Wherein Reuben Torres offers some insights into the precarious life of touring and live performance, from the point of view of perpetually emerging band, Los Macuanos. This time:
This is (not) a review of Supersonico
Let me repeat that: this is NOT a review of Supersonico. Because really, who wants to read bitchy observations about the long lines at the fish tacos stand? You have the Times for that. And besides, I spent most of the festival in a whisky-fueled delirium and the only observation I made involved the bottom of a plastic cup, so I’d hardly even be qualified to fulfill such a task. This is, rather, one performer’s very, very subjective ––and possibly obfuscated –– account of the day’s proceedings. As I type, I’m barely just recovering from that weekend, after sipping glass after glass of water, the occasional Diet Coke and popping Ibuprofen like they were Skittles (I’ve just given away my hangover recipe in case you didn’t notice).
Because really, who wants to read bitchy observations about the long lines at the fish tacos stand?
This is starting to sound like the beginning of an AA confession. This isn’t that either, I promise. I just, you know, wanted to mention how much of an awesome time I had, although it really wasn’t panning out that way initially. I mean, if you’ve read any of the other pieces I’ve written as of late, the festival-cum-touring experience hasn’t been that appealing to me this year, and there was no reason to believe this would be any different. I also made the horrible mistake of going out to Tijuana the night before our drive to LA –– to catch a set by María y José, incidentally –– which didn’t help matters much, as everything seemed like it was headed towards the doom and gloom realm that’s so typical of the hangover. Yet, it didn’t. Partly because I ran into the dudes from Bixby Knolls in the artist commons shortly after our show, and they were kind enough to share some of their bottle of Jack Daniels with me. Hair of the dog and what not. Shit, this is really starting to sound like an AA confession.
“El terrorista del ruidosón” and his masked, Bez-like companion had the crowd eating out of the palm of their hands.
María y José has a hypeman now, did you know? And it’s about the most batshit insane performance you’re ever going to see from anyone, and I’m not just saying that because we both came out of the same city and scene (yeah I am). “El terrorista del ruidosón” and his masked, Bez-like companion had the crowd eating out of the palm of their hands, but they could’ve had them eating out of a toilet if they wanted to, what with all that stage presence they were commanding and that unrelenting, hit-after-hit driven set. It’s seriously one of the best performances I’ve seen him give in his life, and I’ve seen them all. Well not all of them, but I’ve followed the guy since he was performing under the Unsexy Nerd Ponies moniker and his then-visuals-guy ––one Simon Pecco–– wore a motorcycle helmet and spun around like a helicopter. And that, I assure you, is a tough act to surpass.
Speaking of tough acts to surpass, I saw Nortec for the first time. Or well, you know, the artists formerly known as Nortec Collective, a.k.a. Bostich and Fussible. I have to confess, I am from San Diego-Tijuana, born and bred, and yet I’d never seen them play live. Sure, I’ve read all the books, played all the songs and heard all the stories, but I’d never been there, standing in the audience next to a beautiful girl, dancing along to the accordions and the trombones with the poom-poom-pah’s and the tun-da-ta’s and the ta-ra-ra-ra-ra’s! Wouldn’t you know it, it’s really something.
While I’m on the subject of moments I half-remember: I think I may have seen Café Tacvba.
I may as well just make another confession, since there’s video of it circulating somewhere: I enjoyed the fuck out of it. I have no idea how it happened, but one minute I was way back in the audience and the next I was up on the stage, dancing frantically in spasms to “Polaris” along with some psyched-up fan. Chalk it up to that ingrained and unshakable sense of Tijuana pride, or the fact that they’re never doing that act again and that this is, in all likelihood, the only chance I’ll ever get to see them perform in that guise and manner, but either way, something struck me just then. (Probably the people trying to get me off the stage.)
And yeah, maybe it had something to do with the fact that I wound up in their dressing room shortly after, singing along to “Tragos de Amargo Licor” and “Baraja de Oro” along with the Jimi Hendrix of the accordion –– the very, very talented Juan Tellez –– or because I may have acceded to collaborating on a writing with their bassist, JC Reyna (if you’re reading this, I’d really like to know what that work consists of), but I actually felt glad to be part of that moment. What I can remember of it, anyway.
While I’m on the subject of moments I half-remember: I think I may have seen Café Tacvba. I think the last time I saw them I was 16 and moshing profusely. I think I may have moshed this time as well. That would certainly explain all these bruises. It just goes to show you that some things in life, like riding a bicycle or singing the lyrics to “La Chica Banda,” you never really unlearn.
(On a side-note: my condolences to AJ Dávila. I want you to know that I was among the 20 people standing in the audience during your show).
I think a lot of the criticisms that one could have about a festival like this are the same things that I loved about it. The Unbearable Latinness of it all, some would say.
I’m going to try stop and actually be objective and analytical now. Not sure what for, but I will. I think a lot of the criticisms that one could have about a festival like this are the same things that I loved about it. The Unbearable Latinness of it all, some would say. Yes, you could make the argument that a festival like this doesn’t represent the full gamma of Latin American talent in the “alternative” realm (whatever that means), but then, what festival can claim to represent the full gamma of anything? I mean, you have the major music festivals in Southern California like FYF who don’t even pretend that anything outside of ever-so-anglo, guitar-based indie rock even exists, and Coachella, where Latin acts are only hinted at in the sidelines, and in light of those, I think a festival like this is a breath of fresh air. Then again, you’re talking to a Mex-Am whose first concerts were in Tijuana, and were fronted by Panteón Rococo and Café Tacvba and La Matilda Vecindad, so, maybe they got me in my mero mole.
[By the way, this is the part where I would normally mention our own performance. Something like: “In spite of all the hurdles, and tribulations that come with live performance, there was some ultimate sense of reward…” but, you know, que hueva.]
Whatever it was, it felt like something important was at play, something ineffable that I was glad to be a part of, yet can’t quite make out just yet. Probably because I’m still hungover. Did I mention there was a free bar backstage? (Yes, I’m already Googling AA).
Reuben Torres is a member of Tijuana-based band Los Macuanos. He insists –– like most alcoholics –- that he is not, in fact, an alcoholic. Follow him on Twitter: @conejitocolvin