Thursday, April 26, 2007

The corrido of Aurelio Bustos recently became one of my favorite ballads. This song by Los Magallones features bravery, treachery, and also love/respect for one’s parents. It took me a whole lot of work, but maté el gusanito in creating a karaoke of the song. And of course, it includes an English translation…

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Sometimes a man likes a song precisely because it expresses the opposite of what he feels.

Sunday, August 8, 2004

Saturday, May 1, 2004

Sunday, February 29, 2004

Sunday, June 8, 2003

Today I did a search for “Los Magallones” through Google, and guess whose page was at the very top?! Yup. 🙂 And to celebrate, I’m going to share what is perhaps my favorite corrido sang by them. A “corrido” can be described as a Mexican folksong usually telling how a notorious man came to his death.

As I understand it, sometime in the 1970s there lived a man in a town near my hometown. He was a common man, until the day he killed some animals (cattle, perhaps) that belonged to a neighbor. The animals had tresspassed his property. This incident might have given rise to his name, “La Mula Bronca.”

The owner of the animals wasn’t going to let things be. For that reason, La Mula Bronca would not be at ease ever again. The Policia Judicial and Policia Motorizada wanted to put him in jail. For the death of the animals? No, probably not. That was only the beginning of his troubles with the law. People speak of human deaths.

The police sought him, and when they’d find him he’d escape. There were many deaths, just not his. That was the case until a 7th of November, many years after he had become a wanted man. Folks say he killed over ten men before he met death himself.

I tried translating his corrido, but its translation was coming out too cheesy. Heck, even his name is cheesy when translated into English. So cheesy he’d probably step out of his tomb for a moment just to come and hit me upside the head for translating it. So we’ll leave it at that, “La Mula Bronca.” Or simply… La Mula.

I can, however, cite part of the corrido. It says that on the day of his funeral the Motorizada came into the town where it was being held. They wanted to remove him from his funeral and put him on fire. The Motorizada despised him even in death.

The Motorizada had its plans. It didn’t occur to them, however, that even dead they would not be able to do with him as they pleased. Two men stood in their way. One was Fidencio Soriano who “tiraba sin descansar” — fired nonstop. The other was Guillo Quiñonez. Together, “los retacharon pa’tras” — they sent them back to where they came from.

Curious to know what La Mula Bronca’s corrido sounds like? Reach me and I’ll hook you up, since you can’t find it at amazon.com. 🙂 Here are the lyrics, though…

Saturday, April 5, 2003

Unlike in past days when her being gone was a good thing, because it’d give me time to myself to do homework, Nicole being gone Thursday evening had a negative effect on me. I felt lonely. Julio Jaramillo and Los Magallones played through my computer, aggravating things. It used to hold true that in lonely moments I used to wonder what Amber was doing at that precise moment. Now, being lonely means that events that took place as a result of her betrayal replay in my mind over and over again.

A bench in Hollywood High School is where I rested, under a tree that lost had its leaves — it was Fall of 1999. The sun shined through it branches, giving me an excuse to cover my eyes with my palms. It would be better that way, because then I’d be able to wipe my tears with ease and without being too obvious, if someone approached.

A bus going through Hollywood Boulevard, in the City of the Stars, carried a distressed passenger. People sat to his left, to his right, and in front of him. He could not see them clearly. His view was blurry. It’s hard to see through tears.

The seats of the football stadium at Los Angeles Valley College is where he sat to view an empty field. He was the only one there. That’s what he needed, privacy. He needed time to think.

A bridge in North Hills was crossed by the same man to be interviewed for a job at an elementary school. He had never been interviewed for a job before. He wasn’t nervous at all because his mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with other things.

A classroom in the school where he had been hired is where the man was, staring at the walls, the ceiling, the board, anything. There were students giving the teacher trouble, but the man was not aware of it. He was daydreaming.

He laid in bed with a girl he was seeing. He held her in his arms. He looked at a clock and asked himself, “Where is Amber?”

It’s in the last few months that I’ve lived better days. Hmm, Los Magallones are playing a song right now that carry a message for Nicole. Let me end this entry with its lyrics (translation, not word-for-word)…