My Life in Six Songs-Part V: Son de la Negra (part B)

The spring before this Mariachi Quest, my mother had passed away and left each of her daughters a little money. My husband encouraged me to buy a new violin, since I had been playing on cheap hand-me-downs my whole life. I did, and stoked with a new instrument and my three songs, we headed to Guadalajara, the home of mariachi music.

Interior courtyard of La Quinta Don Jose, Tlaquepaque

We chose the hotel Quinta Don Jose in the midst of Tlaquepaque, an intimate community of artisan shops enveloped by the bustling streets of Guadalajara. We stayed in a luxurious apartment just up the street from the hotel proper within walking distance of the town center. Every Mexican town has its zocalo or plaza, where families gather in the evenings to visit, children to play, teenagers to flirt and vendors sell fruits, candy and toys. It is a cherished part of our trips to join the milling children and dogs and parents, munching on local treats and taking in all the sights, sounds and smells.

Bronze sculpture honoring the tradition of dance and music

Besides this traditional plaza area, Tlaquepaque has a central block of restaurants called El Parian. Within its arched facade walls are tables beneath jacaranda trees, connected to a dozen or so different establishments serving adult beverages and appetizers and sometimes, dinners. It's a place people go to drink and socialize and hear music.

Art on the mall of Tlaquepaque

Entrance to El Parian

The Mariachi Plaza of Guadalajara itself was under renovation construction when we were there, so many of the musicians who would normally have gathered there of an evening joined the half-dozen or so bands that strolled from table to table, playing for tips.The first night we were there we just watched the bands and requested songs. I had brought a little digital recorder with me in hopes of archiving some authentic music in an authentic setting. Once I had assured the strolling musicians that we weren't record company executives out to exploit their talents, they were happy to play for us. Several mariachi groups came around, and there were two that we focused on getting to know. We knew them by their outfits: one olive green and the other black.


Along with the great music, we discovered a delicious Mexican beverage called Cazuela, made of cut fresh citrus fruits piled into a glazed clay bowl (cazuela is actually the name of this bowl) with ice, grenadine, Squirt and lots of tequila. That first evening was a relaxing time, sipping on our refreshing fruit drinks and making friends with musicians.The musicians were happy to play for us, though we felt a sort of tired boredom from them, as though they would rather be home with their feet up, but felt compelled to come out and make a few pesos.

The next evening, I took my violin along. I felt shy, but Jon was encouraging and we found a table in El Parian. One of the black-suited mariachis, a young violinist, eyed my violin case with interest and gave me an inquisitive look.This encouraged me even more, and eventually they came to our table. Jon negotiated with them, that I wanted to play. They happily let me join in. After the first song, many of the surrounding tables were paying attention, and by the time we had finished the three songs I knew, there was a crowd of Mexicans cheering us on! The musicians playing with me seemed to gain new enthusiasm from my interest in their music and a nearby patron offered to keep paying the band as long as I would keep playing. Bravely, we attempted a few more songs, ones that I had heard and knew from listening but had never played. They included me as they passed around a flask of tequila and in playing the traditional Mariachi Loco. The crowd stood all around us and cheered, though I was in over my head by this point. Fortunately, it was break time for the band, and Jon and I sat back, ordered another round of fruit drinks and basked in the glow of success.

Our young violinist friend.

Later on, the young violinist (I tried-but was unable- to learn his name) who spoke no English came back to our table. He was very interested, I thought, in my violin. I thought he was saying he wanted to buy it. I thought he was asking how much it would cost. I told him I didn't want to sell it, but he could get one in the US. We used all of our Spanish to have this conversation. It was late. He was really sweet and a great player. I think we understood that he was actually a music student at the university. Around 11 p.m., he headed with his violin out to the curb, where he told us he was waiting for a ride to his next gig- a late-night party. Later, when I thought about this conversation, I realized he had been asking about my violin CASE, not my violin. He was so nice, and worked so hard as a musician, I wished I had realized that and sold it to him. He could have given me his case to get my violin home in and I could have bought another when I got home. I have thought many times since, that if we ever go back, I want to take a couple cases along to give as gifts to the hardworking musicians that stroll the evening streets of Mexico.

I have moved on in my musical studies since that summer.  Someday I would like to get deeper into the life of mariachis in Mexico. I think they are a subculture all of their own. They work very hard for small amounts of money. I think in some cases they live in apartments together in the city, working day jobs and strolling at night, maybe sending money home to families out on the ranchos. It is definitely a male-dominated art form, though there are plenty of young female musicians coming up. They love what they are doing, and occupy a special place in Mexican public life. I feel very lucky to have gotten to experience a little of their world from the edges of the inside, and am thankful for the musicians' generous spirit that allowed me to jump in.

Mariachi bronze sculpture on mall in Tlaquepaque