Los Lobos: El Cancionero Mas y Mas (La Historia
de la Banda del Este de Los Angeles)
Warner Archives/Rhino R2 76670 (four-CD set)
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Los Lobos: Good Morning Aztlán
Mammoth 11501
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Almost 25 years into its career, Los Lobos
just keeps getting better and better. Maybe it's because the five band members play about
a gazillion instruments among them (and seem to be learning more with each release), or
maybe it's because they create interesting side projects -- such as Cesar Rosas' solo
record or David Hidalgo's and Louie Pérez' Latin Playboys or Hildalgo's and Rosas' Los
Super Seven -- to keep the juices flowing. Who can say?
My own theory is that it's because they know who they are
-- just another band from East LA, as their own album title would have it -- and that
knowledge keeps them rooted. Rooted in their native community of the East LA barrio
and rooted in their identity as an American rock'n'roll band and heir to the musical
traditions of the world. An American rock'n'roll band? At this point, they're
almost the American rock'n'roll band, as iconic and towering a presence in their
time as The Band ever was in its.
The band's claim to rock'n'roll greatness is more than
adequately staked out in the four-disc box set, La Historia de la Banda del Este de Los
Angeles. It's a big ol' fat box set that documents the group's extraordinary range. It
includes a generous sampling from the band's eight albums and various side projects, and
collects songs from various soundtracks, compilations, and tribute albums, not to mention
the obligatory (and very much appreciated) previously unreleased live tracks and demo
rarities. In addition, the set contains three historical essays and a track-by-track
commentary that includes "remembrances by Louie Pérez."
The band leapt to national attention in 1983 with its EP .
. . And a Time to Dance, which mirrored the band's wide range, including the norteño
classic "Anselma," the Fats Domino-influenced "Let's Say Goodnight,"
and a unique accordion-driven fusion of Cajun two-step and norteño that sounded
like nothing that had preceded it. The band solidified its critical reputation with 1984's
How Will the Wolf Survive? But it was the soundtrack to La Bamba that made
the group really famous. (Connie Valenzuela, Ritchie Valens' mother, granted permission
for the film to be made only on the condition that Los Lobos provide the music.)
Rather than exploiting this piece of good fortune with a
radio-friendly album, the wolves responded with a dark look into the American soul -- at
least as seen from the barrio -- By the Light of the Moon. The following
year saw them release La Pistola y el Corazon, an achingly beautiful acoustic
exploration of corridas and boleros.
The band then took a break from touring and performing,
returning in 1990 with The Neighborhood, a hard-rocking statement of who they were
and where they came from. Its follow-up, Kiko, marked their first collaboration
with Mitch Froom and Tchad Blake and was the first of several increasingly impressionistic
releases. That record employed a dense wall of sound that intensified the emotional tone
of the songs. It was hailed as the group's most ambitious album to date, but many fans
couldn't cotton to the artificial nature of the CD's sound.
Nor were those fans destined to be happy with Los Lobos'
next two recordings, or the pair of albums from The Latin Playboys either, since those
discs all shared the Froom/Blake sonic sensibility and continued in the same sonic vein.
The band's songwriting, on the other hand, was showing greater and greater craft and care.
El Cancionero Mas y Mas excerpts those discs
generously and, mixed in with the other material the set offers, those sonic sins seem
less egregious than they did in their original releases -- or, I suppose, the remastering
process may have generated some real improvement on this front. At any rate, the set's
completeness (and an accurate portrait of the band's history) demands this material and it
works really well, sequenced as it is here.
On the heels of such a compelling look backwards, Good
Morning Aztlán is a welcome augury of the future. The disc was produced by John
Leckie, and despite his collaboration with the reining kings of electronica, Radiohead, he
knows the value of pure, ungimmicky sound. And boy, does he deliver it here.
The songs are as solid a set as Los Lobos has ever
delivered, played with a vengeance you'd never expect from a band that's been playing for
a quarter of a century. The group, propelled by the solid drumming of Pete Thomas and
Cougar Estrada, rips and slashes its way through a solid set that ranges from the
distortion-drenched rave-up, "Done Gone Blue," to the soulful "Hearts of
Stone" -- and even the experiments, such as "Malaque," which seems to pair
Venezuelan harp with a sampled hip-hop beat, are delivered with intense conviction.
As usual, for me anyway, a major part of the disc's appeal
lies in the simple, highly specific lyrics that are rooted solidly in the language real
people speak. "Tony y Maria" is a good example:
One hundred and fifty miles from Mexico to LA
doesn't seem that far but still a world away
went up to see her husband Tony
who left some years ago
he wrote to say come be with me
I miss and love you so
Or the following from the joyful yawp of the title track:
There's a sharp dressed man
playing something on a fiddle
in a backyard right next door
and everybody's mother's
cooking something in the kitchen
got dishes stacked ceiling to floor
These are scenes so vivid you can smell the epazote
in the beans simmering on the back burner. On the Cesar Rosas/Louie Pérez song "Luz
de mi Vida," the writers document something you hear every day in immigrant
communities, but I've never heard done in a song before -- they casually switch from
language to language in mid-sentence. This rings true; it's real -- and it's a great
song!
Cuando you and me
we were just chiquillos
we would always run
through the tall nopal
we would often say
say to each other there could be no fin
siempre los dos
Luz de mi vida
eres la voz de mi son
you are forever
light of my córazon
It was en la mañana
in our rinconcito
was the time you played me
sang me your canción
pues when I heard your voice
y tu melodia
you so touched my heart
and so moved my soul
Luz di mi vida
eres la voz de mi son
you are forever
light of my corazón
I remember everything as you
and in all the things that I do
and en the calle y en la cuartel
mi recuerdo de tu querer
A note on Good Morning Aztlán is in order: It's
available as a regular, music-only CD and as a two-disc set. Everything I've read about
the release (including the disc's jacket, for Pete's sake) says that the second disc
contains two live songs ("Can't Stop the Rain" and "Manny's Bones")
and carries the QuickTime video documentary Good Morning Aztlán. That would
certainly be the logical way to do it.
Unfortunately, it's the actual 12-song CD that's enhanced
and, as much as I'd like the extra songs and video footage, I'm deeply suspicious of
Mammoth's attempt to jam all that data onto the main disc. I opted for the single-disc
version, so I cannot speak for the sound quality of the enhanced CD, although I fear for
the worst.
That's surely a shame because everything else about the
disc is cause for celebration. It's a testament to the longevity, creativity, and energy
that have kept Los Lobos sharp for over 25 years and it's a disc that has to be pried out
of my CD player with a crowbar.
If you know Los Lobos, you probably don't need me to tell
you it's a must-have. If you don't know the band, I strongly urge you to buy El
Cancionero Mas y Mas while you're picking up the new one -- it'll save you a trip back
to the record store later.
...Wes Phillips
wes@onhifi.com
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