Today we’d like to introduce you to Christa Amari Jordan.
Hi Christa Amari, so excited to have you on the platform. So before we get into questions about your work-life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today?
I was born on October 17th in Moreno Valley, California. Growing up, I made do, but my childhood was challenging. It’s honestly how I discovered my love for music. I was raised by my grandmother, who battled illness and chronic ailments throughout my upbringing. Because of that, I didn’t have what most would consider a typical childhood. I often had to set aside the idea of playing outside or going to the mall with friends because my grandma needed constant care—even when she insisted she didn’t. Looking back, it was a lot of responsibility for a kid, but at the time, it was all I’d ever known.
I was gifted a keyboard for my eighth birthday and an electric guitar by the time I was fourteen. Between those instruments and a low-functioning Dell desktop, I fell in love with Fruity Loops and began making riffs—purely by ear.
By middle school, music was shaping my everyday life. Before fourth period, some of the kids would gather and start tapping on tables with pens. It might sound simple, but the rhythms were so dope they’d attract crowds. People would sing, freestyle—just vibe. That’s where I met this kid named Byran, the OG of table tapping at our school. I asked him to teach me, and at first, he brushed me off. But I was persistent, and eventually, he came around. I got so good he let me join the “tapping crew.” That’s where my love for poetry and hip-hop really took root. Teachers hated it because I was constantly drumming on desks, trying to create new beats until my wrists were sore.
In high school, I was gifted an acoustic guitar. That’s when I started arranging and writing full songs. I’ve never been the “cover song” type—so whenever people asked to hear me play, it was always original material. Eventually, some of the teachers let me perform during class. Students would tell me which class they were in, and I’d just show up unannounced—and most of the time, the teachers let it happen. It was wild. I started finding other singers who’d join me, and we’d basically throw impromptu concerts. Back then, I didn’t know where music would take me—I just knew it was part of me.
After high school, I went to college and majored in music, but the academic side of it never really clicked for me. I loved learning new ways to approach music, but it wasn’t my natural element. On top of that, I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted out of it yet. I joined several projects, interned, and even part-owned a studio. Through it all, I kept producing and writing my own material. But juggling two jobs, school, and side gigs meant my dream kept getting pushed to the back burner.
Then one day, I just decided—I’m going all in. I started doing shows, talent nights, competitions—whatever I could. Not long after, I met Alan, now my bandmate in Tulengua. He saw what others had seen in me—but in a different light. It reminded me of how persistent I’d been with Bryan and those table-tapping days. Alan just wanted to vibe and had a few tracks he thought my voice would fit on. At first, I was hesitant. I’d been in enough group projects that went nowhere and wasted time. But one song turned into twenty, and for the first time, I felt like I was moving in the direction I was meant to go.
Joining Tulengua wasn’t just joining a group—it was stepping into a cause, a movement, a message rooted in a culture that had always been part of my environment. It was bigger than me. That mattered to me because so many artists get caught up in ego and lose sight of everything around them. I didn’t want that to be me.
It’s no secret that Mexican culture is the very root of this region we live in. Whether people like it or not, it’s the truth. Anyone who denies that is living in make-believe. And there I was—a Black woman in a Latinx band. In 2019, I even moved to Playas de Tijuana to fully immerse myself in the culture, people, and language.
Today, Tulengua is still alive and thriving. We’ve been signed for almost two years now, and we just keep breaking barriers together. It’s wild how fast time moves. We’re getting ready to release a new album, and I’m beyond stoked about all the experimenting, growth, and joy we’ve shared as a group.
I recently had a son, and my bandmates have been nothing but supportive throughout the entire journey. They love him just as much as I do, and it’s been truly beautiful to witness. So not only am I an artist—I’m a mother as well.
I’m raising my son to chase his dreams, to be fluent in both regions, and to love all people—regardless of their color, background, or beliefs. In times like these, it’s more important than ever to raise a generation that shines a light on what truly matters: unity, compassion, and understanding.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Is any road ever smooth when you’re stepping into something as daring as being an artist? Of course not. There have definitely been bumps along the way—and there are still a few rough patches I’m working to smooth out. But honestly, facing those challenges head-on has only made me a better artist and a more grounded professional. Some things are just the way they are, and as people, we have to do our best to navigate through the obstacles as they come.
As an artist—especially being a little older now—there’s been a lot of trial and error. Social media alone is a prime example. I come from an era when artists had more mystique. The less we knew about them, the more intrigued we were. Now, we live in a time where people want full access at the tap of a screen. Since I’m right in the middle of those two worlds—the old-school mystery and the new-age transparency—it’s taken some adjusting. But over time, it’s started to click. If I’m being honest, the social media era has probably been my biggest challenge to master.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
I’m mostly known as Amari Jordan—aka La Reina Negra of Tulengua. I’m the lead vocalist and a multi-instrumentalist. I also produce and write heavily. Depending on the era you met me, I might’ve been “the girl who taps on tables,” or “that chick who performs during school,” or even “the one who makes all her own beats—and can make you one too.”
These days, I’m best known for being part of Tulengua—a cross-border band I’ve been in since 2018. We’re not just a musical act; we ask the hard questions. We create safe spaces for people to express how they feel about the social and political climate. We take pride in building bridges—literally and metaphorically—between the United States and Mexico, helping to heal division by focusing on what connects us as people.
Tulengua is a movement. Everything we do carries the phrase: Welcome Tu Las Californias—a concept and a space where artists from both sides of the border can come together as one and showcase their talents. It’s definitely a vibe.
Alan is the mastermind behind the original vision, but the message lives in all of us as Tulengua members. Every time we meet, we’re actively living out what Las Californias represents. That’s what sets us apart. Most artists or bands can meet up without having to cross an international border just to grab a coffee. Most stay away from politics or deeper issues because they’re afraid of backlash—or just want to avoid it altogether.
But Tulengua has always been down to have the conversation. It’s in our music. It’s in our actions. It might just be in our DNA. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
We just released an EP called Bajaus—a fusion of house, hip-hop, and trance. It’s our own take on what our songs would sound like if they played in the club. If you’re checking out our catalog after reading this, make sure to head to our website and grab a limited-edition Bajaus LP. It’s a special release—only a small number were made, and it includes two bonus tracks that aren’t available anywhere else. We’ve also got other merch up for grabs.
Right now, we’re gearing up to drop our next album, and it’s been a hectic ride—but it’s sounding incredible. The album is called Basura, which translates to “trash.” The meaning runs deep. On the surface, it’s about taking the trash out—but the “trash” itself is symbolic. It represents a lot: the greed of the rich, decaying morals, the state of our planet, the world’s broken systems. There’s so much trash—whether we created it or inherited it—and it’s suffocating beauty, humanity, and connection.
People are desensitized now. We’re surrounded by noise, waste, and distraction. Basura—both the music and the visuals—is a statement that we can still turn it around. No matter how far gone things may seem, there’s still room to change, to wake up, and to create something beautiful from the mess.
We’d love to hear about any fond memories you have from when you were growing up?
I don’t really have one single favorite childhood memory—but honestly, any time I actually got to go outside and play, or any moment when my grandma was feeling healthy, those were the days that brought me the most joy.
Some of my fondest memories are tied to being on wheels—whether it was a bike, a scooter, or rollerblades. I just loved the feeling of wind blowing through my hair as I raced up and down the street, free and alive.
Another standout memory is of my homie Darrian. He used to sit with me for hours while I made beats on my raggedy old Dell desktop. He’d hype me up and vibe with me until I made something fire, and then we’d freestyle for what felt like forever. We went to the same middle school and high school, and he was there through all of it—from me banging on tables to eventually programming in major studios.
He was actually the only friend my grandma ever let inside the house when we were kids. I always thought that was wild. To this day, Darrian and I are still super close—and that bond means a lot to me.
Pricing:
- Basura Hats – 25
- Bajaus EP Vinyl – 45
- Basura shirts – 30
- Welcome to Las Californias Hoodie – 45
- Two Tongued T/or Tank – 30
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.tulengua.co
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tulengua
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@tulengua_/featured
- Other: https://linktr.ee/tulengua
Image Credits
Jean C. Gotay
Zachary Bright
