tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86676301329243388752024-03-13T13:01:00.155-07:00Ombligo Sereno de la LunaFrom the hills of El Sereno to the mountains of Chiapas, the poetry of moontide gravity and the eternal pull exerted by the womb of our history and the birthplace of mestizaje are gathered here in a trajectory that runs from East Los to Neza, with pit stops along Interstate 10 from Texas to the Santa Monica pier thrown in for good measure.xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-23787536401138661282012-11-14T19:59:00.002-08:002012-11-16T21:41:16.468-08:00It's Time for Las Cafeteras!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Hfk6NnSFrw9hah_Fie14u8ovuMuB0OphTIIF0yOGGLJyE7zExlWBfs2rF6UaAy0cJt4bsWPfboZDHUHxMtiAhrkO8pG0qFl6kyO-z1CHpGvrXe-fOyTNOZzgr78ZNMXdAOwdFioEfna_/s1600/Its-Time_CafeterasWebFinal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Hfk6NnSFrw9hah_Fie14u8ovuMuB0OphTIIF0yOGGLJyE7zExlWBfs2rF6UaAy0cJt4bsWPfboZDHUHxMtiAhrkO8pG0qFl6kyO-z1CHpGvrXe-fOyTNOZzgr78ZNMXdAOwdFioEfna_/s320/Its-Time_CafeterasWebFinal.jpg" width="320" /></a>They are <a href="http://www.lascafeteras.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Las Cafeteras</b></span></a>, 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.<br />
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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 <a href="http://www.blogger.com/.http://quetzaleastla.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">Quetzal</span></b></a> and Xochitl and Angela Lucía,
took those lessons… that kind of life learning gleaned as children of the
movimiento and made music with it.</div>
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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. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. </div>
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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.</div>
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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 <i>It's Time.</i> 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.”</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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 <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Produced by <a href="http://www.aparatomusic.com/bio.cfm" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Aparato's</b></span></a> Alexandro D. Hernández Gutiérrez, a PhD. candidate in ethnomusicology and chronic musician and Eguene
Toale, <i>It’ Time</i> teems with the energy of <i>Canto Nuevo</i> 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.</div>
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The opening a cappella <i>zapateado</i> 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 <i>décimas</i> 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).</div>
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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.</div>
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As a whole, the collection of songs is an erudite
and musically potent blend that brings son jarocho, Chicano protest music, hip-hop
and <i>trova nueva</i> 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 <i>It’s Time</i> and it’s time for Las Cafeteras.</div>
xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-46450026827712544952012-07-09T12:22:00.000-07:002012-07-11T08:14:46.222-07:00Literalocos-Literatontos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvMWosnNtl5XCKTXpXSlJEeLFMUYWIRUEDytcbY_pnra1ea154XggqjDSlXrSpOlaLFrMb3pNwx7_LzzdRijSeeHajXvREiL5tj2wfZ8DAIyA4y2sS_rfYdVTNIhAgCBhBPmCt_j-12e1/s1600/grasshopperweb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvMWosnNtl5XCKTXpXSlJEeLFMUYWIRUEDytcbY_pnra1ea154XggqjDSlXrSpOlaLFrMb3pNwx7_LzzdRijSeeHajXvREiL5tj2wfZ8DAIyA4y2sS_rfYdVTNIhAgCBhBPmCt_j-12e1/s400/grasshopperweb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s me and Chapulín. This kid calls
me maestro, and there is no more humbling an attribution. We’re at a neighborhood
bar working on our second or third beer after walking through the Mobile Mural
Lab which has been stationed strategically at the regular Friday afternoon
Boyle Heights Farmer’s Market. It’s getting cool, and until just moments before
taking a seat on these stools, our pockets were empty. For poets, this is not a
surprise. Penniless poet is a redundancy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No problem,” I had uttered an hour
or two earlier. We see a client and a Brooklyn & Boyle contributing writer,
a successful attorney who supports the arts and advertises here regularly. He
doesn’t have a problem with an advance payment on the next issue. Chapulín is a
poet, and, of course, poets never think about the weather or whether they’re
dressed appropriately. He’s in a t-shirt, shorts and the inevitable Chuck
Taylors. As the sun goes down, I can see he’s having a tough time with the drop
in temperature.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“We have to start your Eastside
poe-tour and cantina crawl with a stop at the Proyecto Pastoral segunda to get
you a long sleeve flannel, homie,” I tell the young vato sporting a goatee and
Buddy Holly horn-rimmed glasses. Bronze and maybe just a bit on the chonchito
side like me, he is covered in a grip of tattoos. Daniel Morales León, AKA El
Chapulín, is the resident poet at La Mina Collective, over in City Terrace.
Relocated from South Central to LA’s Eastside, he is part of a circle that also
includes the charmingly magnetic boys in a lively cumbia band called La Chamba,
young dudes who also happen to take political organizing with a zeal and a
seriousness that provokes and inspires. They are LA’s first and foremost
exponents of cumbia chicha, a Peruvian variation of working class cumbia where
the accordion has been supplanted by the electric guitar. Daniel’s jefitos are
from Oaxaca, and they don’t necessarily always understand, he says, that he is
a “poeta necio,” a handle I’ve managed to get friendlier with myself over the
years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“They have a hard time understanding
just exactly what it is I do,” says Chapulín, who has also begun extending his
Eastside residency with regular gigs as the host of the Corazón del Pueblo
bi-monthly open mic series, Flowers of Fire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You know why we named it Flowers of
Fire, right? Flores de Fuego,” I say. “Not really, but I can pretty much
guess,” comes the reply from a sage and wise young bard who I’ve watched the
sun come up with more than once already.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“When we first came together as the
original Corazón del Pueblo collective board, we were thinking of the floricanto,
you know, ‘in xochitl in cuicatl,’ which is nahuatl for ‘flower-song,’” I explain.
We weave back and forth on a hundred subjects but mostly we get back to the
poetry and what it means and why we have to write. And then there are
references to Neruda and Roque Dalton. I’m trying to tell him about the
argentina Alejandra Pizarnik and her “ extracción de la piedra de la locura,”
that stone of madness we both have lodged in our brains.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“She committed suicide,” I say. “Say
what?” says Chapulín. “Yeah, she OD’d on seconal on purpose,” I say. Later, we
sit in my car and I extract a manuscript to share some more of that madness,
the kinds of craziness that keeps Chapulín awake at all hours when he has to
write, when he has to let the ink dribble in spades from his fingertips,
allowing it to pour forth onto a page before it hemorrhages in his veins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">These are the musings and sharp
reveries that have pulled him here, to a barrio not unlike the South Central
hood where he was raised, a community that drew me 12 years ago after a decade
of nomadic gypsy wanderings in Mexico City, Chiapas, Barcelona, New York,
Matamoros, El Paso and Houston after a childhood in Austin marked by movimiento
politics, Brown Beret marches against police brutality and the tutelage under
an ex-pinto poet named Raúl Salinas, or raúlrsalinas, as he himself signed his
named. “Tapón” (the placazo Raúl was given during his own childhood) had
authored the now renowned “Un Trip Through the Mind Jail Y Otras Excursions,”
and I’m trying to tell Chapulín that lineage and an appreciation for the
literary opportunities we have been handed from elders who made it a point to
step outside of their traditional homes to embrace brotherhood with distant
relatives from all of the tribes is important. I’m telling him that I wouldn’t
be publishing this paper in the barrio I recognize as ground zero for Chicano
culture worldwide if it weren’t for them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Chapulin, like many of the young
brothers who share spoken word, did not grow up surrounded by nurturing poets
who arrived with an armload of books and told them, “you should read this and
come back later so we can talk about it.” No, Daniel and many of his peers
brought themselves up, literally. They did not have guides or XicanIndio
mentors who led them through sweat lodge ceremonies. They looked for and found
their poetic voices on the street and in the immigrant stories of their
indigena parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’ve been spittin’ for about a
minute,” says Chapulín. And I know he’s the one. He’s the one who can only sit
still long enough to let the poem live through him, pound itself out of him
until it sees the light of day. I see a grittier, angrier yet somehow still
less tortured version of myself in him.
So we chill, we make the rounds. We break bread and follow the moon,
howling into the wind and pretending we don’t care. That life is only loaned to
us and that we’re on borrowed time. Of course, I tell him that in an effort to
let my own street-wise profe know how much his influence and love had meant to
me, I coined a word. How I sat in a South Austin restaurant called Little
Mexico over a plate of tacos de carne guisada (steak picado to folks here in Califaztlan)
and a bottle of cold Corona with the legendary barrio bard, a traveler who had
been invited to Cuba and Nicaragua and Libya and Palestine to share
revolutionary poetry. How he was at the same time a die-hard radical AIM
(American Indian Movement) activist and a co-founder of the national Leonard
Peltier Support Committee. How I looked at him with reverence and said I would
forever be proud of having been inducted into the great hall of the
“literalocos y literatontos” he had adopted and raised.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I tell Chapulin how Raúl used to
humbly refer to himself as the cockroach poet because he never took it so
seriously that he had to act like a diva and demand green M & Ms backstage
at readings where he shared the stage with truly great writers such as Ernesto
Cardenal and Fernando Alegria and Mikey Piñero. When he heard me say
literaloco-literatonto, or literary krazy-klown-fool, he laughed and nodded his
approval. These days, veteranos like Jose Antonio Burciaga, Raúl Salinas, and
Trinidad Sánchez are gone. And it seems like so many of the young poets are
trying too hard to be rock stars who worry about pecking order or whether or
not they’re going to be on the radio instead of just trying to be the guys that
don’t mind taking out the trash and cleaning the refrigerator and loading sound
equipment even though they don’t have to. Chapulín is one of those dudes. He
gets down and dirty, he loads gear and slangs beers at fundraising events, but
he can also slang words and spit fire with the best of them. There is something
simultaneously charismatic and travieso about him. Much later, after I’ve
published his gut-wrenching poem about Mexico, I watch him dance around a room
holding the printed pages in his arms and waving them about with a contagious
glee. And again, I know he is the one. I can ask for no one better to help me
uphold the literaloco-literatonto banner. And more than any of the other
youngsters on the scene right now, he really is mexicano. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes, I’m Chicano and all that, but I was born in Mexico,”
he says proudly. While still heir to a
powerful Chicano literary tradition, he is unique among all the other serious
young wordsmiths mixing it up on the Eastside right now with poetry rooted in
rap and hip-hop. He holds up his mexicanidad for all to see and still skips
easily back and forth between two languages like a wizard of wordplay,
straddling all kinds of borders… a lad after me own heart, neta.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Literaloco-literatonto, huh?” says
Chapulín. “I like it.” </span></div>
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<br /></div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-66079804964252139952012-06-27T09:40:00.001-07:002012-06-30T19:01:34.520-07:00Trio Los Machos: Un Bolero Infinito...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBxUbnOphea2OZHFoD9dfd8Gh9AsozpwYTJ_CQpFvw2-tbVoB6OWVZWHYDLUdxmfgaaDna0G5fsSclwNzt86QbLe5fwQsNtswuYj5T0CdNGJHrwslBdKeUO_gFJPEgg92GZhgwGRADBTp/s1600/TrioLosMachos2Web.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBxUbnOphea2OZHFoD9dfd8Gh9AsozpwYTJ_CQpFvw2-tbVoB6OWVZWHYDLUdxmfgaaDna0G5fsSclwNzt86QbLe5fwQsNtswuYj5T0CdNGJHrwslBdKeUO_gFJPEgg92GZhgwGRADBTp/s400/TrioLosMachos2Web.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<i>Trio Los Machos</i> opens with the bristling demise of a musical trio, three life-long friends who are being summarily dismissed from their regular gig as entertainers in a Mexican restaurant where they have plied their trade as strolling balladeers for years. Written by Josefina López (<i>Real Women Have Curves</i>) and directed by Edward Padilla at Casa 0101, the play is a warm tribute to the stellar musical repertory of legendary Trio Los Panchos, Mexico’s famous bolero kings. A romantic musical genre that is to love and heartbreak what salt is to savory food and seawater, the bolero, as typified by Trio Los Panchos, is one of Mexico best, if not most well-known exports.<br />
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From 1942 to 1964, the Bracero guest worker program brought thousands of agricultural laborers from Mexico to the U.S. to harvest crops which would have otherwise rotted in the field due to the limited supply of U.S. workers willing to work so hard for so little.<i> Trio Los Machos</i> uses popular songs by Trio Los Panchos, as well as original tunes written by Claudia Durán (also Rosario in the play) and Josefina López with music by Danny Weinstein, to propel the story of Lalo, Nacho and Paco, three young braceros who discover their talent for making people fall in love through song and are thus able to leave the indignity of their guest worker status behind. <br />
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Now in their twilight years, the trio must come to terms with mortality, masculinity and changing musical tastes. Played by Miguel Santana, Roberto Garza and Henry Madrid respectively, the three are portrayed in moving flashbacks often graced with musical elegance by Gilbert Martinez (Young Lalo), Josh Durón (Young Nacho) and Adrian Quiñonez (Young Paco). While the characterizations among the actors who play the three in their latter day incarnations are marked by better musicianship than acting chops, the reverse is true for the trio as young men. On the whole, however, Padilla is to be commended for his impeccable casting and for his luminous staging, which relies on silhouettes and scrims as much as it does on the ever-present live music fusillade to evoke mood, feeling tone and memory.<br />
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Durán, as the fiery, sex-pot singer hired to jazz up the trio after they’re fired for being too old, is played perhaps a bit too much as caricature, but this is countered by the appearance, in flashback, of Rocío Mendoza as Aurelia, Paco’s long deceased wife. With a voice that captures the essence of this timeless music perfectly, Mendoza delivers the play’s truest notes. It is a sound that brims with late night trysts, love hangovers, too many cigarettes and not enough tear-filled tequila shots. It also provides the perfect foil for the comedic twist that gives the story an endearing, if unexpected, jolt of tender, and, yes, politically correct sensitivity. <br />
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A world premiere, <i>Trio Los Machos</i> is a reminder of the truly great state of theater on LA’s Eastside under the watchful care of award-winning playwright Josefina López, whose own father first came to the U.S. as a “bracero.” It is a fitting homage to him.xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-36950625701914824152012-06-21T18:26:00.002-07:002012-06-23T22:57:03.304-07:00Bro': Motocross Mayhem & Redemption<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDvnt-FewGCkz90x85N7GdW6z40BcJnu4F7oa9pigFVXaHZjadZjyryEy5hyphenhyphencwk3-9sQWfSXSkMxgezEajNdhEToMih6DGZZy7vjWjyqMosegMOfMrxaPAxOLj_5P7LKg4jfPON4BO_P99/s1600/BroOneWeb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDvnt-FewGCkz90x85N7GdW6z40BcJnu4F7oa9pigFVXaHZjadZjyryEy5hyphenhyphencwk3-9sQWfSXSkMxgezEajNdhEToMih6DGZZy7vjWjyqMosegMOfMrxaPAxOLj_5P7LKg4jfPON4BO_P99/s400/BroOneWeb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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How many times a day do we hear or say the word bro’? Short
for “brother,” it has come to us as abbreviated speak from the ’60s era rise of
the Black Power movement. Funny how no one ever seems to notice or acknowledge
that. And we use it all the time now. We don’t even think about it. The word is
understood universally. It has become, arguably, the most widely used three-letter
slang designation in the world. It cuts
across all ethnic, racial, class and national divisions. It spawned the Chicano
equivalent, “carnal,” a word that even more closely reflects the symbolic flesh
and blood nature of bestowing brotherhood on those we choose to call our own. </div>
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Filmmaker Nick Parada knows this. He knows how we anoint our closest male friends with special status when we address them in this way.
He understands that we also invoke the word as an overture of peace and a
willingness to overcome our competitive and territorial instincts as men. He is
acutely aware of the fact that in Southern California, the term has an even
deeper significance among the skater, surfer, snowboarder and motocross crowd.
Here, it signifies an extreme sports elevation to non-poser authenticity. It
makes you one of the young men who other men envy; the fearless, ultimate
risk-takers who women want to hook up with. </div>
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In <b><a href="http://www.brothefilm.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Bro,'</span></a></b> his first full-length feature, Parada focuses his
lens on one facet of this world even as he crafts the story of a young man’s
descent into an exotic world of death
defying motorcycle stunt riders, drugs, fast money and easy sex with hot girls
drawn to the dudes who call each other “bro” only when they’ve proven to be
more than mere pretenders.</div>
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With a cast that includes veterans such as <a href="http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,2015749,00.html" target="_blank"><b style="color: red;">Danny Trejo</b></a>, Larry
Fessenden and Gunner Wright, <i>Bro’ </i>also marks the feature debut for freestyle
motocross champions <a href="http://www.facebook.com/beau.manley" target="_blank"><b style="color: red;">Beau Manley</b></a> and Colin “Scummy” Morrison, both members of
the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/metalmulisha" target="_blank"><b style="color: red;">Metal Mulisha</b></a>. Written, directed and produced by Parada, <i>Bro’</i> is ultimately
a story of redemption. At its center is <b><a href="http://streetwisemovies.com/bro/characters/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Johnny</span></a></b> (newcomer Will Chavez), a tame
suburban kid working the counter at an athletic club. Enter unblemished
co-worker (Rebekah Graf as Stephanie), and Johnny’s head gets immediately
turned. When he finally overcomes his shyness and ask her out, she takes him to
the track and introduces him to her older brother Jesse (Beau Manley), a
daredevil party animal covered in tattoos who lords over the scene as the
untouchable master of outrageously dangerous motorcycle stunts. Unfortunately,
Jesse is the perfect antithesis of his younger sister.</div>
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Taking his sister’s new boyfriend under wing, Manley as
Jesse, leads into the alluring depths of a world he could never have imagined,
while inviting him to participate fully in its mayhem. It’s an age-old formula.
Boy meets girl. Boy goes slowly bad and falls out of favor with girl while
earning stature with the wild bunch. Boy eventually embraces badness with a no
guts, no glory, gung-ho attitude. Badness bites boy in the ass. Hard. Parada,
however, has graced his solid, straight ahead story with nuanced reflections of
honest teen angst, even as he opens a window to a lifestyle and youth culture
around a relatively new sport that has not yet been examined to such an
electrifying degree in a narrative picture. </div>
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Though still a young director, Parada began making short
films while still a teenager and was already an award winning regional
television producer and director when he invited Kim Mackenzie to help him
flesh out a coming of age story based on the pitfalls, challenges and moral
dilemmas facing young people today. In Johnny, we identify a symbolic depiction
of so many boys who have been raised by single, hardworking and often religious
moms. As a result, like him, we are naturally drawn to the savvy, cool attitude
and lust for life his newfound “bro” represents, a world of drugs and danger
epitomized by Danielle (<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">played perfectly by Alexandra Mason), an under-aged seductress
who uses Johnny to break away from home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In crafting a thoroughly believable thrill ride through the
dark side, Parada gets a powerlift from sound supervisor Frederick Howard and a
soundtrack that resonates and thrums with vitality. The music, a cross-section </span>of
the best contemporary underground alternative grunge core, hyper-hip-hop and
cross-pollinated pop available anywhere with <a href="http://www.kottonmouthkings.com/" target="_blank"><b style="color: red;">Kotton Mouth Kings</b></a>, Eyes Set to
Kill and Brokencyde being the three most notorious. Visually, the film is
pristine, with motorcycle stunts, chases working to bolster the intense
emotional moments that happen both indoors and out, during daylight and at
night.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8wkzfZTZxchSa4gBaVPhc6JCpXobtdlMO5SV5sxPMqTiosEgB9Zh9qz6Stp34rhoHhODrrJ-I9J3zR0Z-lDVCn3jVpNTdsQ3BvtIy6RU4TxMl8nHvkt9AkUWpkROqG0D8rI-ZyHLlgb-/s1600/BroTwoWeb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8wkzfZTZxchSa4gBaVPhc6JCpXobtdlMO5SV5sxPMqTiosEgB9Zh9qz6Stp34rhoHhODrrJ-I9J3zR0Z-lDVCn3jVpNTdsQ3BvtIy6RU4TxMl8nHvkt9AkUWpkROqG0D8rI-ZyHLlgb-/s400/BroTwoWeb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Working with non-actors and actors alike, Parada has culled surprisingly
even overall performances that drive the narrative forward and, at moments,
even enhance the gritty, real world plot. If the inexperience evident in some
of the characterizations also leads to an occasional slight stumble and sputter
as the tale unfolds, Parada remains undaunted in an a nearly invisible effort
to show what he is capable of as a director. He succeeds in spades. We feel for
his hapless hero and believe in Johnny’s ability to push past the delirium for
an honest look at himself and the decisions he has made. At the same time, we
root for his mentor and friend, his adopted big bro’ Jesse, a sympathetic,
albeit flawed and self-destructive,
anti-hero who confronts equally life-changing choices.</div>
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<br />xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-53562497044748407372012-06-21T17:50:00.000-07:002012-06-21T17:50:39.681-07:00The Crumbles: Coming to Rock LA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6PN1UrehpujVDhZ2nQPZGR2YVn0PQd4vjs9f-gS9XHPPz4-d7cJRLwuh0nwu0Kzv8lVEY3WDxkzNpdIQA1zEr4tguspYs6THsFSVRV4Nevl255ovXt1Bk4C0aqBZeDtkyXhlctl2Vfvc/s1600/CrumblesWeb.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6PN1UrehpujVDhZ2nQPZGR2YVn0PQd4vjs9f-gS9XHPPz4-d7cJRLwuh0nwu0Kzv8lVEY3WDxkzNpdIQA1zEr4tguspYs6THsFSVRV4Nevl255ovXt1Bk4C0aqBZeDtkyXhlctl2Vfvc/s400/CrumblesWeb.gif" title="Teresa Michelle Lee and Katie Hipol in THE CRUMBLES." width="400" /></a></div>
It’s Friday night and I’m running late. My friend Francisco Hernández, a filmmaker born in Boyle Heights and raised in San Juan Bautista, has invited me to the L.A. premiere of a film he has co-produced. Written and directed by Akira Boch, one of his life-long friends, the film has a buzz. For the last two years, I have connected with him, and a mutual circle of friends I love and cherish, only sporadically. I miss them, and the opportunity to help celebrate this milestone achievement is reason enough to make the rare trek west, all the way to the West Hollywood environs that glitter with a tangible movie business patina. <br /><br />
It merits mention that Francisco and Akira were reared alongside Kinán and Anahuac Valdez, scions of the Luis Valdez-led Teatro Campesino theater clan, an extended Brechtian guerrilla theater crew forged in the heyday of the Chicano Movement that took shape in the ’60s and ’70s. In support of farmworkers and labor leader César Chávez, Teatro Campesino earned a well-deserved place in the annals of American theater history as the first family of Chicano theater, spawning a score of like-minded Chicano theatre troupes throughout the southwest in its wake. <br /><br />
The company, of course, later became renowned for its production of Zootsuit, a ground-breaking musical which shed light on the heavy-handed police and military efforts to thwart a Mexican American expression of pride and sartorial style. In the ‘80s, Teatro Campesino founder Luis Valdez wrote and directed La Bamba, a film about pioneer Chicano rocker Richie Valens that hipped Hollywood to the ever elusive box office draw of the Mexican American experience. <br />Ambitious forerunners of DYI filmmaking, who witnessed the making of Luís Valdez’ La Bamba first-hand as toddlers, Hernández, Boch and the Valdez brothers formed a film company together while still in high school. “It sounds funny now, but, believe it or not, it was called Funky Flicks,” Francisco says about his peer group’s first ambitious foray into media over the phone several weeks in advance of the LA screening at the Directors’ Guild of America theater on Sunset Blvd. in West Hollywood. The screening is part of the L.A. Asian Pacific Film Festival organized by Visual Communications. <br /><br />
So I’m running late because I have to drive to Southgate to pick up table cloths and chair covers for a wedding scheduled tomorrow at the hall where Boyle & Boyle is currently camped out. I suddenly find myself tearing down Franklin to avoid the Friday night 101 and Sunset traffic. All I know about <i>The Crumbles</i>, Akira’s feature debut, is based on a cursory look at a web-site and Francisco’s excited description of the film’s effusive reception at a recent Bay Area screening. The DGA screening I’m careening to is, naturally, sold out. Francisco has graciously provided a comp ticket at will call.<br /><br />
Luckily, I’m able to nab a still vacant seat on the last row and fall quickly under the spell of a funny but riveting film about friendships, expectations, aspirations, disillusion, betrayal and, ultimately, the infallible belief in the power of music, art and the creative impulse inherent in us all to transcend the challenges and obstacles we face every day. <i>The Crumbles</i>, a fictional indie, alt-rock start up band around which the film is based, resemble the real world in a way that Hollywood still resists. In spite of that sad fact, they become, nonetheless, the band we want to believe in and root for. <br />Unfortunately, the industry continues to have an incredibly hard time believing that the Katie Hipol, Therese Michelle Lee and Jeff Torres and are the new Winona Ryders and Brad Pitt, respectively, of cinema. <br /><br />
A nuanced, well-crafted film that features Hipol as Darla, a brown-skinned, ethnicity neutral, guitar-wielding songwriter who recruits her talented, but flaky Asian-American slacker BFF for a musical project with Torres along as “Dante,” the penultimate “awkward and awesome” drummer who crushes on Darla is, despite what so many well meaning young executives (and yes, Scott Budnick, I am talking to you, and believe me, I’m not kvetching) will say about how they can’t sell a movie without a goofy but lovable white boy or white girl in the mix as a lead. All that excuse making and hem-hawing aside, <i>The Crumbles</i> rock. Their story is universal and every bit a part of the mainstream because this is where we live. This is who we are.<br /><br />
I’m watching what is a standard LA reality that, given half a chance, would otherwise be an amazing sleeper box office smash. I understand that it will be studiously ignored by studios and the Fox Searchlight types precisely because it is every bit as good as an early Woody Allen dramedy. And it’s a homegrown, organic expression that has none of the exotic allure of an import vetted by the likes of Diego Luna or Gael Garcia, who are generally sympathetic guys. But they don’t, however, automatically or readily assume that we also grew up reading Carlos Fuentes and Gabriel Garcia Marquez while we were discovering, unlike them, James Baldwin, Angela Davis, Rodolfo Anaya, Corky Gonzales and Americo Paredes. <br /><br />
Boch has assembled a cast that represents the real Echo Park, the real Boyle Heights and the real downtown L.A. But the industry is loathe to accept that filmmakers like Boch and Hernández are the arbiters of what is quickly becoming the new smart, quirky cool. It is uncomfortable with outsiders deciding what constitutes culture and taste with an edge. <br /><br />
So what? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Hipol and Torres and Lee and Seth Millwood as Serge and Ebony Perry as Francine, an independent bookstore manager who just happens to be black, are believable and true and indicative of what this country will become in spite of backward, xenophobic Arizona-style legislation. <i>The Crumbles</i> embody an idea that flies in the face of the ignominious, visceral and latent assumptions that black and brown and red and yellow people are intent on subverting traditional American values. <br /><br />
The latter is more than evidenced by the recent retard laws which criminalize immigrants and seek to ban empowering studies and books that have led to an increase in graduation rates for all students and allowed for the kind of learning that boosts graduation statistics and college prospects for kids emerging from a community that has the highest drop-out rate in the nation. <br /><br />
As <i>The Crumbles</i> unspools on a screen at a bastion of American cinema, I feel pangs of empathy for Darla, who realizes that her rock star aspirations are perhaps a pipe dream. She tastes the possibility and then sees her hopes dashed because she trusts a girl she cares about. It may be that she has a more intimate interest in Elisa, but she can only recognize them as platonic feelings colored by a need to help a sister trying to make her way out of relationship with a wannabee rock star that has worn thin.<br />A lucid and cogent musical score by Quetzal Flores bolsters the story of a little band poised to make the big-time that can’t seem to overcome the dead-end inertia that plagues so many in a contemporary generation that has all but given up on real social interaction in favor of safe iPhone and Facebook distance. In many ways, the music makes the film flow seemlessly. <br /><br />
Through it all, Boch proves to be a sensitive, gifted story-teller who is, by virtue of his integrity and experience, able to muster the efforts of talented friends who support his vision and believe in the redemptive power of collaboration. There are moments in the film, some of them uncomfortable and ungainly, just like real life, which trigger laughter and others that lend to the sad emptiness that can sometimes invade your spleen with that sick, broken-hearted, almost sinking feeling you get when life seems bleak and insurmountable. <br /><br />
This is what makes the film soar, what makes it resonate with truth. The ensemble cast and crew that gathers for the Q & A afterward gives ample credence to the “awkward and awesome” mantra that has informed Boch’s aesthetic. Their nervous, tentative answers to audience questions are refreshing as a reminder that engaging, independent, underground cinema, which reflects the inevitable veracity of our times, is alive and well in L.A.xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-47402635733672247592011-04-21T11:50:00.000-07:002011-04-21T11:56:03.028-07:00Floricanto en DC: Part II<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ed. Note:</span> This is in the new issue of Brooklyn & Boyle and reflects on a trip made several months ago. It seems to be gestating and gelling in parts. There will be in the end, three parts, I believe. And when they are finished, I hope to collect them in one complete monograph or chapbook. Please accept my humble gratitude for your patience and your willingness to follow along, even though there will be other posts that don't necessarily adhere to a specific chronological order.</span><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">FLORICANTO IN DC: Part II</span><br /><br />While leaving the ballroom auditorium where Zurita has just delivered a series of epic poems, I am able to greet LA translator and poet Jen Hofer briefly before Francisco Alarcón, Odilia Galván, Javier and I must rush to prepare for the official Floricanto in DC, which is being held at the True Reformer Building on U Street in the U Street arts corridor. Dedicated on July 15, 1903, the building was the first in the nation to be designed, financed, built, and owned by the African-American community after Reconstruction.<br />Spacious and well appointed with all the modern conveniences, it now serves as the home for the Public Welfare Foundation. The second floor auditorium is nearly full by 7 p.m. Poets from across the country have gathered for an event being presented by Acentos Foundation, Poets Responding to SB1070 and Split this Rock, the organization behind the annual Split This Rock Poetry Festival built on the premise that poets “have a unique role to play in social movements as innovators, visionaries, truth tellers, and restorers of language.”<br /><br />Looking around it has become obvious that more than just the two-dozen or so previously confirmed writers have gathered to share poetry in protest of Arizona’s anti-immigrant legislation. In addition to the confirmed list, which includes Francisco X. Alarcon, Tara Betts, Sarah Browning, Regie Cabico, Carmen Calatayud, Susan Deer Cloud, Martín Espada, Odilia Galvan Rodriguez, Carmen Gimenez Smith, Aracelis Girmay, Randall Horton, , Dorianne Laux, Marilyn Nelson, Mark Nowak, Barbara Jane Reyes, Abel Salas, Craig Santos Perez, Hedy Trevino, Pam Uschuk, Dan Vera, Rich Villar, and Andre Yang, Chicago area poet and activist Susana Sandoval, has jumped on board to lend her voice and her considerable experience as a press liaison. Roberto Vargas, the honorary poet laureate of Bay Area Mission District has actually flown out from San Antonio, Texas where he now lives, to participate.<br /><br />It is thrilling to see that even literary luminary Sonia Sanchez, who had appeared earlier on a panel celebrating the work of Langston Hughes at the AWP (Association of Writers & Writing Programs) conference, has come out share her words and her support for the wellspring of poetic action as well. On a personal note, I am moved almost to tears when I see my older sister Gloria in audience at the back of the room. Because we are scheduled to read alphabetically, I take advantage of being near the end to slip out and grab some chili at Ben’s, across the street. The weather is cold and damp. According to my sister, the residual snow that still glistens on the ground is from a storm that has blown through several days before.<br /><br />Ben’s Chili Bowl is an institution. The crowd at the dining counter is three deep, yet the small bowl of chili and a small order of thick steak fries come pretty quickly. Back in the True Reformer, the poetry is round and full and powerful. By the end of the evening there is a sense of joy and euphoria that floods the room. People don’t seem ready to leave. It is the first opportunity that many of the Facebook Poets Responding to SB1070 have had to meet face-to-face.<br /><br />A group of us spend the next hour looking for a restaurant where we can all eat together. Because the group is large, we are unsuccessful. Every place is packed, and it’s nearly impossible to seat us as a party of 14 during the late evening rush. It’s Friday night in U Street section. Walking by a restaurant called Poets & Busboys, a place named in honor of Langston Hughes, we see LA poet/author Luis Rodriguez, founder of Tia Chucha’s Café Cultural in Sylmar. The handshakes and hugs between him and so many of his long-time colleagues and contemporaries from around the nation are contagious. Luis is in D.C. for the AWP Conference and a meeting with the author of a book Tia Chucha Press is preparing to publish.<br /><br />After finally giving up on the possibility of finding a restaurant nearby, we are invited to the home of Carlos Mauricio and his wife Ruth Goode. who live a short drive away. Their apartment is in a classic older building, which feels very New York or Chicago. Our hosts are both very involved in cultural affairs here and outside of the U.S. Ruth is a consultant on several U.N. projects and Carlos is a photographer with roots in El Salvador who spent many years in San Francisco where he documented murals and became acquainted with the Mission District Latino arts community. I say goodbye to my sister and those of us that are left begin sharing poetry around a living room coffee table. Ruth and Carlos have gone on a grocery run and I’m later enlisted to help prepare a modest dinner as well as a salad.<br /><br />The poetry and the pasta are incredible. I feel so entirely privileged to be part of a new poetic family. We listen to jazz music and sip red wine while we listen to each other share. Am I dreaming? It this real? In the middle of it all, I wonder if I won’t wake up back in our own beloved Boyle Heights barrio where all of this began. <span style="font-weight: bold;">To Be Continued...</span>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-6238211388867738332011-03-29T15:59:00.000-07:002011-04-08T18:18:23.964-07:00Tejaztlan Tour, Again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCfv4lsTxmgO5oCpVq9G9G48eocToUMepVFcO44I5N9411c-zyLT1Y7xq92Sqv2i7Z555s-lD-7fZAuPGCqw7wBRGtaAOQWlSC0JVRB-fhTvxTHds2_TXbphVjE69CXqA3UN6fXV0Y-fDS/s1600/rockpango_deluxe.png"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 199px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 155px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590610083576222274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCfv4lsTxmgO5oCpVq9G9G48eocToUMepVFcO44I5N9411c-zyLT1Y7xq92Sqv2i7Z555s-lD-7fZAuPGCqw7wBRGtaAOQWlSC0JVRB-fhTvxTHds2_TXbphVjE69CXqA3UN6fXV0Y-fDS/s400/rockpango_deluxe.png" /></a>The sky is gray and heavy with the rains that haven't come. My daughter Alma Ixchel and I are sitting with Mamá Cynthia at the 24 Diner next to the legendary Waterloo Records where we've just missed a free set by <a style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold" href="http://loslonelyboys.com/rockpango/track/">Los Lonely Boys</a>, who have just released a phenomenal new record called <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Rockpango</span> (a play on <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">huapango</span>, for you LA pochos who don't look past the son jarocho or the norteño standards we all grew up with). A surprise encounter with<a style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold" href="http://www.alejandroescovedo.com/"> Alejandro Escovedo</a> reminds me that I come from a community of musical brothers. I'd nearly forgotten about a translation gig I did for him when he was being interviewed by Telemundo a while back. A fortuitous reunion, it results in a guest list slot for me at his Continental Club show tonight. We're in a hurry because <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">mi'ja</span> has to be at ballet folklorico practice by 7 p.m. This trip to the ATX is the result of the poetry in response to Arizona SB1070. The Washngton DC Floricanto and its impact both online and in Mexico have led directly to the invitation from the <a style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold" href="http://latinocongreso.org/">National Latino Congreso</a> to organize a Floricanto Tejano in Response to Arizona SB1070 and Texas HB 12. It's always so strange being back your hometown. It's where I first wrote about music for magazines like <a style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0)" href="http://www.austinchronicle.com/"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">The Austin Chronicle</span></a>, the equivalent of the <em>LA Weekly</em>, except that the music coverage is about ten times as good, perhaps simply a function of the fact that Austin is a music city in a way that LA can never or will ever be. Here you have <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">son jarocho</span> and Chicanismo alongside Tex-Mex and bluegrass and country dosed with straight-ahead rock, indie-rock, <em>rock en español</em> and blues. This is the city that made Stevie Ray Vaughn a legend. It should come as no surprise that Ozo and Santa Cecilia try to play Austin as often as possible. The food is good. And the city is an oasis for craft brewers. I've had a Pecan Porterville, a Jester King-brewed Black Metal, which is like a sweet espresso with a kick, a Fireman's 4, and at least least four other locally brewed and bottled beers, this go 'round and I have to say it's definitely part of what makes the city I was reared in great. Imagine listening to young Chicanos in a group called Son Armado in the back yard at an Eastside home which you find out three hours later belongs to a girl you went to high school with. Reggie Villanueva has opened her house to the future and still remembers me from Spanish class in Mrs. Olivares' Spanish for Native Speakers 5th period blow-off hour. Later, I find myself and my younger half brother, Abraham, who I call a <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Chicatracho </span>(Chicano-Catracho, beause <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Catracho</span> is slang for Hondureño, gente) at a trendy downtown bar called Beso Cantina, where a<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"> rock en español </span>band called <a style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold" href="http://www.reverbnation.com/kalua">Kalua</a> with a skinny lead singer who sounds like a cross between Roy Orbson and Buddy Holly sings a rock version of <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">La Malagueña</span>. You can't make any of this up. It's so real in its beauty and so beautiful in its realness. I do miss Boyle Heights and the family that I have there. I honestly wish I could bring everyone here. It was great to see Matt Sedillo fly himself to Dallas where he visited with his father, who then drove him down to Austin for the Floricanto, where he was able to see his son Matt "Seditious" Sedillo bring the down the house with his poem. I can honestly say it was the best reading I've ever seen Matt present. It was just as great an honor to see Sarah Rafael Garcia, founder of Santa Ana's <a style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold" href="http://www.barriowriters.org/">Barrio Writers</a> settling in and making her way as a writer/performer in Austin. She was nice enough to read at our Floricanto, and she's also in the middle of cooking up a really cool <a style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold" href="http://www.janesjugs.com/">beer blog</a>. I hadn't realized that when she said she would be in Austin, she meant that she had relocated here permanently after visiting a sister that lives here. She's actually preparing for a move to the Eastside, my other Eastside, East Ostion, East Austin, <em>East of the Freeway</em> like the title in Raul Salinas' book. East of I-35, because in Austin it's all about two zip codes... the 78704 and the 78702, the former being the South Austin hippie-ville turned trendy, somewhat gentrified hipster, coolified "SoCo" (South Congress Ave), and the latter being what was once a mostly Mexican American barrio that kids on my high school gymnastics team used to worry about. Can't tell you how many times I heard "Uh, oh. We're in the Eastside, better roll up your windows and lock the doors." on the way to tournaments at high schools on the black and brown sides of town. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">No modo</span>. Everyone wants to live in the '702 now, much like they're finding their way to the '033 in LA. Seeing the parallels simply makes me wonder how we live and work around the inevitable. Is the Wyvernwood housing project in Boyle Heights doomed to go the way of downtown lofts and condominiums? I'm just glad sisters like Sarah are making their way to traditionally Chicano neighborhoods and doing creative cultural work with young people. Stay tuned... Maybe my older brother Tomás has the right ideas with a little tree-lined, open land spread outside of town and a back porch with a hammock and a beautiful paint horse, a mare he calls 'Spérame Sister, because "she's a fast girl." So more on the homecoming as it transpires. The Congreso was <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">firme</span>. Agenda and policy were on the front burner, but they made space for <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">la poesia y la cultura.</span> I was pleased with the opportunity to interview Nativo Lopez, a leader at <a style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold" href="http://mapa.org/">MAPA (Mexcan American Political Association)</a>, based back in Boyle Heights. The internationalization of our struggle as indigenous people is on, he says, and we stand firmly behind those wise words. The fact that he's been branded an "American traitor" and a "menace" by the yahoo minutemen commando wannabees of "American Patrol" is just funny. Let them add me to the list of menaces who make sure they go the way of the cowards who killed Brisenia Flores and her father.xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-34757754660837577622010-12-05T16:08:00.000-08:002011-01-05T09:12:54.318-08:00La Gran Calavera Modista<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1x9KxHXUqR0sZ8PhjpGgAHn49vMJqIyZ_JNXfg_cLf8YDIb1_vXYjNIEjT6cyPeiev9UvVAv-B4sNae7hyphenhyphen9YosveNXooG8edIi2Knq9CVIuE_GsDrXk2m7CEsVmNy1xsxhUK2Njsff7z/s1600/El-Gallo-GiroWeb.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1x9KxHXUqR0sZ8PhjpGgAHn49vMJqIyZ_JNXfg_cLf8YDIb1_vXYjNIEjT6cyPeiev9UvVAv-B4sNae7hyphenhyphen9YosveNXooG8edIi2Knq9CVIuE_GsDrXk2m7CEsVmNy1xsxhUK2Njsff7z/s400/El-Gallo-GiroWeb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547355678475116882" border="0" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Once again, <a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);" href="http://www.tropicodenopal.com/home/home.html">Trópico de Nopal’s</a> Reyes Rodríguez raised the bar on himself with an extravagant yet still elegantly simple “Ofrendas 2010” Calavera Fashion Show & Walking Altars exhibition. Now in it’s ninth year, the annual Dia de Los Muertos couture and ambulatory altar spectacular has become a signature Day of the Dead art event and easily ranks among the most interesting and enjoyable exhibitions mounted<span style=""> </span>in a city that has elevated the annual <span style="font-style: italic;">Muertos</span> celebration to a city-wide festival on the order of Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Complimenting a visceral, and emotionally moving altar installation organized inside the Trópico de Nopal Gallery and Artspace by Marialice Jacob, the Calavera fashion show brings together a score of artists for an evening of cutting-edge fashion, design and visual art that unfolds along a custom runway created to enhance the semblances to a haute couture seasonal debut. The individual fashion designs—as often elaborated as conceptual or performance art pieces as they are staged in runway promenade—are dedicated to family members, well known artists, personalities or and close friends no longer among the living. <span style=""> </span>In the case of <a href="http://abelalejandre.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">Abel Alejandre’s</span></b></a> "Gallo Giro," a stunning rooster suit built with a spring action spine and neck to which a human sized rooster head was affixed, the dance moves with which Alejandre showcased his creation, complete with a bobbing cockscomb and feet that were entirely realistic down to the spikes and spurs. My tocayo is a gifted draughtsman whose almost photorealistic large scale graphite drawings have now given way to silkscreens and monoprints produced at <a href="http://www.selfhelpgraphics.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">Self Help Graphics</span></b></a> and three dimensional work such as the delightful gallo macho who brought a smile to everyone’s face with a Mexican funky chicken dance to the sound of an obscure south of the border band called, guess what… Los Funky!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Conversely, <a href="http://www.polimarichal.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">Poli Marichal</span></b></a>, whose puppet entries have stolen the show in previous years, went one step further this time by becoming her own harlequin marionette in a touching mime play paying tribute to a fallen family member. As the white-faced, child-like cross between a court jester and a sad, motherless orphan, Marichal came onto the stage to a mournful tune. In one hand, she carried a bird-cage with a metallic, heart-shaped balloon bearing a photo recuerdo. In the other, she carried a wistful butterfly net. When the balloon was un-caged and released into the night sky, Marichal waved goodbye. Around me, more than one pair of eyes in the sell-out, standing room only crowd was damp with sadness. The knot in my own throat was a palpable weight as all of us watched the helium balloon float slowly and forlornly away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Moving 180 degrees away from the <span style="font-style: italic;">folklórico</span> skirts hand sewn by his own mother and printed with his ornately intricate designs in gold last year, printmaker <a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);" href="http://www.printgonzalez.com/news.html">Daniel González</a> entered a monumental calavera puppet complete with moving parts and a glowing electric light source in the center of each dark eye socket hollow. To help you imagine the scale of his creation, it is enough to say that it took three men to move the giant skeleton across the runway and work all the hinged, superhuman sized limbs, uh… er… bones.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">New to the fashion show as an individual artist, <a href="http://www.justbreathehealing.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><b>Elena Esparza</b></span></a> has, of course, assisted in the creation and exhibition of pieces by members of her family for several years now.<span style=""> </span>This year, she joined the fray with a live tableaux populated by humanoid symbols of earth and a treasured garden. In this instance, it would be safe to assume that the garden represented is Proyecto Jardin, a project with which Esparza has been associated since its inception. Attired as trees, bee hives and flowers, the denizens of Esparza’s earth were a call to environmental action and a gorgeous romp through Esparza’s eclectic chromatic and textural palette. Cloaked in her lush, vibrant designs, the models in Esparza’s piece were regal in their symbolic roles as elements in the natural world we must protect. While Esparza is heir to the traditional healing arts as a child of Ofelia Esparza, an accomplished artist and altarista, Esparza’s first fashion foray marks the beginning of her ascent as an artist with a conscience who embodies, perhaps by blood, a sense for the majesty of our ancestry and the the earth as our mother.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">CiCi Segura, as evidenced by her entry this year, is an heir to David Alfaro Siqueiros. Her walking altar in tribute to the famed Mexican muralist, currently the subject of retrospectives, mural restoration efforts and discussion throughout the LA art environs, was a fitting addition to the dialogue on the master’s legacy. Particularly original was the three-dimensional fabric banner cape bearing stuffed cloth bas-relief replicas of well known Siqueiros paintings. It was at once a witty remark on all the Siqueiros hype and a visually striking exercise that once again pegged Segura as a risk taker and a visionary pioneer who responds to contemporary art currents and still somehow manages to make them her own. Segura’s original designs and her bold use of color and texture on textile were in keeping with her distinctive and always witty artistic explorations.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Taken directly from current headlines, the tongue-in-cheek piece by Carolyn Castaño was a direct reference to the recent news that a former Mexican beauty pageant queen had been arrested alongside her narco-kingpin boyfriend. Castaño makes her statement by depicting the narco as a fat cat “patron” who can buy love from and status through a romance with a popular beauty contest winner.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Robert Quijada took popular lore around <a href="http://www.wattstowers.us/simon_rodia.htm"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">Simon Rodia’s</span></b></a> Watts Towers and created a meaningful and fearlessly innovative sculpture using flat metal bands decorated with mosaic tile to evoke the towers built by the Italian bricklayer using left over materials so many years ago. Made to be worn as a mini-replica of Rodia’s opus magnum on the shoulders, the piece ranked easily among the best of the presentation from a technical and visual perspective. Of all the fashion tributes, Quijada’s was the only one based on a public art piece that is so entirely indicative of Los Angeles. Stretching another into the air , Quijada’s walking altar was poetic in its evocation of a monument born in the nearly miraculous dream of an Italian bricklayer, monument so structurally sound it has remained standing for well over half a century. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The round up would be remiss if there was no mention of the collaboration between <a href="http://www.rocioponce.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">Rocio Ponce</span></b></a> and <a href="http://www.joebravo.net/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><b>Joe Bravo</b></span></a>. A flamenco dancer and musician (frontwoman for La Bestia), Ponce pounced triumphantly upon the runway in a piece by Bravo, who has often worked with models who bring their own talents and strengths to the process. The Coatlicue piece he did with poet and performer Arianna Gouveia two years ago was a case in point. Bravo is a gifted painter who turned giant tortillas into canvases that have brought him world-wide acclaim, but as his work is brought to life on the calavera fashion stage, the dimensional aspects of his art are refined. The skeletal hand transformed into a flamenco dancer comb worn in Ponce’s slicked back hair was riveting.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Through it all, Reyes Rodriguez spins a soundtrack punctuated with rhythm and style, segues into music selected expressly for each piece and transitional overdub. <a href="http://www.pocho.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><b>Lalo Alcaraz</b></span></a>, a notoriously acerbic comic commentator who co-founded the satirical comedy troupe Chicano Secret Service before becoming a nationally syndicated political cartoonist, is a go-to MC who brings humor and razor wit to his role as a host in the commentator box. More than a fashion show, the event brings together a community of artists who are given free reign to create with out the constraints of a gallery and the stationary nature of the traditional altar. Reyes has uncorked an avalanche of sight and sound that explores the limits of what <span style="font-style: italic;">Día de Los Muertos</span> has come to represent for Latino artists who are allowed to venture forth with explorations that both reinvent the Day of the Dead traditions and breathe new life into them at the same time. </p> <!--EndFragment-->xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-2933588559906001032010-10-24T17:49:00.000-07:002010-10-24T18:43:15.017-07:00The Tao of Funkahuatl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheV7i2lFqbaQKuvHKrDHj2zxF9d_wf8T5McOyLMY7jB3MoZLt3YwBrMzUzW4NJvkx3gF3AVkRv1mhyyw72Sifa3_E_VnnFYbQ994j2HARrzUuqG4wbD9SEXmQ1T1t5__rJ2mYrc3sjXlHd/s1600/tao_cover_mini.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheV7i2lFqbaQKuvHKrDHj2zxF9d_wf8T5McOyLMY7jB3MoZLt3YwBrMzUzW4NJvkx3gF3AVkRv1mhyyw72Sifa3_E_VnnFYbQ994j2HARrzUuqG4wbD9SEXmQ1T1t5__rJ2mYrc3sjXlHd/s400/tao_cover_mini.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531781450528608482" border="0" /></a><br />One part tantric medicine man, one part Boyle Heights barrio advocate, one part broken-hearted love poet, one part rock star lover boy, one part visionary producer and one part life-long political and social activist, Rubén Guevara would squirm if he heard himself referred to this way. He might roll his eyes and say “come on, now, that’s too many parts.”<br /><br />For Guevara, whose alter ego as Funkahuatl—the Aztec God of Funk—resurfaces on vinyl here with a definitive musical masterwork entitled <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tao of Funkahuatl</span>, life and its lessons are to be savored as tantalizing experiences that reveal the paths to divinity. The sacred, as expressed in his first new album in over 30 years, is sexual, sensual, loving and tender. It is platonic and political. It is deeply rooted in community.<br /><br />His new disc distills a lifetime of lovemaking and learning, of memory and mysticism. Backed by an arsenal of musical giants as legendary as Guevara himself, Funkahuatl once again jumps and turns with the fever pitch and whispers of trance-like storytelling.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Tao</span> is a come hither and dance with me, a shake rattle and roll from your hips clarion. For Guevara, the spirit of Funkahuatl redeems and purifies each of us with a soul throttling release that is captured here on a record that comes dressed in stunning sleeve art by John Valadez and a calligraphic package designed by Joel “Rage One” García.<br /><br />With the collector’s record, an album complete with a fine art, limited edition lithograph printed by Francesco X. Siqueiros at El Nopal Press, Guevara restores vinyl to its original luster. And while the presentation is positively mouthwatering, it is finally the music and the voice that take shape and flight on the eight compositions that lace themselves together as <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tao of Funkahuatl</span> which define the core of Guevara’s latest offering at the altar of joy, love and triumph.<br /><br />It is no accident that he is joined by sidemen collectively known as the Eastside Luvers, among them: Steve Alaniz (tenor sax); John Avila (bass); Ramón Banda (drums) and Bob Robles (guitar). With the Luvers, Guevara bridges spoken word, funk, rhythm and blues. He scatters words, poetry, chord progressions, harmonies, brass, wind, fretwork, bass lines and percussion across the auditory spectrum in a steady torrent as if seeding the clouds with invitations to sacred gathering of song on LA’s Eastside.<br /><br />Catch the upcoming issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Brooklyn & Boyle</span> for the complete review by Abel Salasxicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-78777758354050505632010-10-09T16:05:00.000-07:002010-10-09T17:24:18.346-07:00SpinCity Terrace y EnvironsBack with more than just poems and long, adulatory postings that come too few and far between. It's been an eventful season. What else can be said? Corazón del Pueblo is thriving. The "Un Floricanto Adelanto" at Corazón was a milestone gathering of 40+ poets and a sense of community that was not exactly matched at the equally stirring USC reprisal of the original 1973 Festival Flor y Canto. Meeting Festival coordinator and photographer extraordinaire Em Sedano, hosting the spirited Pocha Catalana, traveling to San Pancho to read at the Mission Cultural Center 40th Anniversary Celebration in honor of the Bay Area's <i>El Tecolote</i> newspaper on Aug. 29th were nothing short of breathtaking. We can probably dispense with the obligatory recap, but reconnecting with poet/artist mentors from 25 years ago was just the shot in the arm this <i>pobre vato loco</i> needed. Can't say enough about the renewed sense of purpose, the writerly <i>compromiso</i>...<div><br /></div><div>And the ride hasn't stopped. It's taking me to Cal Sate Monterey Bay to read poetry in protest of SB 1070 in a former U.S. military base on October 28th. Will try to find a ride to Big Sur and Carmel while I'm there. Taking the train to Salinas. At Corazón, Teatro Urbano has extended the run of <i>The Silver Dollar</i>, a gut-wrenching play about the death of <i>periodista </i>Rubén Salazar. They perform the historic drama every Saturday in October at 8:30 pm.</div><div><br /></div><div>The move to City Terrace brings me closer to Corazón and the work we're doing as part of a <i>firme</i> collective. Still in the middle of a do-or-die Dia de Los Muertos issue of <i>Brooklyn & Boyle</i> but it will come. The 1st St. corridor is hopping like mad. The Metropolitan Bar is open for business. I've had the glorious opportunity to meet the 70-something Doña Teodora Sanchez, proprietor of the tintoreria up the block. More on her later. The Boyle Heights Farmers Market is a Friday staple. Un Solo Sol Kitchen is serving healthy Mexican-Salvadorean fusion, ie. pupusas made with spinach or mushroom or squash as well as asian salads and chick pea guisos. Sorry if you're unfamiliar with "guiso." Just try to think of it as a Mexican stir-stew-fry in a pan and not a wok. 'Nuff said. We'll skip the litany of ultra-cool happenings you can't miss but must perforce mention the Latino Book Festival at Cal State LA today and tomorrow. Thank you Eddie Olmos. I'll drop in tomorrow for a panel on "Latino Diaspora," a discussion among Latino exiles from Latin America living in the U.S. as a result of the civil wars and political persecution by U.S. supported dictatorships that were installed in many countries to protect U.S. business interests and the landed local elite in often violent opposition to labor and indigenous rights activist movements. Which has nothing to do with the "Batalla de la Loncheras" at the Cornfields and the Mole cook-off at Placita Olvera tomorrow, two separate events I hope to hit before settling in at the Cal State LA Book Festival... </div><div><br /></div><div>Por ahora, we'll just have to table </div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-7040769122924942312010-08-08T11:52:00.000-07:002010-08-09T15:44:27.839-07:00Poema PuroEs ser escogido<br />nacido en el gemido<br />generado por<br />el suspiro<br />como una<br />orquidia<br />frágil y<br />timida<br />Es amanecer<br />bajo un colibri<br />vestido de<br />angel<br />sobre la<br />cama a<br />donde<br />ha llegado<br />la mujer<br />con piel<br />de nuez<br />como una<br />paracaidista<br />emisaria de<br />las nubes<br />alegres y<br />sonrientes<br />es tocar la<br />luna con mis<br />dedos y manos<br />asombrados<br />es pronunciar<br />su nombre<br />en mil y una<br />lenguas<br />para<br />escuchar<br />y sentir<br />la pureza<br />del poema<br />escrito en<br />cada paso<br />en cada<br />abrir y<br />cerrar de<br />sus ojos negros<br />en cada<br />gota de<br />agua que<br />escurre<br />como conejo<br />suelto y silvestre<br />de mi boca<br />al verte a<br />mi ladoxicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-13463795362304951342010-07-06T06:24:00.000-07:002010-07-08T11:59:45.722-07:00Concierto Sin Fronteras y Beyond...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKKHLATLCh4OIf9yvXxKkMpFF_Wu0HWvar_4GpyY0Z0detGw2SZuJszLv2et6zgK-Ujt6EYGzGU58Rg5X2MvdwHLwJoYt2lvvGen1EyyQHcjJX_7Re0npuF_X4D_V8TciuRVsGauxYbcW/s1600/710event.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKKHLATLCh4OIf9yvXxKkMpFF_Wu0HWvar_4GpyY0Z0detGw2SZuJszLv2et6zgK-Ujt6EYGzGU58Rg5X2MvdwHLwJoYt2lvvGen1EyyQHcjJX_7Re0npuF_X4D_V8TciuRVsGauxYbcW/s400/710event.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490806606354228770" border="0" /></a>On a Father's Day jog around <a style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;" href="http://laeastside.com/2009/01/evergreen-cemetery-jogging-path-boyle-heights/">Evergreen Cemetery</a>, the brilliant sound of mariachis serenading beloved <i>jefitos</i> near their final resting grounds floats over the retaining wall as I run along the eastern perimeter. To my left, the smells and colors of El Mercadito bear witness to the touching and tender rites taking place. To my right, David Kipen, a friend who stands slightly more than six-feet tall, can actually jump high enough to see the musicians in their burnished regalia. I am satisfied with his report that, yes, they are indeed real <i>músicos</i>. Kipen is a right fine <i>cuate</i> with a literary bent and an undeniable love for books and words. He has installed himself in the storefront across the street from <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Corazón del Pueblo</span> and plans to open a small lending library and used book shop called Libros Schmibros there. In light of the fact that libraries across the land are being closed due to budget cuts (while the war machine continues to grow fat from our tax dollars), it is no small feat. Kipen was formerly the director of literary programs at the NEA in Washington DC but was recently downsized and thus encouraged to make his way back to LA. Before the DC gig, he was the book editor at the <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/chronicle/"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">San Francisco Chronicle</span></a>.<br /><br /><div>I won't harp on the whole gentrification vs. gente-fication brou-ha-ha anymore because I'm sure my friend Kevin Roderick at <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.laobserved.com"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">LAObserved</span></a> and many others are done with my soap box rants on Eastside vs. hipsterville Eastside aspirations. Kipen comes recommended by Luís Rodríguez and has known one of my personal mentors--Francisco X. Alarcón--for many years. I for one, was impressed so much by his <span style="font-style: italic;">palabra</span> credentials and his sensitivity to the neighborhood that gave birth to <span style="font-style: italic;">Brooklyn & Boyle</span>, I mistakenly added about 10 years to his real age, a gaff for which I hope to be forgiven someday.<br /><br /><i>Anybüeys</i>, here we are... learning how best to work and love and struggle in a collective manner that is supportive and encouraging. Kipen gives shout outs to Corazón del Pueblo and <span style="font-style: italic;">Brooklyn & Boyle</span> in a story describing his humble bookstop project this week in <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; "><a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/bookselling/article/43737-david-kipen-s-next-chapter-bookseller.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;">Publisher's Weekly</span></a></span>. Elsewhere, since we're making an effort here to be a bit more timely, play catch up and further procrastinate on the production of yet another vaunted print edition of <span style="font-style: italic;">Brooklyn & Boyle</span>, it was a beautiful weekend for the 1.8 Million Dreamers fundraiser at Self Help Graphics, which featured performances by La Santa Cecilia and <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.myspace.com/conjuntonuevaola"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Conjunto Nueva Ola</span></a>, a rollicking, cumbia-on-high-octane band of black patent leather Mexican Lucha Libre mask-wearing lords, who seem to have taken their fashion cues directly from the <a href="http://www.sergioarau.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Sergio Arau</span></a> playbook and simply substituted the <span style="font-style: italic;">guacarock</span> thrust with the <span style="font-style: italic;">sonidero</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">cumbia </span>vibe that has become all the rage among LA's Chicano and Latino cognoscenti since Very Be Careful followed Ozomatli onto the dance floor with the infectious, danceable <span style="font-style: italic;">ritmos del caribe</span>. I had a brief glimpse of Nueva Ola's steaming set at Eastside Love on Friday night and got the low-down from Gabriel Jiménez, a musician himself and a stalwart <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.plazadelaraza.org"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Plaza de la Raza</span></a> staffer.<br /><br />And if that weren't enough, it's safe to say that the success of the SHG fundraiser for the movement to support college bound immigrant students was replicated at Tierra de la Culebra park in Highland Park at the Farce of July (now over a decade old) commemoration presente<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBLnlz4-wvL_sPepQYcN7grwDOcvgTkLk8bqU4CdhatuaTT2nq8vWIgFx_GWGC5F7iQ54azgfsU1_3wn3v_WMDZFEP6akNaNhbD99kpeKunSUZoy-vhyphenhyphenbCsTbULUeSmPnbkVcrJ8KIqVv/s1600/Olmeca_LLC_CD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBLnlz4-wvL_sPepQYcN7grwDOcvgTkLk8bqU4CdhatuaTT2nq8vWIgFx_GWGC5F7iQ54azgfsU1_3wn3v_WMDZFEP6akNaNhbD99kpeKunSUZoy-vhyphenhyphenbCsTbULUeSmPnbkVcrJ8KIqVv/s200/Olmeca_LLC_CD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490808538124091186" border="0" /></a>d by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.myspace.com/xicanorecordsandfilm"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Xican@ Records & Film</span></a> and hosted by <span style="font-weight: bold; "><a href="http://mujeresdemaiz.ning.com/profile/FeliciaMontesFe"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;">Felicia "La Fe" Montes</span></a></span> and <a style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);" href="http://www.facebook.com/people/Olmeca-Musik/583503363#%21/profile.php?id=583503363"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Olmeca</span></a>. It was a solidly beautiful Sunday, and I was happy to bask in the late afternoon sun listening to live tunes with little brother Yaxkin Chumacero AKA MC Yoshi, who will be featuring at the Corazón del Pueblo July 14th "Flowers of Fire" open mic. And if you can muster up enough love to support the work CdP is doing, please come down to our "Concierto Sin Fronteras" for a look at <i>el maestro</i> Hugo Martinez Teocatl's amazing mural work and some of the best xicano music, hip-hop and poetry you'll ever witness in LA, including the above mentioned Olmeca, whose latest project, <a href="http://www.madeinaztlan.com/?p=76"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">La Contra Cultura</span></a>, demonstrates both a lyrical and political maturity coupled with a production polish that explains the wide interest in his music both in and outside of the U.S. and as far away as places like Ecuador, where he recently attended a north-south native people's gathering.</div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-65615254781079480582010-05-18T14:07:00.000-07:002010-05-24T10:48:49.075-07:00Mother's Day in Mexico CityIt´s Mother´s Day at home in the States right now. Although it isn't officially <i>Día de la Madres</i> here in México until tomorrow, I can still hear "Las Mañanitas" being amplified from within a church or a home nearby. The lively, cumbia-inflected band delivering the music slips suddenly and unexpectedly into Santana's "Samba Pa' Ti." The volcanic rock from which many of the streets and retaining walls in Coyoacan--the long-time artist's enclave where a group of us from LA are staying--are built, seem to bounce the sound about even more. Coming to quickly in spite of very little sleep, I realize it should really come as no surprise that a band in the middle of Mexico City would serenade mothers with the traditional birthday song and follow it with a signature song by Carlitos.<br /><br />I am part of a writer group that includes: Roberto Leni, a Chilean emigré raised in San Francisco; Polina Vasliev, a polyglot Russian-born, U.S., Argentina and Brazil trained linguist; current KPCC radio reporter Adolfo Guzmán López, who also happens to be a founding member of the Taco Shop Poets, the performance poetry troupe that burst out of San Diego onto the national poetry scene over a decade ago; and me, honorary nephew and self-appointed heir to self-described cockroach poet raúlrsalinas and a proud member of the Corazón del Pueblo: Arts, Education & Action Collective based in Eastside LA's Boyle Heights neighborhood. Three years ago, I would have called my mother to describe the journey that has taken me from LA to Toluca, one hour north of here for a poetry reading in a 100-year-old building and former brewery that has since been transformed into a stylish museum dedicated to science and industry. The reading is part of an exchange dubbed the <span style="font-style: italic;">Encuentro de Escritores México - Los Angeles</span>, and we represent the Los Angeles contingent. The exchange has also taken us to a very formal reading complete with a grand piano and a musical interlude that included a poem by Federico García Lorca set to music on a polished stage in the Aula Magna ¨José Vasconcelos¨ auditorium at CENART, the Centro Nacional de las Artes as well as a <span style="font-style: italic;">pulquería</span> on Avenida Insurgentes in the historically picturesque community of Colonia Roma.<br /><br />Sadly, the phone call is no longer possible. For the second year in a row, I am unable to make that <i>Día de Las Madres</i> <span style="font-style: italic;">llamada</span> because our <span style="font-style: italic;">madrecita</span> has already passed on. And my instant melancholy at hearing the music from outside this morning pulls me from a guest room bed on the second floor of a nicely appointed studio and office structure in the small yard behind the bright orange home where our host, photographer and poet Kary Cerda, lives with her 18-year-old son, Altair. The impulse to reach for my mother and wish her a happy Mother's Day beats within me with disquieting regularity.<br /><br />I want to call even though, I'm still exhausted from a late night at <span style="font-style: italic;">El Pericazo</span>, a Colonia Roma bar where I'd gone to hear a turntablist known as DJ Apocaliptzin and run inadvertently into a young woman named Amaranta who has just returned to the Mexican capital from LA. It was astonishing to learn that, while in LA, she had attended several Mujeres de Maiz events including the all-woman poetry celebration at Corazón. I would have called my mom with breathless excitement, explained to her how warm and receptive everyone has been, how happy I am to be alive and in <span style="font-style: italic;">el ombligo de la luna</span> once again. I would have told my<span style="font-style: italic;"> jefita</span> how much I loved her. The fiercely beautiful hummingbird woman who bore me would have not forgotten--before saying goodbye--to tell me how proud she was and to come home safely. The thought occurs to me then that my four sisters are also all fiercely beautiful, hummingbird warrior women, who--though small figured and fine boned like their mother Juliana--are formidable thinkers, artists, activists, organizers, healers, homemakers and mothers in their own right. A kind word or praise from any one of them is always simply an extension of the empowering love I was given by a mother who gave everything while asking for nothing in return. I know undoubtedly that I would have intoned the words to Las Mañanitas and described our group's final reading the day before at El Chopo, the <span style="font-style: italic;">rocanrol</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ero</span> swap meet near Tlatelolco, the site of the 1968 student massacre. I would have shared how six of us, a gang including two young poets from Mexico, had gathered at three mics and broken out in a style reminiscent of the Taco Shop Poets with two poets on each of three microphones, repeating words for an echo effect and layering phrases from our own individual poems, launching them across the street-level stage for a couple hundred hard core punks, goths, metalheads, emos and straight up old-school <span style="font-style: italic;">roqueros</span> in a symphony of sound.<br /><br />I would not have failed to recount how just before we were invited to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Tianguis Cultural del Chopo</span> stage, we were all mesmerized by the gripping, visceral power of a dance performance troupe called Butoh Chilango whose members had chalked a square on the dark street surface in the center of the audience. With their faces contorted under nylon stocking masks, some lay prone on the ground as others drew crime-scene outlines around their bodies and scrawled words inside the residual shape. "SB 1070" wrote one. Dancers also traced outlines of sneakered feet among the onlookers. I would have said how, at one point, I was handed a lipstick and been given a subtle cue to make a dancer's stocking masked face and head my canvas. I would have gone on about how others in the audience were given chalk sticks to do with whatever they wished. How one pale, thin dancer wore an open passport around his neck, covers facing outward as he stabbed at it with colored chalk. In the center of the square, a long, circular rubber loop like giant rubberband made from thin tubing about six feet in length was unfurled from within a large round birdcage. The dancers had twisted and wrapped themselves around each other using the taut bonds to rope and tie their own limbs, struggling all the while as if for life and air. Would I have recounted how my throat welled up and my stomach knotted because I thought immediately of families separated by deportation and draconian immigration laws creating orphans whose dreams of education are ignored and belittled by a broken U.S. immigration policy? Of the arrest and detention of those least able to speak up for themselves? I'm absolutely certain I would have. My mother would have understood.<br /><br />On Mother's Day <span style="font-style: italic;">en el Distrito Federal</span>, I would have liked to tell <span style="font-style: italic;">mamá</span> that her granddaughter Alma Ixchel in Austin, the child of two amazing and powerful women who invited me to participate in their dream some thirteen years ago as a donor, has written and performed her own autobiographical monologue for Grrrl Action, a program created by the award-winning avante-garde theatre ensemble Rude Mechanicals. I would have had to say to her as well that Los Angeles <span style="font-style: italic;">también</span> is full of incredibly amazing <span style="font-style: italic;">activista, artista</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">artesana </span>mothers who are single-handedly teaching their sons to be more gentle and more kind and more complete. How East LA in particular is brimming with sisters who try to understand and live balanced, healthy lives, showing all of us by example that ancestral sadness does not have to drive us to the kind of self-destructive behaviors that she struggled to keep me from, at times with little success. I would have talked to her about the work at home in LA with Corazón del Pueblo, a space that has become a true community arts headquarters. I would have told her how beautiful and transcendent the Mujeres de Maiz poetry reading at Corazón del Pueblo had been during the month of March and how proud it has made me to represent that kind of energy and commitment to community outside of Califas and outside of the U.S. in our spiritual homeland. I would have reminded her about our pilgrimage to Chalma together sixteen years ago alongside my younger sister Patricia for a <span style="font-style: italic;">danza azteca</span> ceremony that would alter all of our lives forever.<br /><br />Can you imagine? I would have asked her. A modern, practical, even if a little bit <span style="font-style: italic;">evangélica</span>, Tex-Mex grandmother with no real connection to our <span style="font-style: italic;">indígena</span> past beyond her own long-lost grandmother who was rumored to be a <span style="font-style: italic;">curandera</span>, traveling with my sister and her baby Ultima, a child named for the <span style="font-style: italic;">curandera</span> in a book by Rodolfo Anaya. My mother hanging with <span style="font-style: italic;">concheros</span>, riding <span style="font-style: italic;">peseras</span> and participating in <span style="font-style: italic;">velaciones</span> because two of her youngest were all about reconnecting with<span style="font-style: italic;"> la tradición</span> and her wayward son Abel so thrilled at the time to be running around with D.F.-bred <span style="font-style: italic;">roquero</span>s in New York, Austin and here, in center of the moon, connected to her, to the <span style="font-style: italic;">raíces</span> and to all creation.<br /><br />Back again more than a decade <span style="font-style: italic;">después</span>, I would have to say how it feels more than familiar, how one block off the Avenida Miguel Angel de Quevedo, surrounded by sounds and smells that caress my senses, I know she is not far. I feel her, hear her encouraging me to write more, to read more, to create more, to forgive more, to love more. I want to let her know that the Eastside of LA is becoming, for me, a satellite, a kind of <span style="font-style: italic;">D.F Norte</span>. More than all of this, however, more than the chronicle of a poet's plight, I want to tell her that now, at 44, in a world so different and yet still so much like the one she knew, I miss her more than ever. I miss her because she really could imagine. And she could always make what she imagined real.xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-40829878985862220552010-03-01T14:03:00.000-08:002010-03-01T18:34:30.849-08:00¡Mujeres de Juarez y Mujeres de Maíz Presentes!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhapG0YWDYqVhC9t3ha0tkLygF8cIHVE-FvGdyh199nxm63rqnMLvQkgE96kUuIQxxhPA0BFPfUafGwkD-dR2eALzJTKfHTIyYgkBSuiQHJFJ1g1t6aLEPZrszKcjD7IGlXyQqNRE5Q_jOF/s1600-h/MujeresDeJuarezFront.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhapG0YWDYqVhC9t3ha0tkLygF8cIHVE-FvGdyh199nxm63rqnMLvQkgE96kUuIQxxhPA0BFPfUafGwkD-dR2eALzJTKfHTIyYgkBSuiQHJFJ1g1t6aLEPZrszKcjD7IGlXyQqNRE5Q_jOF/s320/MujeresDeJuarezFront.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443815317585402802" /></a><br />Although the venue has changed, the Mujeres de Maíz throw down beginning this Sunday, March 7th is moving forward full tilt. In honor of International Women's Day and in alliance with the series of month-long events to raise awareness and help healing happen in our communities here and across the border under the banner of "A Prayer for Juárez," the <i>firme</i> sisters and <i>compañeras</i> and <i>guerrilleras</i> in the struggle for peace and justice bring "13 Baktun: Return of the Wisdom of the Elders." The event marks the 13th year since the birth of the Mujeres de Maiz <i>movimiento</i>. Filmmaker Maritza Alvarez informed me several months back that the MdM collective was actually begun in Boyle Heights, so it is only fitting that the 13th anniversary is celebrated on <i>tierra sagrada</i>, ground zero for Chican@ and Latin@ culture in LA. The 13th letter of the alphabet is "M," so I feel perfectly justified saying that in year 13, and forevermore the letter "M" will commemorate, for me, three very important terms that begin with "M," M<i>ujer, Madre</i> and M<i>aíz</i>. A whole slate of programs, performaces, pláticas, panels, women's self-defense workshops and more will be held at several venues on the East Side in honor of Wombyn's Herstory Month. The kick-off alone features an afternoon of free performances at the Mariachi Plaza Metro stop. Las Ramonas, In Lak Ech and Raquel Salinas are all part of the bill. Sunday will also feature an art exhibition at Primera Taza a half a block east of the Metro stop performance program. The evening portion of the Sunday launch moves to Salones Casa Grande on César Chávez (Brooklyn Ave.), a historic ballroom on the second floor just east of Mott St. La Santa Cecilia will perform with Afro-Peruvian <i>cantautora</i> Susana Baca, alone worth the price of admission. Mujer Mercado will be occupy the Salón before hand from 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. Hope to see you there. Please visit <a href="http://www.mujeresdemaiz.net/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">www.mujeresdemaiz.ne</span></b></a>t for specific dates, times and locations. We're particularly proud that the MdM have chosen Corazón del Pueblo for a MdM Core Members/Co-founders panel discussion on March 14th and for an MdM Poetry Night on Wednesday, March 18th.<div><br /></div><div>All of this follows the inaugural Saturday, March 6th opening of three complete Boyle Heights arts district exhibitions dedicated to the women of Juárez and an end to the violence that has claimed the lives of more than 400 young women. Corazón del Pueblo will open an exhibition entitled "Mujeres de Juárez: ¡Siempre Presente! The show includes work by over 21 artists from LA to Texas, among them artists such as Grace Barraza-Vega, José Lozano, Joe Bravo, Anna Alvarado, Lalo Alcaraz, Arturo Urista, Emilia García and Mary Nuñez Delira, just to name a few. Luís J. Rodríguez, Gloria Alvarez, Olivia Chumacero and Felicia Montes will share poetry beginning at 8 p.m. Victoria Delgadillo, who works out of Self-Help Graphics is curating a separate exhibition that will be installed at both Casa 0101 and the Casa 0101 Annex. Please check <a href="http://www.aprayerforjuarez.org/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">www.aprayerforjuarez.org</span></b></a> for a list of the artists and poets participating in the Casa shows. Image above: <i>Juárez</i>, Mary Nuñez Delira, 2010, prisma pencil on paper.</div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-63030486787452339902010-02-15T10:59:00.000-08:002010-02-16T10:39:28.390-08:00Love Poem for Our Mothers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwwZhnjm8XYtOGAqFlmG8YH0Z6S_d94fIcnh-QyQpsb4FDzyg-LZeXWBtu1dWnoWSWGivcqbbQyHlaq0Hvz01Y8Iey8ALdaOcvSLR2rXhe-YJlYunqDrIP-9k50qHxV_gSvTBthrv0o4p/s1600-h/MomTattoo.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwwZhnjm8XYtOGAqFlmG8YH0Z6S_d94fIcnh-QyQpsb4FDzyg-LZeXWBtu1dWnoWSWGivcqbbQyHlaq0Hvz01Y8Iey8ALdaOcvSLR2rXhe-YJlYunqDrIP-9k50qHxV_gSvTBthrv0o4p/s320/MomTattoo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438548870464500082" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><br /></span></div>I want to write a love poem for my mother<br />and dress it in the sugar frosting flowers<div>she made with her hands as if by magic</div><div>I want to write a love poem for your mother</div><div>to say her child is beautiful and strong</div><div>in the world as more than just a song</div><div>or a stone encrusted silver memory</div><div>I want to write a love poem for my mother</div><div>to tell her all I did not say before or share</div><div>in those quiet moments on the telephone</div><div>before she found her way beyond the</div><div>hurt that tore so suddenly inside her</div><div>I want to write a love poem for your mother</div><div>over knitting and crochet like the iridescent</div><div>silk tie she once gave me when I went to cry</div><div>I want to write a love poem to my mother</div><div>with the hummingbird whir she left in</div><div>my chest as a permanent reminder to love</div><div>and love again</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to write a love poem to them both</div><div>a poem that rings with the bright bells of</div><div>a birthday Valentine and a gathering of</div><div>artisan and healer women at an Eastside</div><div>carnival of love like whispers of kindness</div><div>a grateful poem that says in no uncertain way</div><div>that without each of them, neither one of us</div><div>would have ever known what it was like to</div><div>once have loved each other.</div><div><br /></div><div>Día de los enamorados,</div><div>el amor y la amistad</div><div>2010</div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-33215919699585507972010-02-04T21:07:00.000-08:002010-02-15T10:59:22.996-08:00Como Quisiera<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vo66R7qb3wU7ddKhbxXHT9mVqDnGbllyDs8RiCFCIP0ex6OuKQL9FZFXWvdDflaDz5AMTSoiB9CEJgJZ4oRF9VBsSgNjX-zx5byetv3jjuVZ7N4U2d8c6RyVb3WJuGLlzW-xFYrGVoHy/s1600-h/OUR+DAILY+BREADIntima.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 188px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vo66R7qb3wU7ddKhbxXHT9mVqDnGbllyDs8RiCFCIP0ex6OuKQL9FZFXWvdDflaDz5AMTSoiB9CEJgJZ4oRF9VBsSgNjX-zx5byetv3jjuVZ7N4U2d8c6RyVb3WJuGLlzW-xFYrGVoHy/s320/OUR+DAILY+BREADIntima.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438546776172966978" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Como quisiera ser como solo una de tus palabras, nacida en tu vientre o en tu rabia o en el anhelo, palabra hecha de carne y sangre y hueso y locamente efímera a la vez. Como deseo traducirla a mis extremos y convertir las puntas de mis dedos en tus sílabas, inyectarme con cada letra de solo una de tus palabras, estar en la cima de todos tus sinapsis cerebrales para luego descender como rocío o la humedad esencial de las zonas erógenos, ser esas vocales suspendidas sobre tu lengua, recargadas en tu boca de canela y mar. Como quisiera sentirme como solo una de tus palabras y subir como tu susurro en mi oido al momento del estremecer.</div> <!--EndFragment-->xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-58287911576576901232010-01-29T14:29:00.000-08:002010-01-29T15:05:20.914-08:00Flowers on Fire, the New Floricanto<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHctVX13KFbUBmoRssW5nlnkJFuF32rPyGt0wEXqO2qjP2qNqaI9AN_WFlg0jRaQW9WG9k_V1fvmy_NosLWm8CkHSL_sr_MuURJGVVWx-nm_RikUORS3grnUY24fDbTk98w9HK5fdYGzVU/s1600-h/Brooklyn+Boyle+Neon.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHctVX13KFbUBmoRssW5nlnkJFuF32rPyGt0wEXqO2qjP2qNqaI9AN_WFlg0jRaQW9WG9k_V1fvmy_NosLWm8CkHSL_sr_MuURJGVVWx-nm_RikUORS3grnUY24fDbTk98w9HK5fdYGzVU/s400/Brooklyn+Boyle+Neon.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432301662868243074" /></a><br />Just when you couldn't feel more thrilled about the modern day <i>floricanto</i> at Corazón del Pueblo, the space formerly known as Brooklyn & Boyle and now home to the first-ever Boyle Heights Art, Education & Action Collective, Flores de Fuego comes galloping at you with a third installment that riveted the 100 or so poets, musicians and aficionados gathered for the Wednesday night <i>MICrófino Libre</i>. Maestro raúlrsalinas and world renowned Peruvian poet Cecilia Bustamante must have been peering down in pride. What was especially touching was the presence of high school-aged students from ArtShare LA who delivered spoken word arsenals of consciousness and truth speak like true MVT Def Poetry Jam pros. The experimental piece created by Willy Herron and Sid Medina with additional vocals by Greg Esparza juxtaposed Beatles chord progressions and actual songs with poetry <i>de tu servidor y amigo</i>, yours truly and <i>Brooklyn & Boyle</i> assistant extraordinaire Christy Ramirez, who has grown considerably as a writer and arts maven/up-and-coming curator in the year or so that she came on board as a <i>firme carnala</i> and general all around support system. Audience members asked what we called the ensemble, and I had to shrug my shoulders. We'd only rehearsed once at Will's City Terrace hideaway and even then, inconclusively and incompletely. The Juanita's Restaurant crew, headed up by David and Julio Carrera, dropped in towards the end. From storytellers and blues singers to Kristopher Escajeda on the three-string guitar, from an emotionally taught original delivered with verve and attitude by Angela Flores, who accompanied herself on guitar, the evening unfolded like one of the best peña's or tertulia's you could have imagined. Doña Dora Magaña, a former Salvadorean guerrilla fighter literally stopped the show with her true-to-life story and several poems dedicated to the women in her brigade who gave up their lives fighting for a just world free of oppression and poverty. Really, all of the performances were stellar. Kudos once again to the Boyle Heights Bards, Bus Stop Prophet, Kristy Lovich and John Carlos de Luna, who are coming into their own as the honorary hosts and a major part of spiritual backbone that goes into this bi-monthly expression that has opened a doorway into the psychic healing ward built by poetry and song. Whew! This after a screening and plática to benefit Alex Sanchez and then the very first-ever public showcase for the Garfield High Poetry Club. Thanks to Lisa Cheby for making it happen. People say our young people are politically and socially apathetic but you wouldn't know it based on the kids who came to share. They know what's up and they know what time it is. <div><br /></div><div>So that said, check out the latest issue of <i>Brooklyn & Boyle</i> for more art, community and poetry than usual, more on the reasons behind Corazón del Pueblo and a schedule of upcoming free classes for youth at 2003 East 1st in the heart of the Boyle Heights Arts District. If you can't make one of the many Haiti benefits this Saturday or if you find yourself itchin' to dance late night, stop by a "Corazón del Pueblo Dance Party." You won't be sorry and you'll be helping keep the lights on. Come by the Casa 0101 Annex on Sunday to recover over potluck (<i>tamales y champurrado</i> welcome as per the <i>Candelaria</i> tradition!) It'll be your last chance to see the second annual exhibition dedicated to <i>nuestra señora reina de los angeles... la virgen morena, madre de las américas.</i></div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-23842866897716259342010-01-05T05:46:00.000-08:002010-01-06T03:26:57.748-08:00El Corazón del Pueblo!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtq6aAf8pOxzx9lBg_rdBLLXtAnukMD4FmhO1v5BFXdsSMdRf9636QBAkNeidMh76h78LltZnakpNEdiZgdLJky4vXKMHCO75NxDMILZviYRnheZInetmmN_6gE1uJxudlHR52_D5pZvHN/s1600-h/corazon-fair-trade_2085_51894291.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtq6aAf8pOxzx9lBg_rdBLLXtAnukMD4FmhO1v5BFXdsSMdRf9636QBAkNeidMh76h78LltZnakpNEdiZgdLJky4vXKMHCO75NxDMILZviYRnheZInetmmN_6gE1uJxudlHR52_D5pZvHN/s320/corazon-fair-trade_2085_51894291.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423253712238811394" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;">Am I not getting something? <span style="" lang="ES-MX"><span style="font-style: italic;">Será el pueblo tuvo algo que ver?</span> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Espero que sí</span>. Or how is it that over 150 people showed up on a Tuesday night to hear the poets? How is it that we had to bring chairs in from elsewhere and still had a standing-room only crowd at the spot? <span style="font-style: italic;">Desde el mero corazón para el pueblo</span>… though Jimmy Mendiola and Oscar Garza might remind me that this phrase comes lifted from a title of a Les Blanc film about conjunto music. And while this may be true, Tex-Mex conjunto doesn’t have the same resonance for the crowd that came for the <span style="font-style: italic;">palabra</span> last Tuesday as it does for the three of us. It was Mexico D.F. meets East Los and <span style="font-style: italic;">luchadores enmascarados</span> with shades of Chile and Colombia and El Salvador for good measure. It was <span style="font-style: italic;">canto a la liberación</span> and barrio autonomy. It was Watts and South Central out in solidarity. It was Richard Montoya and Consuelo Velasco who came to support John Carlos de Luna and Kristy Lovich, who speak love and commitment to the ‘hood and to each other through art and poetry. It was Rubén "Funkahuatl" Guevara puttin' it down as the one true East Side beat hipster who gave shout outs to veteran organizers and <span style="font-style: italic;">activistas </span>who came in from the four directions to support their kids and and in some cases, grandkids. It was the lil’ monsters from 700 Pound Gorilla and it was the <span style="font-style: italic;">chamacas </span>from Gorilla Queenz, who were on their way to San Pancho to open for Africa Bambaataa at a New Year’s Eve show I would have loved to attend. How about that? Da South Bronx was, as such, was none too far away, either. And if I sing the broken-hearted love poem, perhaps one last time too many, I don’t really feel like such a <span style="font-style: italic;">culero</span> anymore. And if the poem is about lost love, <span style="font-style: italic;">la chilanga que se me fue</span>, or if it touched upon missed opportunities or the pain which eventually subsides, we can simply remind ourselves of the words in a poem by one of the beloved Boyle Heights bards, the Bus Stop Prophet, who, in a piece that invokes the "Blueprints of the Heavens," tells us that while life’s lessons can be hard, every hard knock is an opportunity for growth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="georgia">Yes, Brooklyn & Boyle as a space has been reborn.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="" lang="ES-MX"><span style="font-style: italic;">El Corazón del Pueblo</span> has emerged in it’s place. </span>The magazine will continue to flourish and grow. The new year is upon us. Make it one you will remember. Make a difference. But remember to dance, to sing, to write, to never be ashamed of who you are or where you come from. Braid your sister’s hair in a good way and tell yourself that peace and prosperity are possible in the world. Love more, live more, forgive more. Like Francisco Hernández, my soul brother, said on New Years Eve. “If it is to be, it is up to me.”</p> "Flowers of Fire" will return on Wednesday, January 13. Get there early. We may run out of room. As always, it's open mic. On January 23, stay tuned for <span style="font-style: italic;">Ojos de Mi Pueblo, Voces de Mi Barrio, a digital media and spoken word celebration of youth, by youth & for youth.</span> More on this incredible project in a minute. And on January 27, Big Joe Hurt will be there to show us what Chicano Blues is all about. The Boyle Heights bards will be there in force.xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-21808313968162180582009-12-26T15:41:00.001-08:002009-12-27T12:39:10.310-08:00Flowers of Fire: Poesía de Lucha y Amor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFcixe0cr1Nf3Pk26I8ih3tctYbMdl1IYrmCSt4q0wJL8OOeRmn1Qe8Lca-cXe36iGFPJVenGL-nNGf6TWZx4X0cVzJKHG3eVEpfDrhr1e4Vdvfw3877NLDRjyJiyZtHM8H5A2Lpf4rkA/s1600-h/FLYER-FRONT-web%5B1%5D.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFcixe0cr1Nf3Pk26I8ih3tctYbMdl1IYrmCSt4q0wJL8OOeRmn1Qe8Lca-cXe36iGFPJVenGL-nNGf6TWZx4X0cVzJKHG3eVEpfDrhr1e4Vdvfw3877NLDRjyJiyZtHM8H5A2Lpf4rkA/s200/FLYER-FRONT-web%5B1%5D.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419699204150315154" border="0" /></a>It is poetry from the Bay to Santiago de Chile, from the hilltops of Lincoln Heights to jarocho hollows and D.F. escapes, the flowers of the <i>floricanto</i> and the fires fed by restless revolutionary spirits. Please join us as we hand the symbolic torch to the Boyle Heights bards. I will spend more time with words, with the magazine and the blogs from here henceforth. I welcome Estrella and Leticia especially because they instigated my return to Chilangolandia and the poetry lulls between el rock pesado at <i>el Chop</i>o in the shadows of the Tlatelolco '68 <i>masacre</i> two years ago. I giggle at the sudden flock to Guadalajara by those who have finally equated the 80s Chicano punk explosion with the rockero counterpart and try to verbalize it all in catalogues and academic papers. It's a long way from eating hongos with Maria Sabina and dancing with <i>concheros</i> at Chalma while sleeping in the cemetary and an even longer way from the bomb explosion aftermath that greeted me at Plaza Universidad seven days after Marcos and the Zapatistas made a stand at San Cristobal. Leticia Luna, publisher and editorial director at la Cuadrilla de la Langosta, an imprint more strident and feminist than any I've seen in a long time, has been a midwife to punk poetry and youth culture in <i>la mera capirucha</i> for some twenty years, her yearling and protege Estrella del Valle was just awarded a prize in Colombia for a book called <i>Vuelo México - Los Angeles Puerta 23</i>, a searing indictment of privilege, even Chicano privilege here on the northern side of the border like a wound that cleaves a people apart. Ms. del Valle hails from Veracruz and lets us know that there is a darker side to life there and here, that happy, fandango music is not the only export the jarocho's can share with a vengeance. And what can I say about Leni? <i>Un camarada de letras</i> and a writer's writer, who writes from a place where narrative structure, memory and the genetic imprint of a dictator's torture delivered directly onto the backs of his own kin are salved with sweetness and justice and redemption. We welcome Angelinos, native and non, to the Corazón del Pueblo, home of a homegrown art and community paper, Brooklyn & Boyle (now a year old)... we're bringing it to you here, bringing it home, <i>aún el hecho de estar en casa en ambos países</i>. <i>No es por nada el nombre de este sitio virtual... destino del los chilanguanacoides xicanos</i>. If you fee up for poetry that moves and rattles, words that have been strewn across continents in beautiful volumes and in the pages of periodical perhaps a wee bit more erudite than you are used to, <i>favor de acompañarnos con una buena vibra este martes a las 8 pm</i>!xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-69530635565225754722009-12-02T09:11:00.000-08:002009-12-23T10:32:35.757-08:00Coatlaxopeuh AKA La Guadalupe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJn5hXLY76pCyl9v_5Leg5Bo5Ogjfob0flD2BHRsIk8PIAOc-sfJpTDkOnXqCIRCReGeuWJR0BnF44vH2GQ2Ixe9_bOI_1nHxD8HdmMrIrUwTvg6WoRFMZH_0Po8ONwi6aF2liTELnwNd/s1600-h/CoatlaxopeuhInvite.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJn5hXLY76pCyl9v_5Leg5Bo5Ogjfob0flD2BHRsIk8PIAOc-sfJpTDkOnXqCIRCReGeuWJR0BnF44vH2GQ2Ixe9_bOI_1nHxD8HdmMrIrUwTvg6WoRFMZH_0Po8ONwi6aF2liTELnwNd/s400/CoatlaxopeuhInvite.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410702147929683890" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Reading Gerry's ardent piece about Pedro Pans and how we fall somewhere in the middle of the 9-to-5 vs. the happy-go-lucky roustabout bohemians who purport to be so above it all and live with no concern about tomorrow, I am finally compelled and driven to blog a bit. The Brooklyn & Boyle toil has consumed me, but it's work for and commitment to something I hope will be lasting. It is an idea and a presence that has allowed me to find a place and a sense of community. And it has been the culmination of work that began shortly after my own mother's death. I want to tell Mr. Meraz, a down-ass vato who really does get it and really does give a f#%*, that his mamita his here, in him and in all the small miracles that occur everyday on the block, on the curb, on the sidewalks in those<i> lugares</i>, the places where we dwell. At the A.R.T.E.S. meeting recently, Gerry spoke up and said what I know and feel. He spoke to the Chicano artists who still look down on the truest <i>rasquache </i>evolution and like to imagine an East Side with primrose flower gardens and some sort of 70s, pre-<i>mexicanización</i> idyl. He said he was grateful for the vendors with who make every street a <i>tianguis</i> out of necessity. My mom embraced new immigrants and spoke to them in exceedingly fine Spanish despite the fact that her great-great grandmother was born north of the Rio Grande. My father married a <i>catracha</i> (look it up, raza, or ask someone from <i>centroamerica</i>) but still complains about how the <i>mojados</i> are taking over. He speaks good Spanish but is more willing to put down <i>paisas</i> than he is to recognize the fact that his own children are fueling a retro-acculturation movement. Then you have the indigenazis, mixed blood mestizos who glamorize and romanticize an <i>azteca</i> past that they only know from one or two trips to el D.F., Chicano Studies introduction to our <i>raices pre-colombinos</i> and a <i>movimiento</i> that revolted against the imposition of a Western or European hegemony. Voila, presto. They are suddenly proud to wear the beads and the <i>ayoyotes</i> as an antidote to the racist system that has made being <i>indio</i> somehow inferior. They're the ones who put down Ché because he was an <i>argentino</i> of European descent. In Gerry's thought provoking post, he leaves out the queer and lesbian quotient and talks about Pedro Pans who feel they are beyond relationships with the opposite sex, but I would add that there are also Patrici@ Pans who seek release and an unburdening in a series of souless couplings, unhealthy relationships. I watched Spielberg's <i>A.I.: Artificial Intelligence</i> again last night and cried because the robot boy wanted so badly to be real and be held by his mother, wanted so much to hear her say that she loved him and wanted, finally, to know simply that he was every bit as human as she was. The Mexica-tihaui brothers all claim to honor the earth and our ancestors but I never see them cooking or cleaning at any ceremony or <i>encuentro</i> or blessing or drum circle. I was there when Maestro Andres Segura, <i>un verdadero jefe de la danza</i>, scolded a group of mostly male Mechistas once at a gathering near the border in South Texas, because they kept raising their fists and shouting "Mexica tiahui!" "No!" he told them, wagging his finger in reprimand. "No solo los mexicas! Todos tiahui!" "All forward." Just because you lead a sweat lodge or can say "Aho, mitakweasin" after beating on a handheld drum does not mean that you have overcome our inherent tendencies to propagate and further an unjust gender-class system that relegates us to certain roles. The day I go to a pow-wow or a <i>danza</i> and see all the men cooking for the women and allowing them to eat first and, by the same token, see all the young people cooking for the elders and letting them eat first, then perhaps I will have a little more hope. Gerry is a gifted writer and a homeboy from the hood. Self-analysis and self critique are important. I just wish more of the<i> compañeros</i> would step up and do the same. It's one thing to invoke the <i>animas</i> and in the <i>palabra</i> apologize if any mistakes or errors were committed in the process, to say aloud and in public that we want to walk and heal in a good way, surrounded by beauty and light and love, but another thing entirely to live that with each other, to beg forgiveness and seek redemption for our human flaws face-to-face within our families and with our past loves, perhaps peel the<i> papas</i> for the <i>papa con huevo</i> tacos and bring flowers for a friend, humbles ourselves and say nothing when the <i>palabra</i> traverses the <i>círculo</i>. It's what I've tried to do with the <i>revista</i>, a space where we can speak and allow others to speak and let <i>arte, al final</i>, provide the truths we seek. It shouldn't have to take the loss of our mothers to help us understand, as men, that we would be nothing if not for a womb that cradled us and brought us to life. Think about it, <i>ese</i>. And give thanks, today and everyday. In being good to yourself, you honor her, and I'm saying this as much to myself, <i>porque la sangre y las lágrimas escurren igual de las llagas ancestrales.</i></div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-50491125127483587422009-10-21T15:29:00.001-07:002009-10-21T15:44:24.344-07:00Muertos de la Guerra/War Dead at Brooklyn & Boyle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiChFQvWtaAbBloxQk5Vkqv4f4VaUBqrbwLLtLPjeUgJs_JYlki-0AHYcS7S5D4tXWkdLg0Ya9NaXDbE553rAkejA_-HTwtj5JXAPJt4J-fnDGTiO6UKA2_-CYsfaU26jb86a560J5q8m/s1600-h/MuertosFlyerSide2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiChFQvWtaAbBloxQk5Vkqv4f4VaUBqrbwLLtLPjeUgJs_JYlki-0AHYcS7S5D4tXWkdLg0Ya9NaXDbE553rAkejA_-HTwtj5JXAPJt4J-fnDGTiO6UKA2_-CYsfaU26jb86a560J5q8m/s320/MuertosFlyerSide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395185135706067762" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EgFM6IoTEqO8kR7w9BvRgsf4dL2BYEIXZH3WoIwq91Lr_EqpzMd5vaAUaYdOgzLxblVkHCNHfIrBoUVqr_VaNoJcN9fF_hX-FNJesXNPvr8HHYDNs_dFHpV_UfsB45D_q4wqOsMOpRJR/s1600-h/War+Dead.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EgFM6IoTEqO8kR7w9BvRgsf4dL2BYEIXZH3WoIwq91Lr_EqpzMd5vaAUaYdOgzLxblVkHCNHfIrBoUVqr_VaNoJcN9fF_hX-FNJesXNPvr8HHYDNs_dFHpV_UfsB45D_q4wqOsMOpRJR/s320/War+Dead.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395184913096896466" /></a>Hope everyone can stop by. I know there's an important fundraiser for Claudia Mercado and Maritza Alvarez featuring La Santa Cecilia, but it would be great if you could stop by Casa 0101 and support the filmmaker and then check out the Muertos de la Guerra/War Dead exhibition. Or even just attend one of the later screenings for small donation of $7. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Mil gracias de antemano. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Laura Varela</span></span> is a long-time friend, a fellow danzante who did <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">ceremonia</span> with us on the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">frontera</span> between Matamoros and Brownsville. She will be leading the construction of an <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">ofrenda</span> for veterans at Brooklyn & Boyle to compliment the powerful, striking and moving work already on the wall. We will screen her film (which won't air on PBS until next year) at 7 pm at Casa 0101 then open Galeria Brooklyn & Boyle for a reception to honor Los Muertos de la Guerra. We will screen the film again on Friday at 5:30 pm, on Saturday at 6 pm then again one last time on Sunday at 7 pm. Her film is truly inspiring and Día de Los Muertos is a significant part of her narrative based on Chicano artists who went to Vietnam and made it back alive but not without psychic wounds that they deal with in a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Circulo de Hombres</span> with prayer and drumming.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-10225419060404002362009-08-24T12:06:00.000-07:002009-09-20T08:22:11.256-07:00Moratorium Revisited<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRkErvDFKdV6oh63qY3SlrBv-SUVBaOkY9pRb7cAuSDWRa5PlPhcjqk-w-QLKpYnMW3QXnMCd8roARPpfop6HbgV1-dYaWVNfs9zxr3Yz_8j00Dts6L_ZlHAjPE0wWi0wheuLFw68lbw7S/s1600-h/homepagepic.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRkErvDFKdV6oh63qY3SlrBv-SUVBaOkY9pRb7cAuSDWRa5PlPhcjqk-w-QLKpYnMW3QXnMCd8roARPpfop6HbgV1-dYaWVNfs9zxr3Yz_8j00Dts6L_ZlHAjPE0wWi0wheuLFw68lbw7S/s400/homepagepic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383316204886540258" /></a><br />If you can imagine what it feels like to watch the legendary Willy Herrón install a monumental 7' x 10' painting on the wall at your own space, then you get a sense for how last month unfolded. If meeting Joan Jett was like being in the company of rock stardom, opening a show with impassioned political work spanning three generations of Chicano and Mexicano artists that includes Herron's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Scream"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Munch-worthy</span></span></a> painting of a tormented figure lifted from a photo of the actual Chicano Moratorium and celebrating my birthday with him and a slew of the city's best poets and art activists just a few days later was been like finding myself at home in a majestic galaxy that outshines <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.delphes.net/messier/xtra/ngc/etacar.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Eta Carinae</span></a></span>, long a contender for the Milkway's brightest sun. At this juncture, it is appropriate to credit Pete Galindo at the Federal Art Project, who debut the Herrón piece earlier this summer at a retrospective for the artist.<div><br /></div><div>The opening of the "Chican@ Resistance & Revolution" exhibition was a powerful reminder of all that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">movimiento</span> art and activism stood for and should continue to stand for. Maritza Alvarez, 13 Visions Productions cinematographer/photographer as well as member of the <a href="http://www.mujeresdemaiz.net/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Mujerez de Maiz</span></span></a> collective, stole the show for me with poetic black-and-white portraits depicting indigenous women, but references to the MacArthur Park melee where police used undue force on people in a stand-out painting by Wenceslao Quiroz harkened back to the 1970 and 1971 clashes between peaceful protesters and law enforcement agents and drew uncanny parallels..</div><div><br /></div><div>In the process, we managed to whip out another issue of the paper with John Carlos de Luna's monochromatic image of Rubén Salazar on the cover. So the sharpest (and meatiest according to <a href="http://www.justarandomhero.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Random Hero</span></span></a>) issue to date is currently filtering out into the East Side environs. The twin wedding day stories by Brandy Maya Healy Maramba and bass player <a href="http://www.ninjaacademy.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Joey Maramba</span></span></a> made the wait worthwhile. We closed the show on the Moratorium anniversary and were honored to have Carlos Montes and Elena Dominguez, both original LA-area Brown Berets, in the audience, after which Galería Brooklyn & Boyle was host to the filming of a new video for retro-cabaret, border-straddling lounge act Santos de Los Angeles. We were almost in overdrive at that point, but I still managed to slip into the Federal Art Project gallery for "Burn," a show of hauntingly sad, but still very disturbing images by <a href="http://www.vincentvaldez.net/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Vincent Valdez</span></span></a>, a young brother who wields a Vermeer-meets-Crumb paintbrush with deadly force. Valdez is, like me, a Tex-Mexile transplant who is just at home on LA's East Side as he is at San Anto's quintessential Bar America, the gateway to that city's South Side. Pete Galindo is on the leading edge of the burgeoning downtown LA art scene and a former SPARC staffer, so he knows Chicano art better than most. The show is the perfect allegory for the hottest side of the summer and the incendiary mountains that surrounded us with plumes of thick, black smoke for weeks as a result.</div><div><br /></div><div>About our current exhibition, "Neo-Indigenismo," I can only say you don't know what you're missing. Curated in conjunction with the CASA 0101 production of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://ocgente.com/?p=217"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Thy Kingdom Come</span></span></a></span>, an ambitious new play set during the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">conquista</span>, the show features new work by <a href="http://www.myspace.com/aztlanunderground"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Aztlan Underground's</span></span></a> Joe "Peps" Galarza, a striking Zapata portrait by John Carlos de Luna in his inimitable style, and of course, a piece titled "Martian Nopal" by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">maestro</span> <a href="http://www.networkaztlan.com/artists/sergio_hernandez.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Sergio Hernández</span></span></a>, who while at <a href="http://articles.latimes.com/1995-06-26/news/ls-17264_1_con-safos"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Con Safos</span></span></span></a> magazine in the early '70s, published and illustrated raúlrsalinas' epic paean "Un Trip Through the Mind Jail," this while the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">vato</span> everyone now calls the original Xicanindio poet was still doing prison time. I would be remiss of I didn't mention <a href="http://urista.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Arturo Urista</span></span></a>, who has come out of a hiding to support Brooklyn & Boyle by showing his newest and most exciting work with us. It's also important to mention work by Francisco T. Norazagaray, Dolores González Haro, Sonji, Raul González from <a href="http://www.myspace.com/mictlanmurals"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Mictlan Murals</span></span></a> and his <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">camarada</span> <a href="http://djphatrick.wordpress.com/2008/12/09/artist-of-the-day-ricardo-estrada/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Ricardo Estrada</span></span></a>, the latter two artists being gifted neighborhood cats who believing in taking art to the streets and the people. And, of course, Maritza Alvarez, whose photos were so good, I had to show two of them again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight, we premier a new music video featuring bandleader leader <a href="http://www.bigjoehurt.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Big Joe Hurt</span></span></a>, directed by Victor Parra, yet another Tex-Mexile who seems more Angelino than otherwise. Come see the play at CASA 0101 and stay for the free live music and video presentation at Brooklyn & Boyle! (Image Above: "Burn" by Vincent Valdez)</div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-72895334746555228482009-08-07T16:14:00.000-07:002009-08-08T01:53:31.239-07:00La Santa Cecilia & Joan Jett<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBWsk4NjjTVfLpWzSkXKIgpj5k8SuyoRexYvGlRDWPrFLeINdH1Q6Nh-m_Lbu9FJXoTQoqGWkgi5PvblXEVCMvWtI1wXOak6yqf7UsK4O2vNCxfWP4hr3WEWCgOFQCxWBu_96_oTQ_SCb/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 91px; height: 126px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBWsk4NjjTVfLpWzSkXKIgpj5k8SuyoRexYvGlRDWPrFLeINdH1Q6Nh-m_Lbu9FJXoTQoqGWkgi5PvblXEVCMvWtI1wXOak6yqf7UsK4O2vNCxfWP4hr3WEWCgOFQCxWBu_96_oTQ_SCb/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367398777808814802" /></a><div>All in one night. That's right. At the risk of sounding ridiculously cliché, it doesn't get any better. Trip out on this... we start with a slow pan on the surprisingly well-attended Friday night opening for our 1st Annual Hot Summer Art Extravaganza at Brooklyn & Boyle where even Adrian Rivas of <a href="http://www.gallery727losangeles.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Gallery 727</span></span></a> finally made good on his threat to come visit. He managed to bring along <a href="http://www.whitney.org/www/2006biennial/artists.php?artist=Caycedo_Carolina"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Carolina Caycedo</span></span></a>, the conceptual artist <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">de la isla del encanto</span>--who conducted the monumental barter art installation and happening at his place (which I kick myself for having missed). Adrian and Caro joined the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">cuates</span>, Ernesto and Eduardo Espinoza who jointly head up the East L.A. Cine Sin Fin Chican@ Film Festival, and Conchita de Sousa and Fernando Cruz from Casa de Sousa as the late-comers who left a glowing energy lingering in their wake long after we locked the doors at nearly midnight. I was particularly proud to exhibit a piece by the ladies from <a href="http://www.shopmivida.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Mi Vida</span></span></a>. The <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">corazón de papel maché</span> over a beautiful <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">serape</span> background is a steal at $75 but I'm making it $65, so I can buy it for myself.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Anybueys</span>, we all hung out at East Side Luv and helped Danell celebrate her <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">cumple</span> in style. We also met the Colombian Napolean Dynamite. No lie. He had brown hair instead of red, was a foot shorter, but had the glasses AND the dance moves. Noelle, it turns out (sshhh, don't say anything), has a book project she's working on, and I'm utterly intrigued at the idea. Closed the joint down and I turned into the proverbial pumpkin. Had to save some steam for Cal Plaza where I trundled along to with writer and former interim Self Help Director Rose Ramírez as well the baddest, toughest, coolest gallery and magazine collaborator/crimie (crime partner in the parlance of my lil' banger foo's from Eastlake) in town, Christy Ramírez. At Cal Plaza, I did the hot-foot for our usual camp-site with Fabiola Torres, Reina Prado, and my life-long <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">cuate-carnal</span> Francisco Hernández, AKA Smokin' Mirrors man-about-town. Francisco, who's always busy on a film or a tour with any number of biz heavies, cuts me off near the facilities after a glittering set by <a href="http://www.myspace.com/lasantacecilia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">La Santa Cecilia</span></span></a>, a band fronted by Marisoul Hernández, who must have pipes made of platinum because her voice is a shimmering echo of love and heartache and, yes, soul. Think <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mercedes_Sosa"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Mercedes Sosa</span></span></a> and <a href="http://www.astridhadad.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Astrid Hada</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">d</span></span> and <a href="http://www.liladowns.com/liladaSite/Lila_Downs.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Lila Downs</span></span></a> all rolled into one sweet melody over tango and cumbia and too many other post-millenial LA hybrid sounds to list.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were about forty minutes into the <a href="http://www.myspace.com/mentiritas4life"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Mentiritas</span></span></a> set. Wil-Dog was going full-tilt and <a href="http://www.myspace.com/cavaliscious"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">CAVA</span></span></a> (Cavaliscious when she lends her vocals to the atomic rancholo party band project) had already been escorted in on a litter fit for a queen after which she promptly dismissed her subjects with a haughty wave. "Let's go the wrap party for <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1017451/synopsis"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">THE RUNAWAYS</span></span></a>," Francisco says. "Where?" I ask. "El Cid, open bar and a spread. I have to say high to <a href="http://www.joanjett.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Joan Jett</span></span></a>," he explains almost nonchalantly, like no big deal. Of course my jaw drops. He also mentions the need to drop by the Los Angeles Theater Center for a party with Very Be Careful, but I'm already walking alongside him headed to the car. El Cid is hopping with the cast and crew. We catch Ms. Jett on her way out. She's on a flight to a couple of stadium shows in Japan, no surprise. I'm too dumbstruck to tell her she was my first and only</div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCY1_n-7z4pZN1uCEnj0B1dWHeqNJ8W4RNV4cavTqapj9qMauxsIZkA4IGhsyyeLCGGare3maQ7cFXdPUZAPpJIA0TlevlezT0Mj_L0lwZxgYHHFeBjZTX2VHMDiKzioQpzIt098z5VNu/s400/Ni+Una+Mas.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367399203084065106" />vinyl record crush. Period. She looks exactly the same, hasn't changed. All cut, black-and-white Chucks, eye-liner curled up slightly at the ends, spiked bangs hanging low over her forehead. Awww, man! And I'm speechless... something which almost never happens. I was "scirrred" of rock royalty for the first time in my life.<div><br /></div><div>After that, we cruise downtown and it was all incredibly cool. Said hi <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">teatrero maestro</span> José Luís Valenzuela. When we finally rolled into <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.tropicodenopal.com"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Trópico de Nopal</span></span></a> for a last call at the "official" Mentiritas after-party, I couldn't have been happier. And that sums up another unexpected evening in Los. Sometimes it makes no sense to make plans... so that said, I've spent the week in delerium. Played hooky on Monday and went for a swim. Watched the goats on Tuesday at Farmlab and here we are again, Friday, juggling a blog, the chivos, a sale of a two-piece work by Steven Amado (Chatismo), the beginnings of a poem that I will read tomorrow at Self Help Graphics for the <a href="http://www.rigomaldonado.com/rigomaldonado.com/Aug_8,_2009.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">"</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><a href="http://www.rigomaldonado.com/rigomaldonado.com/Aug_8,_2009.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">16 years later, Femicides in Ciudad Juarez</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; "><a href="http://www.rigomaldonado.com/rigomaldonado.com/Aug_8,_2009.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">"</span></span></a> event being organized by Rigo Maldonado and <a href="http://www.myspace.com/victoriadelgadillo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Victoria Delgadillo</span></span></a>. Please come show your support for an important issue in our community. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Todos somos las víctimas de los femicidios en Juaritos</span>. The situation there has not changed.</span></span></div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-65479312802185376792009-07-27T16:41:00.000-07:002009-07-27T22:05:28.561-07:00Brooklyn & Boyle... A State of Mayan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiQgSpW08sghJVDoar_bXlEXXopWNIzQHQDvSsP9CFKFW5gyLg6U6K6jbR0TpCzOuyfZgyikMGkm2iuqVdH-y5S4tuyOjzrNvxLBSyBRxuIZa8EtMjMIJYhFxOTXcDqrqtLwMfe7HT5CD/s1600-h/9-+Diosa+del+Maiz+Woodcut+%2798web.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiQgSpW08sghJVDoar_bXlEXXopWNIzQHQDvSsP9CFKFW5gyLg6U6K6jbR0TpCzOuyfZgyikMGkm2iuqVdH-y5S4tuyOjzrNvxLBSyBRxuIZa8EtMjMIJYhFxOTXcDqrqtLwMfe7HT5CD/s320/9-+Diosa+del+Maiz+Woodcut+%2798web.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363294916142279618" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">If the ever-so-kind and generous Kevin Roderick over at <a href="http://www.laobserved.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); ">LA Observed</span></span></a> has followed the progress of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">Brooklyn & Boyle</span>, I think I can ascribe it to a parallel sense of optimism and a general commitment to media both in and out of our respective communities. Roderick, an amazing journalist and scholar of everything LA, is a model and an anti-model simultaneously, and there's a part of me that would like to think he's genuinely pleased with me and the David-and-Goliath allegories inherent in what we're trying to do. Lil' bit upstart mag on paper, no less and without a website tilting at windmills, while the big time daily paper dwindles and founders. While the legion-like online community that assembles at Roderick's site daily is scattered nationwide and formally entrenched in all media matters having to do with LA (an unheralded feat he is to be commended for), over on this end we’re just as excited about reaching those with maybe less access to the web. I’m talking Metro riders who sit in front of the space where the magazine is assembled (also called Brooklyn & Boyle, BTW) every morning to catch a city bus to work. I’m talking Metro commuters who bus it to Union station from City Terrace and Red Line it to Hollywood where they staff restaurants and offices and medical centers. These are the readers we look for, the ones we want, and we’re thrilled at the possibility that the Gold Line will make transit for them more fluid, giving them a few extra minutes to read the latest issue and still get them to where they need to be more quickly. Though I'm not ruling out the possibility that we might eventually have an online presence, I'm pretty psyched at simply being out on paper with ink that stains your fingertips and a broad range of writing.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, here we are feeling both goofy and giddy, at some kind of a midway point, on our sixth and—I dare say--finest issue yet, a newsprint tabloid created in the spirit of community. Organically, B & B has evolved into just the kind of locally-based arts journal I’ve imagined for nearly 10 years, a neighborhood voice which looks forward and inward and outward, all at the same time, while spotlighting the very real arts and culture treasure trove to be found on this side of the river. I find it hard not regard the project as the child I never had, a small <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">saludo</span> content to circulate in hand-to-hand exchanges and at bus stops throughout the still largely Latino neighborhoods it hopes to cover and serve as adroitly and honestly as possible.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Above all, it is an expression of gratitude, a thank you to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">la ciudad de Los Angeles</span>, the world-class <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">pueblo</span> that took me in as a child and then again as a grown up. It is, for me, akin to that mythical place of herons, a homeland that continues to open magical doorways into a multi-layered, global mystery, a world where hipsters and Southsider <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">cholos</span> and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">norteño</span> cowboys with glittering accordions slung over their backs rub shoulders with each other on a daily basis. A place where the fantastic media convergence that is LA Observed can nurture and root for a start up newsprint platform that hopes with plucky chutzpah that it will see another month and another edition.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Being indignant about gentrification and the hipsterization of our barrios is odds, perhaps, with a need to create a tentative peace and a lasting harmony, but it is a worthy exercise. It is a conversation that is far from over even if the progressive, liberal, tattooed and pierced peaceniks are tired of hearing it. Even though I’m no one to tell the new neighbors flooding in that they’re not wanted, I do feel a tinge of dissatisfaction when I see a transplant from outside of LA settling in Los Feliz then launching a website<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>called Eastside Living Los Angeles, to cover the “fabled Eastside.” Sometimes, the hippest and coolest folks in the ‘hood are the ones with third-generation ties to the sacred lands where our ancestors grew corn and squash for centuries before the hemisphere was colonized. Please be mindful and respectful of that in your attempts to find and "break" the cool new spots. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In some cases, these third-generation Angelenos wind up being the most worldly, navigating between the Getty and Skirball while doing business in downtown and heading home to unincorporated East LA county at the end of the day for <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">te con miel de maguey</span> with their parents.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">From where I sit, on a maguey and cactus and palm and lemon tree-encrusted bluff overlooking Obregon Park, just blocks from Self-Help Graphics and under a new moon, I think of the Lakota brothers, warriors who often said <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">hoka hey</span>, meaning, roughly, "it is a good day to die," the implicit converse being equally true. "It is a good day to be alive." And while I may miss Warwick Ave. y la familia Perez in El Sereno, I bring it here, to these new digs on an Eastside cliffside that still feeds and nourishes in a way that the Gold Room in Echo park will never do again. Here atop the five-story drop, I must simply remember that I bring all of the Chicano barrios and suburbs I’ve ever inhabited along with me, glued to the luminous fibers stretching outward from the metaphorical <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">ombligo</span>, the belly-button that connects us to all to one another and finds itself reflected in the serenity of the lunar mirror, the face of our <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">abuelita</span> lending light to earth after the sun has set. And who cares if Castañeda merely imagined or made up the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">curanderos</span> we have come to know and love as Don Juan and Don Genaro? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So yes, thank you, Rosaura Ramirez, for giving me the opportunity to inhabit a hilltop precipice, and thank you Dona Ofelia Esparza for carrying the light these long many years. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Gracias por exponer su obra en la galeria y por haber traido tantos hijos e hijas al mundo</span>. The talent and visionary grace you embody have transferred to your children, who have earned every right to ask hipsters and newcomers and even die-hard Chicano <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">literalocos y literatontos</span> like me, “Where you from?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Welcome to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Brooklyn & Boyle</span>, not just an intersection but a state of Mayan…</p> <!--EndFragment-->xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8667630132924338875.post-30488007438695127612009-06-12T09:16:00.000-07:002009-06-13T16:13:49.430-07:00Doña Ofelia y El Papalotero<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAsn-vteF5rjgpINnU8N4OMjSnzLeFwnU0DDyBiS4O-HtNUSRIzo9LRge8R7Qbb21UlOEOvUwImLxCORKDPe7TUkeOkPFipJs9jSUQ1l_3N8eWKvP_91_2oRHXvRxWFSmlEuY0GUWTYsG/s1600-h/OfeliaPostCard1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAsn-vteF5rjgpINnU8N4OMjSnzLeFwnU0DDyBiS4O-HtNUSRIzo9LRge8R7Qbb21UlOEOvUwImLxCORKDPe7TUkeOkPFipJs9jSUQ1l_3N8eWKvP_91_2oRHXvRxWFSmlEuY0GUWTYsG/s400/OfeliaPostCard1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346514585660892018" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />Fridays suddenly trickle in under a June gloom cloud cover, even if our disposition is disproportionately sunny. But the afterglow and after burn like psychedelic tracers from a glorious dream are completely justified. I can start with yesterday's tranquil spin at goat tending within the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><a href="http://www.farmlab.org/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Anabolic Monument</span></span></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> where I decided that Chiquita's little dude should be officially christened "Deer Dancer." Chiquita is a sheep and deer hybrid who leads the small group of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">chivas</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> who are helping bring nature back to the park many Angelinos used to know as the Cornfields. After herding goats and feeding the foul, I was scooped up by none other than Brandy Maya Healy, a new contributing writer at the magazine, a dancer and longtime City of LA Cultural Affairs department staff member--okay, okay... also Wayne Healy's kid--and her companion Joey Maramba who straps on an electric bass regularly as part a band called the Ninja Academy, fast forward to a small reception at Homeboy Industries where Luís Rodriguez shared some poems as part of the celebration honoring the launch of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Homeboy Review</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, a literary journal now being published by Homeboy Press, a division of </span><a href="http://www.homeboy-industries.org/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Homeboy Industries</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. It was great to finally meet Father G. live and in person. Next stop: Señor Fish, where ChicanArtista Leo Limón unveiled an incredible show of paintings and oil pastel drawings. We can never get enough of those wry and extremely witty River Catz, bro'! So then it's a Downtown Artwalk to </span><a href="http://www.hivegallery.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The Hive Gallery</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> where the aesthetic is goth-meets-graphic novel zine, laced with graffiti and Giant Robot-plus-tattoo and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Heavy Metal</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> (the adult illustrated fantasy magazine and not the musical genre, Random) imagery. Talk about sensory overload.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Okay, so that was this last Thursday night. Rewind slightly to just over a week ago when Brooklyn & Boyle, the small art space that's grown up around the publishing effort, opened a one-woman show for </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">maestra</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Ofelia Esparza. About 200 folks came through to congratulate the beloved 77-year-old community artist and an elder who continues to mentor young artists on the Eastside while teaching us how to be kinder and more forgiving human beings. Ofelia's work as an </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">altarista</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> is well-known, but her paintings and monoprints are luminous. Cheech Marin would do well to consider including her work in his storied collection of Chicano art.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then on Monday, after a quick visit with good people at a send off </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">cena</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> for East LA Cityhood advocate Dr. Oscar Gonzales, (he's going to be a deputy director for the Agricultural Department in D.C.), it was back to ground zero for Eastside </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">cultura, vida y comunidad,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> where Lilia Ramirez of Liliflor Studios was kind enough to host a meeting with Council Member José Huizar and the group we're calling A.R.T.E.S. (Artists Revitalizing the East Side). It's enough to say that we aren't waiting around to be "discovered" by the next wave of urban gentrifiers and artsy pioneers like those in Los Feliz, Silver Lake and Echo Park who are under the mistaken impression that they are living on the Eastside.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, this all brings us back to a Farmlab/Metabolic Studios morning visit today where I picked up the carrot cake I left in small brown paper bag on the roof of the small barn and gallinero built for the goats and chickens which will fertilize the parkland as part of a reclamation and renewal effort that includes the cultivation of native pants like sage and xempaxuchil (marigolds for the uninitiated). While I was there this morning, I was able to speak at length with Don Esequiel Contreras, an 86-year-old master kite maker from Lincoln Heights who spoke of his childhood in the neighboring hills. I thought of his young <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">tocayo</span>, <a href="http://www.rhapsody.com/santiago-jimenez-jr/el-corrido-de-esequiel-hernandez"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Esequiel Hernández</span></span></a>, the young U.S.-born goat herder who was killed by Marines patrolling the U.S. border near Redford, Texas in 1997. The trigger man was a Chicano from Califas. Is it any different now? Gangbangers killing each other. Chicano cops harassing cholos. Latino soldiers forced to brutalize Iraqi and Afghani people. They say the murder of Esequiel was an accident and that absolved the U.S. government, who compensated the Hernández family with over a million dollars in blood money. Everything goes in a circle. I'm tending goats now myself and stand in awe of an octogenarian kite builder whose youthful spirit humbles me. The Mujeres de Maiz offered a song in honor of Ofelia at the June 4th opening here at the gallery and my heart soared. I knew in my soul that my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">jefita's huitzilin</span> spirit was elated at the outpouring of love and energy for a true <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">maestra</span>. Between Ofelia and Don Esequiel I stand transfixed... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">transformado, pero de a deveras</span>. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Image above:</span> "Tus Recuerdos" Monoprint by Ofelia Esparza.<br /></div>xicano-xilangoidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16786283844497649777noreply@blogger.com0