Well, I'm sitting here in the neighborhood ice cream and coffee shop on a nice Saturday afternoon. It's a pretty little place and, though there is no trace of thriving community here, its rich and often curt patrons cannot take away from the comfort of the covered patio and tranquility of a Saturday afternoon in Plaza Guacamayas. I was going to take the bus into town, but I needed change. And what better way to make change than drinking a little coffee and preparing a bit for my impending essay? Well, I'm not making any preparations right now obviously...I only study in short, effective bursts. (Official policy, don't ya know) But I'm passing the time well, listening to Leonard Cohen radio on some site called jango.com. I wouldn't recommend it; I'm just stooping to these levels because Pandora Radio made the call to not provide service to Mexican IP addresses (for which I cannot blame them).
In the past two days I've received two tantalizing email from the Orange Peel and WNCW about two concerts close to home: Lucinda Williams at the Peel and John Hiatt and Lyle Lovett in Greenville. When things like these come up, I'm reminded how much I miss living in an abundance of good music. The music I am able to listen to back home is, to my musical palate, much richer than the stuff I am subjected to here on a daily basis. It's funny. I came to Mexico all excited about getting into the music of the people, but now I've just about had it. I try not to get too far outside of the immersion experience, but from time to time I open up itunes and listen to an entire album of music from my collection and every time I'm blown away by it's beauty. It's like I'm living in the unpressurized cargo bay of Mexican music, cruising at 30,000ft and every now and again I reach for my music and take a big gulp of pure oxygen. Clears the head.
In the past two days I've received two tantalizing email from the Orange Peel and WNCW about two concerts close to home: Lucinda Williams at the Peel and John Hiatt and Lyle Lovett in Greenville. When things like these come up, I'm reminded how much I miss living in an abundance of good music. The music I am able to listen to back home is, to my musical palate, much richer than the stuff I am subjected to here on a daily basis. It's funny. I came to Mexico all excited about getting into the music of the people, but now I've just about had it. I try not to get too far outside of the immersion experience, but from time to time I open up itunes and listen to an entire album of music from my collection and every time I'm blown away by it's beauty. It's like I'm living in the unpressurized cargo bay of Mexican music, cruising at 30,000ft and every now and again I reach for my music and take a big gulp of pure oxygen. Clears the head.
I'm amazed at how little respect I have for the time-honored Mexican musical tradition. Banda, Mariachi, Romantic...I'm not sure that I'll ever understand the incredible popularity of these styles of music. I can only listen to so much before I'm squirming, ready to take on the entire, funky-suited band in un-armed combat and free the people from this terrible power that oppresses their daily lives.
But there's no stopping it. When the "classics" start to roll, every Mexican changes. From businessmen in their suits to punk-rock kids with ipods full of The Clash--people glaze over and an invisible switch is thrown somewhere deep inside. They go into fiesta mode and all the beauty and the tragedy of the history that they've concocted over the years comes gushing out of their mouth in the form of discordant, half-forgotten lyrics.
Most culturally sensitive people would say that this perception is a sign that I have been hopelessly influenced by the western tradition, Tchaikovsky, Led Zeppelin, and all their buddies. And perhaps I have. But there is so much non-western music that I enjoy immensely...Andean folk music, the rhythms of the Caribbean, African ceremonial tunes, quality sitar work from India, funky Japanese ballads... And besides, Mexican music takes a lot from European roots. They sing in a Romace language, all the instruments are pretty par for the western course...but the combination that these people have cooked up is just excruciating. What should have been reduced to novelty status by now is still alive and well--weller than most musical forms in Mexico today. What's up with that? Do all Mexicans have defective musical tastes? Are they all super-nostalgic? Or do they just really crave something in common with everyone else, some go-to institution that makes them normal?
Maybe that's it. The traditional songs give folks an outlet to appear very much a part of the "normal" crowd. People here really fear the idea of being different, of liking the "wrong" things, of having the "wrong" opinion on an issue. It's not the "collectivism" that all my teachers flaunt, it's just kind of a school-of-fish tradition. If you swim the wrong way, who knows what's gonna happen to the school? And to you? Sheesh. Better just stay in the confines of this nice group of people. It's safe here. Where there's no chance of individuality, there's no chance of ridicule and you'll always belong.
But there's no stopping it. When the "classics" start to roll, every Mexican changes. From businessmen in their suits to punk-rock kids with ipods full of The Clash--people glaze over and an invisible switch is thrown somewhere deep inside. They go into fiesta mode and all the beauty and the tragedy of the history that they've concocted over the years comes gushing out of their mouth in the form of discordant, half-forgotten lyrics.
Most culturally sensitive people would say that this perception is a sign that I have been hopelessly influenced by the western tradition, Tchaikovsky, Led Zeppelin, and all their buddies. And perhaps I have. But there is so much non-western music that I enjoy immensely...Andean folk music, the rhythms of the Caribbean, African ceremonial tunes, quality sitar work from India, funky Japanese ballads... And besides, Mexican music takes a lot from European roots. They sing in a Romace language, all the instruments are pretty par for the western course...but the combination that these people have cooked up is just excruciating. What should have been reduced to novelty status by now is still alive and well--weller than most musical forms in Mexico today. What's up with that? Do all Mexicans have defective musical tastes? Are they all super-nostalgic? Or do they just really crave something in common with everyone else, some go-to institution that makes them normal?
Maybe that's it. The traditional songs give folks an outlet to appear very much a part of the "normal" crowd. People here really fear the idea of being different, of liking the "wrong" things, of having the "wrong" opinion on an issue. It's not the "collectivism" that all my teachers flaunt, it's just kind of a school-of-fish tradition. If you swim the wrong way, who knows what's gonna happen to the school? And to you? Sheesh. Better just stay in the confines of this nice group of people. It's safe here. Where there's no chance of individuality, there's no chance of ridicule and you'll always belong.
Here's an example: Friday night I went to the movies and then out to a nice little bar with Scott and some Mexicans from Veracruz. I had a Michelada (very Mexican: beer mixed with hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, and lime) but Scott, ever the quintessential American, ordered a huge whiskey and coke, lauding the incredible tradition of Jack Daniels. By the bottom of the liter cup, he was pretty far gone and was really interested in everybody giving their honest opinion of everyone else at the table--an interesting, if childish, exercise indicative of self-consciousness and obviously easier when half the table is quite drunk. Well, he came around to me and actually gave a pretty accurate description I think. But one of the things he said was that I was "un poco raro" (basically, a little strange), elaborating with examples of my antics over the past few months. This elicited a satisfied smile from me and not a little shock from our friends.
This morning Scott went, hangover and all, to the gym with the same people as last night and they gave him the report on his actions during the time he was drunk. They told him that he had really offended me, that he called me strange, odd, different. Oh the horror! They just couldn't fathom the idea that I took his words as a complement, such is the Mexican mindset.
Needless to say it makes me something of a permanent curiosity here. "Why are you walking without shoes?" "Why do you not shave your beard?" "Why do you always have a [beautiful, rose-colored] umbrella in your backpack?" "Why do you pack your own lunch?" Yes, in this respect Mexico is a good place for a fellow who prefers to be different from most other folks.
I came here thinking that I wanted to seem Mexican by the end of the semester, thinking that I wanted to go totally native right down to my perception of the world around me. It didn't take long to realize that there are some things Mexico can't change, not even using the ever-attractive idea of cultural experience. Conformity is not really my cup of tea.
And Steve Earle knocks the socks off José José every day of the week.
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