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It
was a festive place once, full of beachfront hotels and nightclubs, bustling
bars and busy brothels. Now Playa Norte has faded into a shabby slum by
the sea: the restaurants empty, the bawdy bars sad and dingy, the neighborhood
blighted and ill-used. The only thing left of the old entertainment area
is a scatter of old men sitting on folding chairs along the Malecon, waiting.
They stack their guitars and occasional bass fiddle, they warm their hands
in threadbare sweaters or pockets this time of year, to keep the sea-cold
from stiffening aging fingers. Scarves or buttoned collars protect throats
with a lot of miles on them. Across the street, faded paint on the roll-down
doors of their “offices” spells out their names: Trio Romance, Trio Flamante.
They talk, they smoke, they wait. Occasionally a car will pull up and a
guitarist will walk over to dicker. Then two or three of the old-timers
pick up their guitars, group around an open car window, and start to play.
A Mexican tradition unknown in the States—the drive-by serenade. And what
they play is truly beautiful, a musical gem abandoned in the dust of banda
and imported rock ‘n’ rap. Trio music is mostly romantic voice harmonies
laced over intricate, silvery guitar runs, exactly the kind of music you
want to hear while sitting with a loved one. Trio instrumentals are almost
a latin jazz form. In other cities, trios roam nice restaurants, walking
among the tables to entice customers with a shimmering trickle of notes,
charming diners with mellow/dramatic vocals. But here in Mazatlan, a town
known for the raucous rattle of banda and the ranchero strut of norteno,
trio music is overshadowed by hick accordian polkas and deliberately off-key
vocals. The trios play for a lot of drunks, who staggering along the malecon,
or ditch their cars in mid-traffic to listen bleary-eyed to the guitars.
Nowdays you might see a tipsy businessman holding a cellular phone up in
front of the singers for the enjoyment of somebody on the other end of the
line. Listen to this honey. Don’t be mad. They |
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play for a lot of the lost, the losers, the lovers. Couples don’t stroll
by here so much anymore, but they can come by in a pulmonia for love songs
to go. The thing about the trios is: they’re still here. Trios may have
fallen on neglect, sunk beneath the tide of “sombrerotoons”...but it is
the most accessible and lovely of Mexican music, easily appreciated across
cultural borders. Anybody interested in Mexican music should be familiar
with trios. They have a section in the music store, but the best place to
start would be with Los Panchos, the seminal trio, accompanied on some recordings
by Edie Gorme. The lush vocals and intricate strings of “Sabor a Mi” or
“Vareda Tropical” are as effective as dinner music as they are at melting
hearts, opening arms, and closing eyes. Or just go down to Playa Norte,
just south of the Fisherman’s Monument on the seaward side, and pay a couple
of pesos for a couple of minutes of glistening romance, harmonious heartbreak,
declarations of interdependence. Ask them to do “Sabor A Mi”. You’re still
on the earth, she’s still on your mind, the guitarists are still on the
street. It only costs a fistful of pesos to care. For a few pesos more,
they’ll come to your home and play for your guests. A trio isn’t just a
mariachi without trumpet, it’s a way of relating to the world. A trio isn’t
even necessarily three musicians: it’s a genre, not a head count. In fact,
most trios along Playa Norte are only two old men with guitars. Age, time,
and arthritis take their toll, especially in such a marginal endeavor. The
groups are aging like the neighborhood, and young players who don’t want
to sit on the sidelines come up into the ranks of bandas and conjuntos.
It’s a dying art, and they are dying out. But they still sit out there by
the beach, hands deep in their pockets, guitars leaning on street signs,
waiting for somebody who wants to listen. They can still croon the old lyrics
above the sound of the surf, and flick deft fingers across your heartstrings.
And they have nothing else they can do. They have nowhere else to go. |
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