music in mexico

I know what you are thinking.

The photograph must be of a B-list vaudevillian on the inevitable road of obscurity in 1923. You would not be far wrong.

That plaintive romantic is actually me dressed up in my kids-let's-put-on-a-show costume. The year was probably 1970. That may explain the phony sideburns. At least, I hope they are phony.

While some of our college colleagues were barricading the streets around Portland State University (Portland has a tradition of student mayhem that is almost Parisian), I was in my friend David Cripe's basement celebrating a tradition that has long since gone cold in its its grave. That is, unless you are Milli Vanilli fan.

David's parents owned a large home in one of northeast Portland's early gentry neighborhoods. Mrs. Cripe would put the vast stage of her basement to good (or, at least, diverting) use by producing musical events.

Her cast was both opportunistic and nepotistic. The veterans had all attended high school together. Her son and daughter, David and Barb, and their friends, John Crooks and Carl Falk. I was the new kid on the block.

Because we lacked an orchestra and uniform singing voices, we lip-synched. The tunes were far from contemporary -- probably because "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" does not lend itself to the art form.

Our all-male company version of "There's nothing Like a Dame" was always a hit (for our admittedly small audience of friends and family). My show-stopping number was "I Wish't I was in Peoria."

Of course, the song was a staple of The Smothers Brothers and was even considered a spoof song in 1921 when it was written.

But, I had not yet developed a sense for the ironic. I was like one of those bright, young things who belt out Stephen Sondheim's "I'm still Here" without having been anywhere. But I "sang" it with all of my nineteenth century romantic instincts. 

Vaudeville music was not my genre. Until I met Mrs. Cripe, I doubt I had heard any.

The music I listened to at home was either classical or religious. Even when I was young, I had no interest in pop music. It did not seem to have any bottom to my ear. The exception was movie soundtracks and musical comedy. But I will tell you the woeful tale of how that developed -- but in another essay.

When I lived in Salem, one of my pleasures was to brew a pot of tea, slip a record on the turntable, and sit on my library sofa analyzing the piece using Aaron Copland three planes of appreciating music (why san miguel de allende?). It was one of my favorite ways to find the essence of that "peace at the center" we all seek.

When I moved to Mexico twelve years ago, I stopped doing that. The primary reason was that I had given away all of my record collection. Of course, there was YouTube in its more primitive form, but that was not a good source for me because my internet was too slow to stream audio -- let alone video.

For a couple of years an organization in Manzanillo, Bellas Artes del Pacifico, sponsored a series of performances by ballet companies and Mexican symphonies (pieces of eight). The series helped rekindle my interest in music, especially the Orquesta Sinfónica de San Luis Potosí's performance of Arturo Márquez's Danzón No. 2.

Then the series just stopped. Probably for the same reason all subscription-based organizations fail. The novelty wears off, and people stop subscribing. The series never did generate the interest amongst the local Mexican and foreign communities that I thought it would.

Since then, I have sought out my serious live music fix at the annual chamber music festival in San Miguel de Allende. Because of the virus, that did not happen this year.

Even though YouTube was not a good option for me back in 2009, things have changed. I now have a zippy internet connection perfect for streaming the site's amazing collection of music. Because of the size of the inventory, I do not even think of my old record collection. I have a much better collection (if I can try to adjust my ear to how digitizing has stripped out the warmth of those old analog recordings).

I have even found several very good versions of Arturo Márquez's Danzón No. 2. That piece is often called the second Mexican national anthem. And it is easy to understand why. Márquez captures the tension between sensuality and the social hierarchy of Mexico in the piece. The constant struggle between the individual and the concept of nation. I have taken the piece to heart (sex on the floor).

So, I may no longer be treading the boards on my way back to Peoria, but I can do even fancier footwork in my underwear on my patio accompanied by Márquez's rhythms. That seems to be a very advantageous trade.

You might want to give it a try yourself. Dancing fully clothed is fine, as well.