For me, Black History is celebrated 365 days a year, but it’s now February, the “official” Black History Month. And since the 2024 Grammy Awards are being televised on Sunday, I got to thinking about how the Black roots of certain music—music not often labeled as “Black”—have often been erased or overlooked. Scrolling through the Latin Grammy Award categories, nowhere do I see the word “Afro” or “Black”—though I suppose the “Tropical” and “Urban” subcategories are structured to house performances by Black Spanish- and Portuguese-speaking artists.
My godson Jesse, who is Chicano, and I were discussing Feb. 2 celebrations in the Chicano and Mexican communities for the Black Catholic saint, La Virgen de Candelaria. She’s a Black Madonna who is syncretized in Cuban Santeria with the Orisha Oya; somehow the conversation drifted into Black music and religion in Latino countries. Jesse brought up Mexico and Afro Mexican contributions to the genre of son jarocho music—which is known to many non-Latino Americans because of the late Ritchie Valens.
Yes, I’m talking about “La Bamba.”
Valens’ death at age 17 in a Feb. 3, 1959, plane crash—along with Buddy Holly, J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson, and pilot Roger Peterson—was a tragic event that was immortalized in American Pie, a song by singer-songwriter and guitarist Don McLean. The song is frequently referred to as “the day the music died,” an oft-repeated lyric.
My generation mourned the loss of Valens in real time, while Gen Xers and Millennials remember the 1987 biopic “La Bamba”, starring Filipino American actor Lou Diamond Phillips as Valens. But “La Bamba,” and the son jarocho roots it sprouted from, live on. Join me today in exploring those roots.
”Black Music Sunday” is a weekly series highlighting all things Black music with over nearly 200 stories covering performers, genres, history, and more, each featuring its own vibrant soundtrack. I hope you’ll find some familiar tunes and perhaps an introduction to something new.
For those who have never heard “La Bamba” by Ritchie Valens—or maybe just haven’t heard it in awhile—have a listen.
YouTube Video
And here’s the Los Lobos version, which was recorded for the film, along with other Valens tunes, at the behest of the Valens family.
YouTube Video
With the Grammys on our minds, it’s worth noting that Valens did not win a Grammy for “La Bamba,” though it was nominated.
Valens was a 2001 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee, and Larry Lehmer noted when the song was added to the National Registry in 2018 that “La Bamba” has since “been inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame (2000) and Latin Grammy Hall of Fame (2013).”
More from Lehmer:
Back in 2018, NPR’s Shereen Marisol Meraji pointed to the use of “La Bamba” at a 2017 counterprotest against neo-Nazis and white supremacists demonstrating in Shelbyville, Tennessee. The counterprotestors, organizer Chris Irwin told Meraji, came prepared with a sound system to drown out guys like "this guy we call Angry Santa. And Angry Santa is a KKK guy, unabashed. And he starts talking about rounding up 'all you degenerate whores.'"
And Irwin had an idea.
Watch “Angry Santa” fight to be heard over “La Bamba”:
I had to grin when I saw this, knowing that ”La Bamba’s” history is so firmly rooted in resistance to oppression.
“The Son Jarocho as Afro-Mexican Resistance Music” is an absorbing 2013 academic paper on that history, co-written by Micaela Díaz-Sánchez, an assistant professor at Mount Holyoke College, and Alexandro D. Hernández, a UCLA doctoral candidate in Ethnomusicology and a Smithsonian Institution fellow.
The city of Veracruz is central to so much of Afro Mexican music history and production.
As I wrote in 2010:
Antonia del Carmen Peregrino Álvarez is known to the music and film world as Toña La Negra (Toña the Black Woman). Though many of the photos of her are “lightened,” she is clearly a Mexican woman of Black ancestry.
Toña sings about Veracuz in this unidentified television clip from the 1960s:
YouTube Video
This documentary (in Spanish with no English subtitles) captures her history and music.
Toña La Negra sang “Lamento Jarocho,” one of many songs written and composed by Augustin Lara, Mexico’s most famous songwriter.
The lyrics speak to the beauty and pain of being born Afro Mexican:
Have a listen.
YouTube Video
As a huge Celia Cruz fan, I was delighted to find she sang a duet, “Ven Bernabé,” with Toña. Writer and music critic Rob Weinert-Kendt wrote about it on his blog, “The Wicked Stage.”
Listen:
YouTube Video
Kary Stewart at Songlines wrote “Son Jarocho: A Beginner's Guide” in 2022.
The banning of drums opened the door to the use of other instruments in the development of son garrote—and one of them was the harp. Meet Afro Mexican harpist Graciana Silva García, known as “La Negra Graciana” (Black Woman Graciana), who was born in 1939 and died in 2013.
Here’s an hour of her remarkable music!
YouTube Video
Sadly there are no biographies of Graciana to be found—in English, anyway. “El vuelo de la Negra Graciana,” by Eduardo Llerenas for the blog of Discos Corasón (the record company that recorded her) tells her whole story. I’ll translate a bit of it.
Here’s another great performance, of “La Guacamaya.”
YouTube Video
From All Around This World:
The Sones de México Ensemble in Chicago explored “The Black Music of Mexico” in the summer and fall of 2023.
This hour-long discussion and demonstration were an incredible learning experience, and made me wish I could attend some of their workshops in Chicago!
YouTube Video
From the Sones de México Ensemble’s YouTube video note:
Circling back to the song that started it all, Sones de México got the crowd at the 2004 Philadelphia Folk Festival moving with their rousing version of “La Bamba,” paying tribute to the song’s Afro Mexican roots in their lyrics.
YouTube Video
The ¡Viva el Arte de Santa Bárbara!’ 2015-2016 promotional flyer gives the background of Grammy Award-winning Patricio Hidalgo y el Afrojarocho.
The video for their song “Quemayama” transmits a deep feeling of the healing power of nature when we are tormented.
YouTube Video
From the YouTube video note (translated):
Thank you for joining me today on this Black History Month musical excursion to Afro-Mexico. I hope you will join me in the comments for even more, and that you enjoy the Grammys, if you watch them on Sunday
¡Viva La Bamba!
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My godson Jesse, who is Chicano, and I were discussing Feb. 2 celebrations in the Chicano and Mexican communities for the Black Catholic saint, La Virgen de Candelaria. She’s a Black Madonna who is syncretized in Cuban Santeria with the Orisha Oya; somehow the conversation drifted into Black music and religion in Latino countries. Jesse brought up Mexico and Afro Mexican contributions to the genre of son jarocho music—which is known to many non-Latino Americans because of the late Ritchie Valens.
Yes, I’m talking about “La Bamba.”
Valens’ death at age 17 in a Feb. 3, 1959, plane crash—along with Buddy Holly, J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson, and pilot Roger Peterson—was a tragic event that was immortalized in American Pie, a song by singer-songwriter and guitarist Don McLean. The song is frequently referred to as “the day the music died,” an oft-repeated lyric.
My generation mourned the loss of Valens in real time, while Gen Xers and Millennials remember the 1987 biopic “La Bamba”, starring Filipino American actor Lou Diamond Phillips as Valens. But “La Bamba,” and the son jarocho roots it sprouted from, live on. Join me today in exploring those roots.
”Black Music Sunday” is a weekly series highlighting all things Black music with over nearly 200 stories covering performers, genres, history, and more, each featuring its own vibrant soundtrack. I hope you’ll find some familiar tunes and perhaps an introduction to something new.
For those who have never heard “La Bamba” by Ritchie Valens—or maybe just haven’t heard it in awhile—have a listen.
YouTube Video
And here’s the Los Lobos version, which was recorded for the film, along with other Valens tunes, at the behest of the Valens family.
YouTube Video
With the Grammys on our minds, it’s worth noting that Valens did not win a Grammy for “La Bamba,” though it was nominated.
Valens was a 2001 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee, and Larry Lehmer noted when the song was added to the National Registry in 2018 that “La Bamba” has since “been inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame (2000) and Latin Grammy Hall of Fame (2013).”
More from Lehmer:
While Valens doubtless saw the song as Mexican in origin, its roots actually go back even further. “La Bamba” is believed by musical scholars to have arisen from the slave trade between Spain and the Mexican port city of Veracruz. Many of the slaves came from the African regions of Angola and Congo, homes to the Bamba tribe. Over the centuries, the African music was influenced by Mexican and Spanish rhythms, creating a music that came to be known as son jarocho (“sound of Veracruz”). “La Bamba” is believed to come specifically from a slave uprising in 1683, often referred to as the “Bambarria.”
The song was traditionally performed at weddings, where attendees were encouraged to make up verses of their own. At rowdy weddings, where lyrics got a bit out of hand, fistfights were known to break out and, in some cases, machetes were drawn. As many as 1,000 verses to “La Bamba” have been documented. Along with the song came a dance, a complicated affair where newlywed husbands and wives attempted to tie a long ribbon into a bow using only their dancing feet.
According to “Life” magazine, the song (and dance) were “brought out of the jungle” by U.S. bandleader Everett Hoagland, who ignited a “La Bamba” dance craze in Mexico City in late 1944. A year later, Arthur Murray was teaching the dance (described as a slow rhumba) in New York. In 1947, Ricardo Montalban and Cyd Charisse introduced the tune to film buffs in “Fiesta.” Just as son jarocho has its roots in slavery and colonization, the rock and roll of 1950s America has a similar etymology; Bob Keane finally persuaded Valens to record “La Bamba” as the flip side to his next single, “Donna.” But Valens, who was raised as Richard Steven Valenzuela in a thoroughly Mexican family, had never learned Spanish in his 17 years as a native-born Californian. “We finally had to ask his Aunt Ernestine for the words, because he didn’t know them,” Keane said.
Back in 2018, NPR’s Shereen Marisol Meraji pointed to the use of “La Bamba” at a 2017 counterprotest against neo-Nazis and white supremacists demonstrating in Shelbyville, Tennessee. The counterprotestors, organizer Chris Irwin told Meraji, came prepared with a sound system to drown out guys like "this guy we call Angry Santa. And Angry Santa is a KKK guy, unabashed. And he starts talking about rounding up 'all you degenerate whores.'"
And Irwin had an idea.
Through Slavery, Segregation And More, 'La Bamba' Has Been The Sound Of Survival
Here's how Trevor Noah, on that Monday's episode of The Daily Show, described what happened next:
"A white supremacist gets up to give a speech. And he doesn't get punched — someone just starts playing 'La Bamba.' That is the greatest protest ever. These people don't deserve our anger, they deserve our ridicule." Pointing out a bobbing head in the news footage, he added, "Even one of the Nazis can't help but dance along."
"Think about that," Irwin says, recalling the moment. Here was a group of white supremacists, spouting hate — and on the other side, "we had a thousand people show up. African-Americans, immigrants, Hispanics, brave people — dancing and laughing at them."
[...]
Some history here: Enslaved Africans were brought hundreds of years ago to Veracruz, Mexico. Because cultural fusion has long been a means of survival, African, indigenous and Spanish traditions were mashed up as a result. Out of that mashup, a musical style was created called son jarocho.
In traditional versions of "La Bamba," the instruments in son jarocho get played in a rhythm that is undeniably Afro-Caribbean. "It's, like, embedded in the strum itself," explains Alexandro Hernandez, an ethnomusicologist at UCLA. "It is that Afro-Caribbean connection that's been there for hundreds of years, mixed in with a little bit of Español and first nations."
Watch “Angry Santa” fight to be heard over “La Bamba”:
Counterprotesters play "La Bamba" while "White Lives Matter" rally leader Michael Hill speaks pic.twitter.com/8epfUVLzba
— BuzzFeed News (@BuzzFeedNews) October 28, 2017
I had to grin when I saw this, knowing that ”La Bamba’s” history is so firmly rooted in resistance to oppression.
“The Son Jarocho as Afro-Mexican Resistance Music” is an absorbing 2013 academic paper on that history, co-written by Micaela Díaz-Sánchez, an assistant professor at Mount Holyoke College, and Alexandro D. Hernández, a UCLA doctoral candidate in Ethnomusicology and a Smithsonian Institution fellow.
Abstract
Son jarocho is an Afro-Mexican musical tradition from southern Veracruz with prominent African diasporic elements. Its first archival documentation was via a colonial edict in 1776 banning “El chuchumbé.” The “lascivious” body movements associated with the dancing of “El chuchumbé” by communities “of broken color” was accompanied by lyrics that literally mocked colonial authorities. Similar to the dissemination of “El chuchumbé,” the conga rhythm and dance transferred to Veracruz by way of Cuba. The transgressive performance of this music by mulatos and mestizos in Veracruz fueled indignation by Catholic institutional forces and led to the prohibition of sones like “El chuchumbé” and the conga. This essay will explore these examples of the son jarocho as an African diasporic form rooted in resistance.
****
As Chicana and Chicano scholars looking into Black México and its cultural production, we unravel the Black musical-cultural legacy and make it explicit in our conversation of the son jarocho, an Afro-Diasporic music from the sotavento region of México. Our positionality places us in an emic-etic dichotomy as practitioners and intellectuals of the son jarocho. However, we share the etic perspective as outsiders from the region of origin in México. As practitioners of the son jarocho in the U.S., we are connected as cultivators of the music and participants of bi-national dialogue between Chicanas and Chicanos and practitioners of the son jarocho in México
The city of Veracruz is central to so much of Afro Mexican music history and production.
As I wrote in 2010:
There is much rich culture and history that ties Mexico and its predominantly indigenous people, who have Spanish surnames, to those we call Native Americans. But few of us in the States are aware of Mexico’s historic ties to Africa and its contemporary communities of Afro-Mexicans, who live primarily in coastal areas, but are also now part of a diaspora that reaches into many parts of the United States.
I first became aware of this community and its history when I spent time in Mexico in the early 70s. I was surprised when many Mexicans I came in contact with did not automatically ask me if I was a "foreigner." Instead, over and over I was asked the same question, "¿Usted es de Veracruz?" (Are you from Veracruz?)
Puzzled, I asked my traveling companion Isabel about this. She laughed and said, "there are Afro Mexicans you know..."… adding "haven’t you heard me playing records by Toña La Negra? She is from Veracruz, where there are many Afro-descended Mexicans."
I had heard the recordings, but never thought about who the wonderful singer was. I looked through Isabel’s record collection and there on the album covers I saw a tawny-skinned woman, caramel in color, whose features and complexion showed obvious African and Mexican heritage.
Antonia del Carmen Peregrino Álvarez is known to the music and film world as Toña La Negra (Toña the Black Woman). Though many of the photos of her are “lightened,” she is clearly a Mexican woman of Black ancestry.
Toña La Negra was a Black Mexican woman of Haitian ancestry. She had a voice like no other and was performing & singing in a culture that denied her existence. Mexico didn't count Afro-Mexicans in the census until 2010. She proudly sang of her culture. pic.twitter.com/yiYnp8dohm
— Historias Unknown Podcast (@historiaunknown) February 24, 2023
Toña sings about Veracuz in this unidentified television clip from the 1960s:
YouTube Video
This documentary (in Spanish with no English subtitles) captures her history and music.
Toña La Negra sang “Lamento Jarocho,” one of many songs written and composed by Augustin Lara, Mexico’s most famous songwriter.
The lyrics speak to the beauty and pain of being born Afro Mexican:
Canto a la raza, raza Jarocha Raza de bronce, que el Sol quemo A los que sufren, a los que lloran A los que esperan, les canto yo
Alma de jarocha que nació morena Talle que se mueve con vaivén de hamaca Carne perfumada con besos de arena Tardes que semejan paisajes de laca
Boca donde tiembla la queja, doliente De una raza entera llena de amarguras Alma de jarocha que nació valiente
Para sufrir todas sus desventuras Para sufrir todas sus desventuras
I sing to the race, the Jarocha race Race of bronze, that the Sun burned To those who suffer, to those who cry To those who wait, I sing
Soul of a Jarocha who was born brown A waist that moves with the swaying of a hammock Flesh perfumed with sandy kisses Afternoons that resemble lacquer landscapes
Mouth where the complaint trembles, aching Of a whole race full of bitterness Soul of a jarocha who was born brave
To suffer all its misfortunes To suffer all its misfortunes
Have a listen.
YouTube Video
As a huge Celia Cruz fan, I was delighted to find she sang a duet, “Ven Bernabé,” with Toña. Writer and music critic Rob Weinert-Kendt wrote about it on his blog, “The Wicked Stage.”
For me the real keeper, by a long shot, is “Ven Bernabe,” three-and-a-half minutes of mysterious perfection, alternately sinuous and punchy, with the rhythmic equivalent of an earworm in its title phrase—a hard clave variation with its strongest accent on the 4—and a resolute refusal for much of the song to land on a strong downbeat. Though it has the horn blasts of classic son montuno and the angular piano filigree of Latin jazz, they don’t follow the usual patterns, to my ears at least; they keep eluding capture, even as they spin their own fascinating nets. This persists even after something curious happens exactly halfway through, at 1:45: The song shifts down to a slower gear for some ballad-like verses, only returning to the springy opening riff for the last 20 seconds or so
Until last week I hadn’t looked under the hood of the song or checked its lyrics. I discovered that it first appeared in 1959 on the album Cuba’s Foremost Rhythm Singer, and that it is not one song at all but a mashup of two: “Ven Bernabe,” by Santiago Ortego Gonzalez, a Cuban composer who also wrote another Cruz/Matancera song, “De Cuba A Mexico”; and “Lamento Jarocho,” a bolero by the legendary Mexican troubadour Agustín Lara. Mexico is a relevant connection here, as well as what I would call a certain race consciousness. While “Ven Bernabe” seems to be about an ornery malcontent who’s broken up a “fiesta” of “los negros” (the “barracon” to which the singer calls him was a term for barracks holding Black slaves), “Lamento Jarocho” is an ode to the “bronze race” of Veracruz, who perhaps not coincidentally gave Mexico its preeminent folk music, son jarocho. Lara’s lament is far more sympathetic than the harsh street cry of “Bernabe,” lifting up an “an entire race full of bitterness”
Listen:
YouTube Video
Kary Stewart at Songlines wrote “Son Jarocho: A Beginner's Guide” in 2022.
Son jarocho is unique in that neither the artist, or even the music, is the focal point. Instead, it is the fandango – the space where the community comes to exchange their views through song, dance and verse – that is at the heart and history of the tradition.
A synthesis of rural mestizo, mulatto and African influences, fandangos can be traced back to around the 1770s when several dances were imported to the state of Veracruz by Angolan slaves, brought from Cuba via the Gulf of Mexico. The Catholic church was suspicious of lascivious dances such as chuchumbé, which involved gatherings where slaves sang about their oppressors. Afraid that they would become breeding grounds for rebels planning revolts against their authority, they took steps to veto them. Prohibition only served to fuel creativity. Banned from using hand drums, legs and feet substituted for percussion, giving birth to the dance knows as the zapateado. The sones (songs) became a complex weave of metaphors that often mocked or criticized the establishment. The style therefore became the music of resistance of the time known as son jarocho. ‘Jarocho’ refers to people and things associated with southern Veracruz, but was originally a derogatory term for someone of mixed African and indigenous ancestry.
The banning of drums opened the door to the use of other instruments in the development of son garrote—and one of them was the harp. Meet Afro Mexican harpist Graciana Silva García, known as “La Negra Graciana” (Black Woman Graciana), who was born in 1939 and died in 2013.
Here’s an hour of her remarkable music!
YouTube Video
Sadly there are no biographies of Graciana to be found—in English, anyway. “El vuelo de la Negra Graciana,” by Eduardo Llerenas for the blog of Discos Corasón (the record company that recorded her) tells her whole story. I’ll translate a bit of it.
She told us about her childhood in Puente Izcoalco, where she had eaten iguana, guaruso, white heron, pinto shrimp and mojarra. There she had learned to play the harp from Mr. Rodrigo, a "blind man with two eyes", as she told us, who came to the house to teach his instrument to Pino, her older brother. After the last class, the teacher was eating when Graciana took the harp and began to play it with her little fingers. "The one who is going to learn is the little girl," said the blind teacher, and he was right.
At the age of 10, she began to play in public, accompanying her father and her brother Carlitos who played the violin, the jarana, and the four-stringed requinto jarocho. Carlos was also a great dancer but died at the age of 18. His place was taken by Pino, the brother who would later become Graciana's only faithful companion in the international career that began the day we met at the Portales de Veracruz.
That day, when Graciana was sharing with us the sounds of her repertoire and the episodes of a life always close to music, we asked her if she was interested in recording an album with us. I don't know if she believed us, no one had ever offered it to her before, but we talked to her several times by phone from Mexico City and in these conversations we agreed on the day and place for the recording, the repertoire, and the musicians who would accompany her.
Here’s another great performance, of “La Guacamaya.”
YouTube Video
From All Around This World:
"La Guacamaya" is a son jarocho standard from Veracruz in Mexico. A guacamaya is a parrot, and in the most widely sung original version (much like a version recently made popular by Los Lobos), the parrot is sad because he's hungry, yet he's able to fly away to a better place
The Sones de México Ensemble in Chicago explored “The Black Music of Mexico” in the summer and fall of 2023.
“Exploring the African Root of Mexican Music: La Bamba to Mariachi and Beyond: Sones de México Ensemble’s The Black Music of Mexico series Celebrates Rich Cultural Heritage and Fosters Community Unity in Chicago”
Chicago, IL — Sones de México Ensemble, a two-time Grammy Award-nominated Mexican folk music non-profit organization founded in 1994 and promoter of deep dives into Mexican culture, introduces “The Black Music of Mexico” series. This captivating series of live performances and conversations will explore Blackness in Mexican culture (see events calendar below). Sones de México Ensemble will spotlight the profound Afromexican cultural contributions that reverberate throughout Mexico’s past and present with the aim of promoting unity between Chicago’s Black and Mexican communities.
Unveiling Afromexican Heritage: The series transcends the stage to honor the Afro-Mexican population, a facet often relegated to the sidelines in conversations about Mexico’s ethnic diversity. This legacy harks back to the early 1500s during the Spanish colonization of the New World. Engaged in diverse economic activities such as agriculture, mining and fishing, as well as anti-colonial military service, Afromexicans made substantial contributions to the Mexico’s economic growth and Independence. Afromexicans have woven an intricate cultural tapestry, enriching Mexican society through their contributions in music, dance, language and cuisine. Savory ingredients like plantains, yams, and the aromatic spices that characterize African cooking—such as cloves and cinnamon—meld seamlessly with traditional Mexican fare, creating an exquisite fusion of flavors.
African Influence is evident in the music but not often acknowledged: Sones de Mexico Ensemble will highlight African influence while performing different regional styles of Mexican folk music.
Son jarocho, a revered traditional music style from Veracruz of which the folk song “La Bamba” is a well-known example, stands as a living testament to this dynamic exchange. Its Afro-Mexican origins resonate through captivating African rhythms and instruments, embodying the fusion that defines Mexican culture.
This hour-long discussion and demonstration were an incredible learning experience, and made me wish I could attend some of their workshops in Chicago!
YouTube Video
From the Sones de México Ensemble’s YouTube video note:
Sones de México member Dr. Eric Hines moderates this discussion of The Black Music of Mexico with guest UNAM-Mexico linguist/anthropologist Fernando Nava (Mexico City) and National Museum of Mexican Art Chief Curator Cesareo Moreno (Chicago) to discuss the African root of Mexico and the profoundly significant role that Afromexicans have played in the formation of the contemporary Mexican identity, music, and art.
Circling back to the song that started it all, Sones de México got the crowd at the 2004 Philadelphia Folk Festival moving with their rousing version of “La Bamba,” paying tribute to the song’s Afro Mexican roots in their lyrics.
YouTube Video
The ¡Viva el Arte de Santa Bárbara!’ 2015-2016 promotional flyer gives the background of Grammy Award-winning Patricio Hidalgo y el Afrojarocho.
Patricio Hidalgo is one of the great emerging poets and widely recognized master musician of jarocho, a three hundred year old tradition from the Veracruz region of Mexico. He was born in the remote rural town of Apixita and grew up with “the sun, the wind, the moon, liberty and determination,” in an area rich with uniquely beautiful flora and fauna as well as ongoing political struggles.
Patricio’s grandfather was the great Don Arcadio Hidalgo, a revolutionary who fought with his jarana at his side,and became a central figure in the jarocho revival movement of the 60s and 70s. Although rooted in history, after a brief commercial boom in Mexico City in the 30s and 40s, jarocho was all but extinct in the countryside. Ardadio’s profound knowledge of would inspire not only his grandson, but other leaders of el movimiento jarocho, including Gilberto Gutierriez of Mono Blanco and others who have brought jarocho and the fandango back to the community.
Patricio Hidalgo began playing with Don Arcadio and Mono Blanco as a young man, touring every state in Mexico and traveling to England and Portugal. In the 90s Patricio joined another ensemble, Chuchumbe, and discovered personal liberation in composing songs and writing verse, a pursuit practiced in his family for generations. In 2013, he published Rebeldía del alma, verses that draw inspiration from a rural youth, the voices of his ancestors, and the maturity of a lifetime spent in music and tradition. Since the 90s Patricio Hidalgo has focused on exploring the African roots of jarocho and he founded el Afrojarocho in 2008. Their performances pay tribute to the notable contributions from African culture which came to the Americas in past centuries. As a composer and collaborator Patricio Hidalgo has created and performed with Columbian pianist Claudia Calerón on El Piano Xarocho project, with Temembe Ensamble Continuo, and with Hespèrion XXI and Jordi Savall on Folías Criollas.
The video for their song “Quemayama” transmits a deep feeling of the healing power of nature when we are tormented.
YouTube Video
From the YouTube video note (translated):
From Los Tuxtlas, Veracruz; the horizon where the heart of one who regenerates himself on earth dwells, through praises, fandangos, herbs and cleansing: Quemayama, a medicinal Son, Quemayama, a Son to soothe the soul.
Thank you for joining me today on this Black History Month musical excursion to Afro-Mexico. I hope you will join me in the comments for even more, and that you enjoy the Grammys, if you watch them on Sunday
¡Viva La Bamba!
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