They are Las Cafeteras, a seven-piece ensemble born in El
Sereno under the watchful care of Roberto Flores and his brood, a clan of
family members—some only symbolically
adopted—that gathers still at a space called the East Side Café. Home to the
spirit of collective cultural and political work, the East Side Café on
Huntington Drive had long been an outpost of Zapatismo, progressive politics
and a return to the roots of communal labor that seeks to uplift the needs of
the many and eschew the glorification or gratification of the few.
Quiet and humble, Roberto Flores refused then and refuses
still to be considered a patriarch. His has always been the spirit of
collectivism. His own children, among them Quetzal and Xochitl and Angela Lucía,
took those lessons… that kind of life learning gleaned as children of the
movimiento and made music with it.
But it was not just music or even just movimiento music. It
was black music, African music that had been molded and shaped by its marriage
to indigenous Mexican cultures on the tropical shores of what is now known as the
state of Veracruz. While not commonly known, only ten percent of the African
slaves brought to new world were destined for the colonies that later became
the U.S. The rest, 90% or more, were bound for Mexico and the rest of Latin
America. Nowhere is the African
influence in the land of our forebears more evident than in son jarocho, a
sound created by red and black slaves, human beings forced to labor under
threat of whips, chains and guns.
Resisting their oppression at the hands of the colonizers
and enslavers, they often came together, combining their respective musical and
cultural traditions to celebrate freedom and liberation with joy. While their
bodies may have been shackled, their hearts could still create, imagine and
dream. Son jarocho is thus, at its core, the music of protest and
resistance, the music of the original freedom fighters who knew, even then,
that none could stem the tide, the inevitable triumph of those who would reshape
the world into a place devoid of violence, greed and oppression.
Although only three parts women and four parts men, they are
still called Las Cafeteras in deference to those slave women who worked on coffee
and tobacco plantations throughout the Americas. Their debut, full-length CD is entitled It's Time. And the anthem which reveals
the essence of their debut album release, a song titled “La Bamba Rebelde,” is a
bold re-tooling of the traditional Mexican-American party track, a century-old
song made famous in the U.S. by Ritchie Valens (Richard Valenzuela) and later
given new life by Los Lobos for the Luís Valdez biopic of the “kid from
Pacoima.”
In the Cafeteras version, however, the traditional son jarocho
call and response dialogue directly addresses the poignant political issues
that propelled Obama into the White House for yet another term. Jabs at
anti-immigrant laws in Arizona and elsewhere, support for same-sex marriage,
and an anti-war stance are just three examples of what give the song new teeth.
The group is comprised of Annette Torres on the marimbol,
Denise Carlos on jarana and lead vocals, Daniel Jesús French on jarana and
back-up vocals, Hector Flores on jarana and back up vocals and David Flores on
requinto as well as quijada keeper Leah Rose Gallegos on lead vocals and José
Cano on flutes and caja. Carlos, Hector Flores (brother of David), Gallegos and
Torres also chime in with zapateado during the bands thrilling and universally
popular live performances.
The opening track “El Chuchumbé” refers directly to a style
of music and dance that was banned by the Spanish Catholic Church in colonial
Mexico for its physically expressive, playfully romantic and flirtatiously
suggestive lyrics or rhymes. Not only were the native and African slaves
enriching the invaders through their forced labor, but they were being denied even life’s most simplest
pleasures
Produced by Aparato's Alexandro D. Hernández Gutiérrez, a PhD. candidate in ethnomusicology and chronic musician and Eguene
Toale, It’ Time teems with the energy of Canto Nuevo and son jarocho fused at
an East Side back yard happening in honor of a good cause, but it also vibrates
with production virtuosity. Recorded at Bedrock Studios in Silver Lake, the
album’s primary vocals are delivered by Carlos, Gallegos and French, the first
two trading turns with haunting, torch-singer voices that seem to have been
schooled by exposure Lila Downs and La Santa Cecilia’s Marisoul Hernández and
perhaps even Hope Sandoval of Mazzy Star.
The opening a cappella zapateado on “Café con Pan” is more
than an invitation to dance in happy communion with Las Cafeteras. It is also a
call to action as much as a preamble to the traditional “fandango,” a musical
fiesta where composers of improvised décimas and dancers come together. “Luna Lovers,” the subsequent song, is a soft quiet reverie,
a ballad that speaks to the sweet surrender that is love. It is a stroll
through the landscape of yearning and eternal companionship, illuminated by the
ancient grandmother in the sky. With the addition of French on vocals, the love
song is a lyrical balance between the three voices and delicate, jarana string
pucking (requinto).
Addressing a heavier, yet no less emotional subject, “Ya Me
Voy” begins with minor chord flamenco-esque riffs created on the jarana (as a
opposed to the guitar). The lyrics speak to exile, to the circumstances that
lead to emigration and of the dreams that promise a better life. The song is a melodic
reminder that leaving home for a far off land is journey also fraught with danger and
uncertainty. By contrast, “It’s Movement Time” is a resounding hip-hop
poem that underscores the history of race relation across the continent and the
birth of civil rights struggles in the U.S. From Benito Juárez, who abolished
slavery in Mexico, California’s United Farm Workers and the Chicano Brown
Berets to imprisoned black activist Mumia Abu Jamal, murdered teenager Treyvon
Martin and Chicago Young Lords, the rap is a roll call in support of
progressive causes across the last century. Ultimately, it is a call for unity
as we move forward in an era where poor and working class people of all colors
and creeds need, now more than ever, to stand together.
As a whole, the collection of songs is an erudite
and musically potent blend that brings son jarocho, Chicano protest music, hip-hop
and trova nueva together for a peek at the future of
Chicano-Latino music in Los Angeles. From music that speaks directly to the Juárez femicides in
“Mujer Soy,” a moving song made all the more powerful by Cano’s Native American
flute, to “Trabajador-Trabajadora,” a tribute to the humblest of working people
everywhere delivered in harmonious song and hip-hop rhyme, the album lingers
like a searing vision that leaves brightly colored tracers on the
back of your eyelid. It’s time for It’s Time and it’s time for Las Cafeteras.
