Several years ago my husband and I discovered a local Mexican restaurant featuring live mariachi music on Friday nights. We made a point of eating there at least one Friday per month (it didn't hurt that the food is good and the waitress always fussed over us), and eventually became known to the band as appreciative regulars who tipped well. We learned about the music, developed some preferences and when the full band was there (all 7 members= 2 violins, 2 trumpets, a vihuela, a requinta, a gitarron) we loved to request the quintessential mariachi tune Son de La Negra. You've heard it. It starts with slow trumpets in thirds on repeated notes and then launches into a rowdy three against two-beat energy rush. It has words, and they are poetry for sure, but it is the charging light brigade of the trumpets and violins that makes this song so popular.
After a couple years of learning about and loving this music, I had the opportunity to help coordinate mariachi classes through a local organization at one of my schools. The classes were taught by professional, world-class mariachis and I tried to soak up as much as I could from them. The violin teacher gave me a few stray sheets of music she used with her own band, and one of those charts was the violin part to La Negra. I was thrilled to have it, and with my iPod on loudly in the living room, tried to learn it and play along.
About this time, my husband spent six weeks in Mexico in a language immersion program. He visited Mexico City and in his wanderings, stumbled upon Garibaldi Plaza where mariachis wait for people looking for musicians to play for parties or weddings. While they are waiting, the musicians will form spontaneous groups and play for tourists, or just play for themselves. We decided we needed to go there together, and I needed to play my song with real mariachis.
Now one thing you need to know about Mexican musicians is that if you pay them, they will let you make whatever kind of musical fool of yourself with them you want to. Many are the times we have watched borachos slopping sentimentally through some song, with the musicians patiently playing accompaniment.
In D.F., we took a taxi to Garibaldi one evening as the musicians began to congregate. Everywhere on the plaza were violin and guitar-shaped cases, and the air was filled with snippets of trumpet warmups. Obvious in our gringo-hood as tourists, we were instantly approached. So we requested a few songs, and a band formed immediately and played for us. We went to one of the several restaurants surrounding the plaza for dinner, and again were serenaded by strolling musicians. I was working up courage to ask to play, so we sat at an outside table after dinner, ordered drinks, and waited. It wasn't long before a musician asked us if we wanted some music. My husband, whose Spanish is much more useful than mine, told the gentleman that not only did we want music, but his wife wanted to play the violin. At this the musician lit up, and quickly gathered a group together. One fellow handed over his violin to me, and we launched into Son de La Negra. Even though the violin was crusted with rosin, and the bow in desperate need of a rehair job, it was one of the most exciting moments of my musical life. The musicians seemed to enjoy the experience as well, and wanted me to play some more with them. Of course, as long as I played, we would pay, but, alas, I was out of songs.
Returning from Mexico, I decided I wanted to learn from our friends the restaurant band, Mariachi San Antonio. We hadn't seen them for a while as they were no longer being invited to play at our restaurant, so we weren't sure how that would happen. I was too shy (yes, true) to call myself, but my husband wasn't, and so he set up lessons for me with Raul, the leader and the first violinist of the group.
For about 2 months, every Friday morning, Jon and I went to Raul's house for my lesson. His wife and baby daughter would be nearby, and Jon would sit and listen from the couch in the living room. Raul helped me work out the kinks in La Negra and helped me with the lyrics, until we could play and sing it at rip speed together. Then we tackled one of the other songs the other violin teacher had given me, a potpourri (mariachi for "medley") of three songs from Veracruz. Having been twice to Veracruz and loving these songs, I bit into them eagerly. They were very challenging, and I never did quite master the words, but I could fiddle along with Raul and it was a thrill! Raul was a patient teacher, and somewhat amused and puzzled over my desire to work on this music. I have much more formal training than he, but he appreciated the attention to detail that I begged for and laughed heartily as I mastered another snippet. All together that summer we worked on three songs, including the potpourri, which was three songs in one, and got them to a point where I felt I could perform them and not make a complete fool of myself.
We started making plans for another trip to Mexico, this time focusing on Guadalajara, the home of mariachi music. Raul invited me to play with his band at another area restaurant one hot summer evening before we went, and I was as nervous as if I were auditioning for the New York Philharmonic. What would the patrons think of this? The restaurant was in South El Monte, a very Mexican community, and to walk into that establishment was to step over the border. We instantly loved it. Raul, on stage, spoke Spanish to the audience over a loudspeaker so it was hard to understand him, but it suddenly became clear that he was calling for me to join them on the stage. The moment of truth had arrived. We played, and in the virtuoso spot in the potpourri, the band stepped back, and let me solo! I almost stopped playing in surprise, but some old professional habit kicked in and I kept going. When it was all over, the audience was cheering, and people were buying us drinks. I had done it!
Off to Mexico.
Next Post: La Parian, Tlaquepaque and Guadalajara welcome us.
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