Living la muerte loca

>> Saoco bring a Mexican flavour to Halloween week in Montreal

by RUPERT BOTTENBERG

"Humour is an important part of Mexican culture," says Victor Castillo, drummer of Cuernavaca-based sextet Saoco. "We laugh and make fun of ourselves, in many ways, about our tragedies and situations. Even when we're happy, most of us, we have this black humour and this culture around death."

Humour's also an important part of Saoco's musical mélange, a busy fabric of rough rock, reggae riddims and authentic Mexican folk styles--Fishbone comparisons aren't entirely out of line. Many of their tunes, when played live at least, come off like high-speed, twisty sonic comic strips, full of sudden changes, verbal outbursts and references lost on us up North.

"There's something weird that happened here," says Castillo, recalling the previous night's gig at Café Chaos (their first in Canada). "We use triggers, calls from the drums or the trumpets, like with mariachis. We know what the reaction will be for each one from the crowds in Mexico--screaming, yelling certain things. Here, the trumpet calls and nobody answers. Everyone is silent. It's a bit of a cultural block. People don't know what the cues are."

Which isn't to say all is lost. Saoco's high spirits are contagious, even if you no hablo. "If you listen to the demo--I don't want to get too technical here--it's A-B-C, A-B-C and that's it. That's the form. Live, we change the whole song. We have the freedom to change the rhythm and speed, even the lyrics, which we'll make up on the spur of the moment. Last night, we played something about Bazooko, the other band that's here with us--kind of making fun of them, but also a salute to them."

Rated G

Both bands hail from the province of Morelos, a province an hour south of Mexico City. "Someone once said it's got perfect weather," notes Castillo. "That's what the capital Cuernavaca is know for, never too hot or cold. Zapata, the creator of the farmers' revolution, was from Morelos, he was murdered there also. For the Zapatista movement, it was very important to go to Morelos. There's still this legacy--not so much in Cuernavaca, which has become through the years an amusement park for the chilangos, the people from Mexico City, with water slides, Spanish schools and tourists."

It was there that in '98, Castillo, a shit-hot drummer (now regarded as the best in the province) with six years of molten metal behind him, hooked up with a bunch of kids on the ska/reggae tip. Castillo was out to expand his horizons, and with the ska kids he got that and then some. Saoco became more than the sum of its parts, especially with the factoring in of Nahum Palma Granja--"he plays Mexican-style string instruments like the très, South American instruments like the charanga and the quena flute, as well as sax.

"We started making the fusion with folkloric music from Mexico, north to south. We do have a Cuban influence also, mostly in the cowbells I use and the rhythms. But basically, the evolution of the band was toward Mexican folk music. I don't know if we're trying to do the rescue thing, working with folk styles because nobody's doing them anymore. The youth of Mexico isn't hearing a lot of their own folk music. They're influenced by rap and all that. With Saoco, it's about using what the country gives you to produce more. Not to conserve, not to keep the styles intact, but to do an evolution--modified offspring."

Being all modified, hybridized and everything, where does a band like Saoco fit in? Most everywhere. "Saoco is a very familiar band--general audience, like the G rating in the movies. We play on the nurses' day, the doctors' day, the police day. We're hired to play at events--there are a lot of street fairs in Cuernavaca. It used to be a town with nine tribes. There's no pyramids anymore, but where the churches are, each neighbourhood has a fair. There are seven of them, with the same music and all that carnival stuff. We play for the joy of it. It doesn't matter how big the crowd is, if they're metalheads or punks, elders or children. We just like to bring the music to a crowd that's interested."

Night of the living dead

Unfortunately for Castillo, Saoco and Bazooko, one carnival they'll be missing this year is Mexico's famous Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, that happens every November. The nature of this fiesta offers insights into the relationship Mexicans have with death, one that's somewhat, but not entirely, different from our own.

"We have this offering in November that people make in their houses. We cook food, or give things that our ancestors liked while they were alive. For example, I had an uncle who liked baseball, so we offered his glove and ball. Beer is a popular offering too. This is because the legend says that that night, the dead can come back and party with the living.

"There's two days--the first is only for children and people who died in accidents, the other is for dead people in general. People go to the graveyard and sing to the graves, or eat food, drink tequila, put ornamentation on the tombstones. I'm not a historian, but I believe it's the most traditional Mexican event, more than Christmas or even patriotic holidays. That particular day, they close the streets because the crowds going to the graveyards are so big that you can't get around in a car."

Dia de los Muertos has its roots in the rituals of the Aztecs and other pre-Columbian peoples of the region, with a little Spanish Catholic and dirty Yankee imperialism thrown in. The most familiar symbol of the holiday is the calavera, the smiling, candied skull. "The calaveras are not only the candy skulls," notes Castillo, "but also a musical form for criticizing the government. It has to rhyme"--here he tears into an rapid-fire jingle, something about chocolate--"and you can use it for criticizing anything. I believe these songs were invented during the revolution, criticizing the government of Diaz, the dictator at the time. It was a form of protest--'oh, it's just a song, it won't harm anybody'--but it was critical.

"Then there's the drawings of Jose Guadalupe Posada, of course, the skeletons doing human activities. The most famous is the Katrina, the elegant lady skeleton with the big hat--an elegant death. That's very popular, those Posada drawings. He's made Dia de los Muertos a comic strip."

Castillo sums up the holiday's vibe with a little folk tale. "There's a story of Macario--he had a turkey he was going to eat. God came to him and asked for some, and Macario said, 'No, I won't give it to you, because you have everything.' Then the Devil came and asked for some turkey, and Macario said, 'No, because you're always doing tricky things. It'll be bad for me.' Then Death came and asked for some, and Macario said, 'Yes--I give it to you because you're fair with everyone. Rich, poor, good, bad, you take everyone. You're the only one who's fair.'"

With Bazooko and Boulimik Food Fight at Bleu est Noir on Sunday, Oct. 28, 8pm, $3, with Chango Family at Petit Campus on Tuesday, Oct. 30, 8:30pm, $8, and with Mononc Serge at Foufounes Électriques on Wednesday, Oct. 31, 8pm, $10