Hispanic Heritage Month: Beyond La Bamba

Ritchie Valens is reasonably credited with introducing American popular culture to son jarocho music, but there were plenty of recordings of the traditional Veracruz standard before (Xavier Cugat) and after (Cal Tjader, Mongo Santamaria) he cracked the top 40 charts with “La Bamba.” It is a tune José Luis Utrera surely knows as a scion of a celebrated family of son jarocho musicians. However, the young Utrera opts to chart his own course north of the border. Marco Villalobos & Daffodil Altan document his musical undocumented life in Beyond La Bamba (trailer here), which premieres on World Channel this Wednesday, as part of its celebration of Hispanic Heritage Month.

“La Bamba” is indeed quite representative of son jarocho. It is a traditional form of music that is infectiously rhythmic and wildly improvisational. If you are not invigorated by a son jarocho “fandango” than you are just tragically lame. How and why Utrera settled in Milwaukee of all places is never explained, but it turns out you can even find a fandango that far north.

In fact, Utrera is quickly adopted as the local son jarocho prodigy/celebrity/guru, almost like a son jarocho Wynton Marsalis, but one that holds workshops in a community center rather than the Lincoln Center. The music remains true to Utrera, even introducing him to his future fiancée. However, the conscientious Utrera misses his family and worries his aged grandfather will slip away before he is able to return.

Utrera is a nice kid, but his unassuming demeanor does not translate well on-screen. Fortunately, that doesn’t really matter, because the music is the reason to watch the half-hour Beyond. Utrera and his family, friends, and students can truly play up a storm. As a film, it is pleasant, but mostly rather serviceable, whereas as a PSA for son jarocho music, it should definitely inspire some CD sales.

Wisely, Villalobos (talk about a musical name) and Altan clearly try to minimize the issue of Utrera’s immigration status. Look, he is a wildly talented musician, so it is nice to have him here, but we can’t help think of all the even more gifted Japanese jazz musicians we know, who maintain their legal residency status, often through great hassle. Regardless, Beyond La Bamba sounds great, so give it a listen when it airs this Wednesday (9/20) on World Channel.

Hispanic Heritage Month: The Head of Joaquin Murrieta

Joaquin Murrieta had to be a significant Mexican folk hero, because Ricardo Montalbán played him twice, once on Death Valley Days and later in the TV movie Desperate Mission. Murrieta was the inspiration for Zorro, but he came to a bad end. Over one hundred fifty years after his death, filmmaker John J. Valadez wrestles with the Robin Hood-figure’s life, times, and legacy in The Head of Joaquin Murrieta (trailer here), which premieres on World Channel this Wednesday, as part of its celebration of Hispanic Heritage Month.

In 1853, the highwayman and/or Mexican nationalist was gunned down by a band of state-chartered vigilantes, who decapitated his head as proof. For years, they used the head as a grotesque sideshow attraction, until it was allegedly lost during the San Francisco earthquake. It was not the finest moment for California’s justice system, or Murrieta.

Although the head (preserved in a bell jar full of alcohol) was out of circulation, reports of sightings still persisted into the current century. Obviously, it is prime documentary fodder, but Valadez’s first attempt at a Murrieta doc fell through when his attempts to find the head did not pan out. Then one day, a mysterious package arrived at his home.

Valadez is maddeningly vague about a lot of details. Yes, we understand he wants to make a serious, socially conscious documentary, but when your film is constructed around a head in a jar, you have to indulge viewers’ morbid curiosity. There is no speculation as to where it came from, nor is there any attempt to authenticate it. Call us square, but shouldn’t you tell the police if you receive a severed head in the mail, even if it is from the 1850s?

In fact, Valadez readily admits he has no way of knowing if this is the real Murrieta or not, but he is content to accept it as a symbolic relic. Out of respect for the historical figure and the dispossessed people he championed, Valadez sets off on a trek to bury the head in his old stomping grounds, but he will have to drive, because obviously. Along the way, we get plenty of less than edifying American history. However, Valadez will also get an awkward reminder from his own family history that many of the Mexicans who were forced off their property by western expansionism had done the very same thing to the indigenous populations a generation earlier.

You have to give Valadez credit for keeping that part in the film, even though it is clearly embarrassing to him. Although, we would like more hard information about the head itself, the way he treats it on camera is quite tasteful and shrewd. Usually, he just shows it concealed by the box it was shipped in, which quickly takes on a sinister aura, sort of like the briefcase holding Marsellus Wallace’s soul in Pulp Fiction.

While clocking in just under half an hour, The Head of still manages to be persistently lectury. Nevertheless, it is an interesting story and it is fair to say Valadez is uniquely positioned to tell it. The adage “possession is nine-tenths of the law,” rooted in ancient Roman jurisprudence, certainly seems aptly to suited to this short doc, whether it be applied to misappropriated heads or twice-appropriated lands. It is provocative, but not knee-jerk. Recommended for those fascinated by folk legends, The Head of Joaquin Murrieta airs this Wednesday (9/20) on World Channel.