LUCKY SO-AND-SO
Last night I celebrated my eightieth birthday here in enchanting Zihuatanejo, Guerrero, Mexico. While several of my loved ones have visited Sally and me here, I’ve dreamt of someday bringing the whole clan down together. This was the occasion.
It took a bit of planning to get everyone transported, lodged and fed, but the real fun was creating and carrying out a theme and lining up a few key events we hoped everyone would enjoy.
The focal point of my vision was that, halfway through my birthday dinner, folks might hear faint strains of mariachi music wafting into the open-air restaurant from about a block away. I’d interrupt the conversation and say, “Do you guys hear that? Some lucky so-and-so is getting a mariachi serenade.”
The sound would get closer and closer until everyone realized they were actually coming to our restaurant. And then, Oh, my God, they’re now (all nine of them: guitars, fiddles, vihuela, vocalists and horns) lining up in front of our long table!
That vision played out perfectly.
GRITOS AND LLANTOS
I’ve heard enough mariachi—from the scores of bands duking it out musically around Garibaldi Square in Mexico City, to pick-up groups and stage performances, to a 20-piece super band arriving at 5:00 AM to wrap up an all-night graduation party—to have witnessed the passion Mexicans feel about this music.
I’ve seen men’s chests swell with the national pride and personal passion it evokes, the full-throated way they belt out lyrics they know by heart, the heartfelt gritos of defiance and llantos of ardor and pain.
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IMAGE: Austin American Statesman |
I now feel some of that emotion myself whenever I hear this stirring music. It’s like I’ve absorbed it through osmosis. I know the lyrics of some songs and can sing along, at least to the refrains. Mexicans love that I know who Vicente (El Rey) and Alejandro are. It all touches something deep in my spirit.
So tonight, I’m standing here, my dearest loved ones surrounding me, facing these splendid musicians—Los Torcazos. And my eyes well up with tears. I can’t hide the emotion each song kindles. Guadalajara. Por Tu Maldito Amor. Como Quien Pierde Una Estrella.
And I can’t deny wishing I could maintain the valiant, stoical façade of a proud Mexican charro. But my face gives me away.
TOO MUCH FOR ONE LIFE
So afterward I follow the band down the stairs to pay the balance of their fee (and a well-deserved tip). I shake the hand of their dashing lead singer and manager, Francisco, thank him and hand over the pesos. And I feel I must try, somehow, to explain my emotions.
Here’s a rough translation of what I say: Francisco, I decided, twenty-plus years ago, to junk the German I’d grown up with and learned in school and, as a 55-year-old, take up Spanish. Why? Because I loved the music I hear in its sounds and rhythms. The poetry I feel in its words. The way it opens doors to the people and culture of this great country—including this colorful mariachi tradition.
And because I know, deep in my bones, that I’ve been a Mexican in a previous life.
I couldn’t swear to it, but I think Francisco teared up just a little too. He turned and waved…and then they were gone. But the moment, the memory, that’s mine for the rest of this life...and just maybe into the next.