The famous Tiny Desk—by the U.S.-based National Public Radio (NPR)—has its Costa Rican version. And unlike the American one, it does not take place at an office desk or inside a conventional building. This tiny, officially called Pequeño Pupitre (Small Desk), unfolds in front of a single-student desk placed in the middle of a small living room in a rustic house, with large windows overlooking the deep blue sea of Santa Cruz’s coastline.
We are in the community of Paraíso, in the Veintisiete de Abril district. Two sessions are filmed here today: first, the turn of the Guanacaste-based group Niña Jaguar, and to close, the duo Guápil.
But before that, both outside and inside the house, a sense of community synergy begins to grow—or be strengthened. The host is Somos ECHO, “a neighborhood of Costa Rican roots designed by and for Costa Ricans.”
This is a project that seeks to reclaim our Costa Rican space in Guanacaste,” says Sebastián Castro, project leader, as he welcomes the guests on the day of recording, a Saturday in December 2025. “We also welcome all visitors from other countries who come with clear and constructive intentions.”
He and the rest of the ECHO team welcome the audience who will enjoy the recordings today under a large canopy set up in the middle of the yard, along with a screen that will project each session live. To one side, a small table with tamales, coffee, fresco, coconut water, and banana bread feeds the attendees.
Inside, in one of the rooms of the house, are Tah Marzul, lead singer of Niña Jaguar, and Ximena and Amanda Obregón, the twin sisters who make up Guápil. Each is focused on her own preparation: Marzul lights a palo santo, while the twins warm up their voices and instruments, seated on a stool at the foot of the bed.
Each Pequeño Pupitre session brings together the Somos ECHO neighborhood, musicians, and their families and friends. Everyone shares a single goal: to celebrate Costa Rican music.Photo: Somos ECHO
Let’s dance!
Tah Marzul and Chucho López are the founding faces of Niña Jaguar, who, with a blend of folk, Afro, funk, reggae, and cumbia rhythms, invite anyone to dance. Joining them today are José Rafael Jara Jara (drums), Bayron David Carballo Rodríguez (trombone), Manrique Montero Solano (electric bass), and Malcom Jamil (transverse flute, quijongo, udú, ocarinas, and Colombian bagpipes).
They take their places in the small Pequeño Pupitre living room and begin with “La Ayotera,” a subtle melody with winds and percussion. Two minutes later, an “épale” from Marzul gets the audience on their feet and dancing. After that, few will sit down again.
Throughout their melodies and lyrics, Niña Jaguar pays homage to Indigenous peoples, Costa Rican legends, ancestral memory, and nature.
Marzul, singing either seated at the single desk or standing, never stops dancing—sometimes with her whole body, sometimes just with her hands—moving to the rhythm of the group’s many instruments. And Chucho López transitions from instrument to instrument almost instantly. That’s why Marzul will later describe him as an octopus.
During the 38-minute performance, Zarelly Canales is one of those who never stop dancing. “It’s a new creative space that hadn’t existed in Guanacaste—live and shared by everyone,” she says, visibly impressed.
That closeness is no accident. For Chucho López, one of the group’s founders, the Pequeño Pupitre format demands a different kind of listening. “It’s very intimate, and it’s super important for appreciating the original composition,” he says afterward, still sweating from a high-energy performance.
The Guanacaste that inspires
This same stage has already been taken over by Manuel Obregón with Tapado Vargas and Magpie Jay—the first and second episodes of Pequeño Pupitre. Today, the third and fourth episodes pay tribute to music inspired by Guanacaste.
The province has such a strong musical tradition that it’s sometimes seen as outdated, and what we wanted was to refresh that energy—bring innovative proposals that reclaim traditions while giving them a contemporary twist,” explains Sebastián Castro of Somos ECHO.
The second turn of the day is for Guápil. Dressed alike, seated alike, and with identical hairstyles, Ximena and Amanda sit on the stool behind the desk and begin with just their voices: “Little inner flame, I’m speaking to you // silence makes me itch—how can I express this heat // step out without fear if you are of me, just like love // you are a mystery that dwells in my heart.”
To the sea, to fire, to mangroves, and to turtles… Ximena and Amanda Obregón compose inspired by Guanacaste and by the natural landscapes of the entire country.
Originally from San José, the twins are strongly influenced by the music of the province. Their father, Manuel Obregón, introduced them from a young age to the music of Malpaís, Max Goldenberg, and Guadalupe Urbina. This led not only to musical inspiration, but also to the influence of Guanacaste’s landscapes—the sunsets, bodies of water, and vast nature:
“[Guanacaste] is one of the greatest loves we have. We were brought here often as children to spend vacations, rest, and enjoy nature—to be connected to the sea, the mountains, and the rivers,” explains Ximena Obregón.
Unlike Niña Jaguar’s music, Guápil evokes a deep meditation and stillness—something those of us who manage to enter the recording living room—an opportunity the production team offers to a few people at each session—feel permeate the entire body. And that experience is precisely what Guápil seeks to evoke.
“These are very interactive sessions with the audience and very intimate, which is something that interests us with Guápil—connection and closeness—and it’s very beautiful that this is so deeply respected,” Amanda Obregón says afterward.
With only their voices and the instruments they pick up and set down—small percussions, strings, sound objects that appear and disappear—the twins gradually envelop the room. There are no artifices or large arrangements; each song is built in real time, sustained by harmonies and an almost intuitive complicity between them. The sound is minimal, yet it fills the entire space.
This is the Pequeño Pupitre of Guanacaste. There is no distance between those who sing and those who listen. The audience dances, feels, and lets the music carry them. As Zarelly Canales puts it, here “that idea we sometimes have—that you can’t get close to the artist—is broken,” and for a couple of hours, music ceased to be a spectacle and became a shared experience.
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