, 26 years later, we're about to return to that very same place.
This coming November 6, we'll play at the Monument to the Revolution once again. To many, it might simply be another place to put on a concert, but to us, it represents one of the most important moments in our history.
Returning there after so many years—with everything we've lived through, with those of us who are still here and those who are no longer with us—means more than words can say.
Because even though so much has changed, one thing remains exactly the same: the desire to get onstage, make some noise, and reconnect with our people.
Twenty-six years later, the Guerrilla XL is still standing.
See you where it all began.
THANK YOU, GUERRILLA!
