Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 7 - La Santa Cecilia's Amar Y Vivir

When I was a kid, my dad would play his records on Sundays. Among them were a lot of Mexican artists. For some reason, Cubans, or at least my family, have a strong connection to Mexican music, probably because Beny Moré and others went there to record back in the early 50s. It's also likely because of the movies featuring Pedro Infante, Jorge Negrete, Javier Solis and others that were hugely popular in Cuba (if you haven't seen Coco, this is my excuse to bring it up and it's actually relevant for several reasons). In later years, when there was a big party, member of my extended family would sometimes hire a local, all female Mariachi band to come. I liked this all fine at the time, but I mostly just internalized it. The boleros I came back around to in my teens. But in the past 10 or so years, I've grown to really appreciate the traditional Mexican styles like ranchera as well as some more modern re-interpretations from bands like La Santa Cecilia. Their album, Amar Y Vivir (En Vivo Desde La Ciudad De Mexico, 2017) captures everything I love about Latin American music, Mexican in particular.

This album was recorded in various famous locations in Mexico City, mostly on the streets. At various points throughout the documentary on the making of the album, the band talks about how they grew up learning from street musicians and eventually doing it themselves. It's also an album about reconnecting with the roots of Latin American music. The songs range from old boleros like "Odiame" and "El Ultimo Trago" to a reinterpreted cover of Cafe Tacuba's "Ingrata" as well as La Santa Cecilia's own compositions. There are featured guests throughout, lending this an air of casual musical conversation that reminds me very much of my visit to Cuba at 5 years old. So, basically, it's nearly impossible for me not to love this album.

There isn't a bad song on here, but my favorite is "Como Dios Manda," an original song from 2014's Someday New. The song was already written in a traditional style, but here it gets a full mariachi treatment that truly makes it timeless. At the beginning of this year, I had the chance to see them live and this song remains the most amazing concert experience I've ever had. Every time I hear the song now, it affects me deeply. This version amps that up and while it's much more elaborate than the simple way it was played at the concert I attended, the emotion is just as palpable. Which is true of just about every note Marisol Hernandez sings. She says she hopes the Mariachis continue playing this song and that one day it becomes one of those songs people just request of them along with all the other traditional songs. I know this song already has that status for me.

In a year that started off with the election of a "person" who made a point of insulting and targeting immigrants, Latin Americans and Mexicans in particular, it's great that this band has found a way to protest with love and art. During the concert in January, they commented on this and while it was still too early to determine how the year would play out and what the reactions would be from our communities, they already had a road map in place to simply do what they had already been doing, maybe with a little more focus and passion. They comment on this again in the album video and it's inspiring to see and hear. Sometimes indirect protest is the most lasting.

Los Frikis

Back in the mid 80s I entered Jr. High and suddenly a bunch of kids from nearby elementary schools came along to disrupt the group I'd pretty much known since kindergarten. One of those kids lent me Ozzy Osbourne's Bark at the Moon album on cassette, and the rest is history. A history that can best be summed up by the word outcast. For our whole Jr. High career, a small group of us "rockers" were the rebels in a sea of Miami Bass loving adolescents. Interestingly, the smaller group of kids who were discovering punk at the time were much quieter about it and under the radar (and many times I've wished I'd given these kids more of a chance, but that's for another post.) We knew we were right, but what we didn't realize at the time, I think, is how lucky we were. Meanwhile, in Cuba. . .

I often talk about the power of music and I'm usually focused on a more personal, human aspect of that power. But sometimes, that can lead to much bigger repercussions. You can't talk about 60s music without making the connection between the Civil Rights movement, Vietnam protests and everything else that happened politically at the time. And it wasn't really the first movement to have a soundtrack. Dylan was inspired by Woody Guthrie and his songs, many of them protest songs, coming out of the Great Depression's Dust Bowl. Punk rock's roots, especially in the UK, were political as well, hence the Sex Pistols' "Anarchy in the UK" and "God Save the Queen" and The Clash's "London Calling" among many, many others. And in more recent times, Russia's Pussy Riot comes to mind.

And those are all just obvious, explicit examples of artists making music as protest. But beyond that, music has the ability to change lives even unintentionally. Today I heard a podcast that demonstrates this in moving, dark and complicated ways. As a Cuban American in Miami, discussions about Cuba can often be very black and white. This can lead to frustration on both sides of that divide. It's not as simple as a generational line, though. And while we may disagree among st ourselves, I think we all get frustrated by how the rest of the world views the Cuban situation. This is most clearly demonstrated by the fetishizing of Che Guevara as a symbol of rebellion (which only becomes more ironic when you hear the podcast). But this isn't a political blog, I only point these things out for context. And the conclusion is that we need more human, universal and real stories about life in Cuba and I heard one today on Radiolab's Podcast titled "Los Frikis," thanks to my wife's recommendation. And like her recommendation, I don't want to spoil the details. But be prepared because it twists and turns in some nihilistic, truly punk ways that are none the less, somehow beautiful at the same time. Just listen.

Cuba 1979 - The Living Room Concerts

One of my earliest and happiest set of memories is from 1979, when my parents and I went to Cuba. My parents had left years earlier, separately, before they were together, for Spain and this was the first time they had been back to see the family they left behind. At 5 years old, that didn't mean a whole lot to me, but the emotional impact of it still resonated. And it was on this trip that, years later, I'd realize just how important music was to my family.

Pretty much every night we were there, the large family would gather at a different house each night. There were more cousins and uncles and aunts than I can count. At these gatherings, one cousin would bring out his guitar and he and his sister would sing while everyone was gathered. My dad had a super 8 camera and most of this was filmed. These were, literally, my first concerts.

                     
La Carcel de Sing Sing was a favorite of my teen aged cousins back then. It's not hard to understand why, since it's a dramatic song, filled with angst and tragedy, just what teens love. Essentially, it's a murder ballad, about a man in Sing Sing prison, on the eve of his execution for the murder of his lover. Once again it's Jose Feliciano, who captures the song best for me.

                     
Over the years I've watched those home movies and tried to track down those songs. Beyond La Carcel de Sing Sing, there was this other song that I only recently (thank you, Internets) was able to identify. Pueblo Blanco, by Joan Manuel Serrat, talks about a village lost in time, which makes this footage moving in a way that could never have been planned. I don't even care about other versions, because at this point, even though this is just an excerpt, it won't be topped in my mind, heart and soul as the one legitimate version of the song.

            

And my cousin on the guitar was not the only star. The only complete song I have from that time is sung by his sister. The song is called No Espero Mas, a bolero that I know next to nothing about, which makes it that much better. 

                 

These are obviously not professionals, but the imperfections are exactly what I love about it. It's raw and, sure I have a personal connection to it, but I'm sure it carries an honest emotional impact that translates to outsiders as well. I'm not entirely sure what my cousins lives are like today, but I do know in most cases, the years have been much less than kind and there has been tragedy. That's not something I will go into, but I think the fact that music is able to anchor these memories as a happy moment for me, and allows me to paint lives for these people that are different from what the truth might be, is indicative of the power of music.And these home movies, these memories, have influenced what I look for in all music since that time.