Sí Se Puede

(Snow): For migrants from the global south, witnessing snow for the first time is a milestone. It is tied to the complex mix of emotions caused by leaving home behind and starting a new life in a new country.

For this piece, I interviewed Mexican and Mexican American people about the first time they saw snow. I used their answers as the basic motivic & formal structure of the piece. I left the texts in their original language. At times they are in Spanish and at times in English, reflecting the bilingual nature of the Mexican-American experience.

The performers interact with the text in a variety of ways: sometimes they speak the words, sometimes they play non-notated rhythms based on the words, sometimes they do both. The first movement takes place in Mexico. Back home, snow can only be found at the top of mountains and volcanos. It also recounts early childhood memories of the last time it snowed in Mexico City, in 1967.

The second movement delves into the complex emotions elicited by the phrase “The American Dream.” The third movement takes place in the United States. It recounts a number of different reactions to seeing snow for the first time. Here, I also share a personal experience: I was volunteering at a temporary center for unaccompanied child migrants and witnessed the first time they saw snow.

Text:

i In desolate places/lime snow

E: Snow was something cold, icy, and difficult to reach in desolate places.

S: Tenía tres años.

Recuerdo todo blanco, el jardín, el columpio.

Juntando la nieve para sentirla y preparar nieve de limón.

traducción: La nieve era algo frio, con hielo, y difícil de alcanzar, en lugares desolados. translation: I was three years old.

I remember everything was white, the garden, the swing. Gathering the snow to feel it and to prepare lime-snow (like a lime-flavored sorbet).

ii the land of opportunities

S: la tierra de las oportunidades

una trampa

esta tierra es tan nuestra como es suya

no lo conozco la verdad ya no sé

salirme de ahí

Yo no llegué aquí con sueños de ningún tipo. Mas bien me fui quedando, hasta que sin sentirlo, el lugar y la gente se me fueron anclando al corazón. translation: the land of opportunities

a trap

this land is as ours as it is yours

i haven’t met it

the truth is I don’t know anymore

getting out of there

I didn’t arrive here with dreams of any sort. Rather, I stayed, until, without feeling it, the place and the people became anchored to my heart.

iii diamonds falling from the sky/children arrived alone

S: El sonido casi inexistente de la nieve cuando cae

diamantes cayendo del cielo

E: It was the first snow-fight I had with my brother

S: correr y sorprenderme por la nieve crujiendo

E: It was April; supposedly Spring. Children arrived alone, had to quarantine, asked for more food, asked for someone who spoke in spanish, played with Legos. It started snowing. And all of the children knelt by their windows. Laughing. Happy, watching the storm.

traducción: Era Abril; supuestamente primavera. Los niños llegaron solos, tuvieron que hacer cuarentena, pedían comida, pedían por alguien que hablara español, jugaban con legos. Empezó a nevar. Y todos los niños se hincaron frente a sus ventanas. Riéndose. Felices, observando la tormenta.

(Goodbye Art House)

This piece was written during the summer of 2022 while I was spending some months in Berlin.

I have always been fascinated by that city. I love the architecture, the people, its history, but most particularly, its culture and art.

The first time I visited Berlin was in 1999, only 10 years after the wall came down, and at that time the difference between the east and the west of the city was still very clear. East side neighborhoods like Prenzlauerberg, Kreuzberg and Mitte were the center of a new and alternative culture of all kind of experimental artists doing incredible things in the most unbelievable venues (mostly abandoned buildings, factories, churches, etc.) and I remember being absolutely fascinated by that underground culture.

Some years later some life circumstances took me to visit Berlin several times, and I was still mesmerized by its culture and this alternative way of life on the east side. During those visits I had the chance to get to know one of my favorite places, the “Kunsthaus Tacheles”, center for alternative art and culture where artists from all over the world were gathering to present all kind of exhibitions, concerts, installations, performances, film projections, etc.

My last visit during that time to Berlin was in 2005 and I didn’t come back until 2022… 17 years later, to stay there for a couple of months.

I was very excited that I got a flat in Prenzlauerberg (one of my favorite areas in the city) and when I went out of the metro station coming from the airport, I was totally shocked to see a completely different neighborhood than the one I remembered.

The alternative and underground area that I had in my memory turned into a completely commercial zone full of extremely expensive cafes and restaurants, all looking exactly the same, and of course with many establishments of known brands of coffee, food and clothing.

It was very sad to see that most of the east part suffered the same transformation. And when I went to visit the “Kunsthaus Tacheles” I was terribly disappointed to see that it was not there anymore and it became a huge shopping mall.

Therefore the title of this piece. Adiós Kunsthaus.

This work is a tribute to one of the most amazing cultural places I ever visited, and a small reflection on how gentrification has turned some of the most interesting places into a copy of a copy of a copy of any commercial area in the world.

This also happened in my neighborhood in Mexico City.

(Jukebox)

“Rocola” is a musical homage to Mexico City. One of my favorite things to do when I lived in Mexico was hang out at one of the many gorgeous cantinas downtown, sip tequila, and indulge in deep conversations about life, art, the present, and the future. I miss those days. Most of the old cantinas have a “Rocola” or “jukebox,” where patrons can spend their pesos requesting their favorite tunes. Musical styles from various ages, and regions coinhabit in these magical music boxes, which flood the space with sound, memories, and emotions. The three movements in the work allude to popular styles from three distinct eras, and are a type of musical journey through the popular urban musical styles from the 1930’s and through the end of the Twentieth Century.

The first movement “Canción de Cantina” reimagines the traditional songs sometimes referred to as “Rancheras,” made popular by the proliferation of Mexican films during the 1930’s-50’s and sung by artists like Pedro Infante, Jorge Negrete, or more recently Vicente Fernandez. These songs are usually slow, in ¾ and have tragic narratives of unrequited love. The first movement echoes the tragic mood of these style of songs and the lyrical quality of their melodies.

Movement two “Cumbia” alludes to a dance style originally from Colombia, and widely adopted in Mexico during the 1960’s and throughout the 1970’s and 1980’s. Cumbias are always present at parties, and important celebrations like weddings. They are an invitation to dance and provide an opportunity for release, and community building. Movement two borrows the basic rhythmic patterns from cumbias and adds harmonic and rhythmic twists. The second movement provides the members of the sextet with a template to display their technical skills during their solos, which are written out improvisations. Movement three “Ska” is inspired by the driving rhythms, and musical force of Mexican rock bands like “Maldita Vecindad”, “Café Tacuba”, and “Tijuana No.” These bands mixed the energy of punk rock, with Latinx dance styles, and became massively influential in Mexican Pop culture from the late 1980’s- and throughout the early 2000’s. In this movement I am channeling the energy and youthful rebellion that permeated the massive rock concerts often held at universities, and public squares. These bands were often the soundtrack at the protests and rallies that gradually paved the path towards the social changes that transformed Mexican society at the dusk of the Twentieth Century.

(Wonderful)

My chosen family has embarked on a journey these past few years to embrace the ways being Mexican-American has shaped our childhoods and what we remember, as well as identify the stories that are in danger of being lost. Redlining and intergenerational wealth are huge issues in many marginalized communities, and ours is no exception. My family's memories are anchored by the . area we grew up in: the next neighborhood over from California’s East Los Angeles enclave where the previous generation resided and where they were forced out due to eminent domain. This excerpt is informed by stories of moving from East Los Angeles (specifically, the Maravilla area) to Montebello from the perspective of my godmother. Her story, and the stories of the other women in my family, are nothing short of maravilla, meaning wonderful. The use of these stories offers a space in which which music and narrative co-exist.

Maravillosas* 

(Story & Narration by Virginia Rodriguez) 

Actually, yes, so most of my life was here at this house.

These are the only two houses I’ve ever lived in. 

We moved here in 1962, so I was still ten and I didn’t turn eleven till April. So the one who actually was born and raised here was Lizzie, because she was born  in July of ‘62. I grew up here, we all grew up here, Lizzie grew up here, then the  girls grew up here.  

Then when we were there, they made the Long Beach Freeway... 

They took most of that street away, except for where we were. And as kids it was great because we had a non-through street. So that was our playground; we would get together, especially in the summer, play, and have fun, all the neighborhood kids would get together and uh, so to me that was the best. It was my world! And then..my uncle got the letter that they were going to knock all the rest of the houses to build the Pomona Freeway, the overpass of the Pomona.That’s when we had to move. 

When we first found out we had to move, we had to leave the house, I — I had always told myself that I am not going to like this house. I’m going to hate it, I don’t want to move there, I’m going to be living there miserably… 

So the first day we came to the house — because they had been coming back and  forth, but we hadn’t seen the house until the day we moved in. And I didn’t say anything, I kept my mouth shut, but I loved the house.

I mean, so we couldn’t go back and visit because eventually it was knocked down. We could drive every once in a while around the area and see where our house isn’t — house wasn’t anymore but no; you can’t go back. You know how some people go back and see their old house, but no. 

So, actually, these are the only two houses I’ve ever lived in.  So the rest of my life I’ve been here. I grew up here, we all grew up here, Lizzie grew up here, then the girls grew up here. 

[Las Maravillosas] 

Elias & Aurelia Valderrama 

Felipe & Natalia Salas 

Rafael & Guadalupe Rodriguez 

Louie & Mary Rodriguez Rosalie Rodriguez 

Virginia Rodriguez

Raymond Rodriguez 

Elizabeth Rodriguez 

Valerie Jones 

Deanna Jones

 *”The Wonderful Ones”; or, “The Marvelous Ones” 

Maravillosas (Historia y Narración de Virginia Rodriguez) 

En realidad, sí, así que la mayor parte de mi vida transcurrió aquí en esta casa. 

Estas son las únicas dos casas en las que he vivido. 

Nos mudamos aquí en 1962, así que todavía tenía diez años y no cumplí once hasta abril. Entonces, la que realmente nació y se crió aquí fue Lizzie, porque nació en julio del 62. Yo crecí aquí, todos crecimos aquí, Lizzie creció aquí, luego las niñas crecieron aquí. 

Luego, cuando estuvimos allí, hicieron la autopista de Long Beach... 

Se llevaron la mayor parte de esa calle, excepto donde estábamos. Y de niños fue genial porque teníamos una calle sin salida. Así que ese era nuestro patio de recreo; nos reuníamos, especialmente en el verano, jugábamos y nos divertíamos, todos los niños del vecindario se reunían y, eh, para mí eso era lo mejor. ¡Era mi mundo! Y luego..mi tío recibió la carta de que iban a derribar todas las demás casas para construir la Autopista de Pomona, el paso elevado de Pomona. Ahí fue cuando tuvimos que mudarnos. 

Cuando nos enteramos por primera vez que teníamos que mudarnos, tuvimos que salir de la casa, siempre me había dicho a mí mismo que no me iba a gustar esta casa. Lo voy a odiar, no quiero mudarme allí, voy a estar viviendo allí miserablemente… 

Entonces, el primer día que vinimos a la casa, porque habían estado yendo y viniendo, pero no habíamos visto la casa hasta el día que nos mudamos. Y no dije nada, mantuve la boca cerrada, ¡pero a mí me encantó la casa!

Quiero decir, para que no pudiéramos volver y visitar porque finalmente fue derribado. Podíamos conducir de vez en cuando por la zona y ver dónde no está nuestra casa, ya no estaba la casa, pero no puedes volver. Ya sabes cómo algunas personas vuelven y ven su antigua casa, pero no.

Entonces, en realidad, estas son las únicas dos casas en las que he vivido. Así que el resto de mi vida he estado aquí. Yo crecí aquí, todos crecimos aquí, Lizzie creció aquí, luego las niñas crecieron aquí. 

[Las Maravillosas] 

Elías y Aurelia Valderrama 

Felipe y Natalia Salas 

Rafael y Guadalupe Rodríguez 

Louie y María Rodríguez 

Rosalía Rodríguez 

Virginia Rodríguez 

Raimundo Rodríguez 

Isabel Rodríguez 

Valerie Jones 

Deanna Jones

(Over the Waves)

Inspired by the songs my grandfather Mencho and his brothers would sing from their youth as Tejano child migrant farm workers. My grandfather never liked to talk about his childhood, but I vividly remember hiding in the hallway outside of my grandmother’s sewing room and listening to the Badillo brothers play and sing their hearts out. The songs were equal parts folk music from the lower border (corridos), Conjunto music, Mariachi and Ranchera songs from classic Mexican cinema, American classic country music, and early Rock n Roll which came together to express the complexity of Tejano identity. By using the Pierrot ensemble to evoke the growl of the bajo sexto, the reedy-ness of the button accordion, the overdrive of an electric guitar, and the distant cry of a steel guitar I aim to explore the liminal space between American and Mexican identity and its lingering effect on subsequent generations of working class Mexican-Americans adrift between two cultures.

Based on Gloria Anzaldúa’s Coyolxauhqui imperative, itself rooted in Aztec mythology.

My piece Coyolxauhqui has its roots in two sources: an Aztec myth about the goddess and the eponymous imperative described by Gloria Anzaldúa.

The first movement depicts one of the most well-known versions of the Aztec myth, in which the goddess Coyolxauhqui and her 400 brothers (the Centzon Huitznahuas) launched a failed rebellion against their mother Coatlicue and her younger brother Huitzilopochtli. In the end, she was beheaded and dismembered, her body thrown in pieces down a mountain. Huitzilopochtli threw her head into the sky, where it became the moon. In some versions, Coatlicue and Huitzilopochtli require constant worship and occasional sacrifices to continue protecting the earth from the rebellious siblings.

To be Mexican-American is to live in multiple worlds simultaneously, to have roots in many places but too often to be questioned in them. It is to live with a fragmented identity that you constantly reinvent and adapt. It is, Gloria Anzaldúa might say, to live with Coyolxauhqui imperative.

The second movement explores this fragmentation by providing players with shards of a map, following a path that they create for themselves. There is no set score; the path we take from desconocimiento to conocimiento changes every time. But their choices impact the paths that the players around them take.

The musicians come back together at the end of their paths, leading to new material in the third movement (“Conocimiento”) and the finale (“Never any resolution”).