On KANW...

    I'm blogging today to tell you that I'm a fan of New Mexico music. Not just a fan, maybe even a junkie. This announcement may be of little surprise, and possibly of even less value to your day as you carry out the ever important, end of semester self-flagellation ritual we grad students pride ourselves in performing twice a year. Nevertheless, I feel I have to say it. In the course of some of our conversations regarding Spanish in New Mexico we have talked about the importance of contextualizing language into our pedagogy. It is important, we have concluded, to teach from a perspective that has some degree of personal relevance to our students. The book that Dr. González Velásquez wrote is important, we've agreed, because it has the names of places in New Mexico, and frames a fair amount of the conceptual knowledge from the local vantage point. And in the course of that discussion a couple different people have said that this is the same reason we listen to New Mexico music, because it relates to us at the local level. I contend that while it does do that, it does a whole lot more.

    That is why I have to write this blog. Because this morning I woke up and popped in a Tiny Morrie CD, served myself a fried egg over leftover Sadie's red chile chicken enchiladas and thought about the mythical aspect of New Mexico that haunts you when you leave this place. I smelled it as I walked out of class yesterday...the same smell that almost brought me to tears while I was watching a movie in a shopping mall theatre in Veracruz and a scene of the night in Albuquerque as seen from the West Mesa came on. A smell came out of a movie?...you're probably asking yourself. All I can say is yes. It was probably Frontier or El Patio I was smelling then and yesterday, but it was a combination of burning comal, green chile, tortilla and crisp air of Fall or Spring. It was searing childhood memories of matanzas, familia, working with horses and cattle, irrigating fields, and throwing parties all over New Mexico (well, from Albuquerque north). And most importantly it was Tiny Morrie singing "Sangre de indio". "...si supieras lo mucho que te amo, que hasta lágrimas lloro por ti."

    By now you're probably thinking, "holy cow, the end of the semester is really getting to Ricardo". But the truth is that this is really the rush of emotions that goes through me when I listen to this music. I don't listen to it to feel connected, to remember that I have a sense of place. I listen to music because it forms part of the myths and cultural memories around which my entire life has been built. "But the music isn't even that good," some of my friends have told me. Then don't listen to it, I've responded. Growing up in New Mexico/Southern Colorado was that good, was that haunting, has left that long of an impression on me. And the meter to which the magic was moving came blaring out of crappy, Kmart-special speakers crackling out tunes from Al Hurricane, Red Wine, Darren Córdova, Mezcal, Perfección, and probably a whole page worth of other artists I could bore you by listing. We don't listen to KANW because it makes us feel good that they mention our town. We listen to this music because it is the soundtrack of our existence, regardless of what anyone else might think. It is music lived, breathed, created, experienced by and for la gente de la tierra de mi chante...órale.