Como
la flor… Like
the flower that dazzles and delights with its beauty and can brighten the most
jaded and indifferent heart, if only momentarily… “Como la Flor” was the
name of one of Selena’s hits. Selena was already a magnificent flower when her
stem — her very life — was tragically severed far too soon — like all
flowers seem to die, by a bullet from the gun of her fan club
president/business associate Yolanda Sald�var. Despite her star status,
Selena was only a bud in terms of her unrealized potential. Although her music
was known and loved by millions of Tejanos, other Latinos, and Latin Americans,
to the majority of the population — the gringo population, that is — she was
a total unknown.
Selena dreamed of crossing over into the bigger world. Her death on March 31,
1995 precipitated a posthumous crossover, but as her Lake Jackson elementary
school classmate and next-door neighbor Meredith Lynn Cappel succinctly
summarized: “All her dreams — gone.”
Joe Nick Patoski’s excellent new book, Selena: Como la Flor (Little
& Brown, $22.95 hard), is the third book already. The (first) movie has
been cast, and presumably we can still look forward to the touted official
biography sanctioned by her ultra-controlling father, Abraham Quintanilla, Jr.
Quintanilla is trying to control his dead daughter’s legacy in every way. The
familia cartel disapprove of this book (as of anything connected with
Selena that isn’t explicitly licensed by them), so I’m presumably earning their
wrath reviewing it.
I hope her family at least reads it. Especially Quintanilla. Because he was
“the ultimate stage father,” a lot of this book focuses on him and his
obsession with music and Selena’s destiny for stardom. Even though Quintanilla
comes across as sleazy — almost sinister at times — without him, a little
Mexican girl from Corpus Christi would never have become an international star.
This story of a family band with lots of cards stacked against it making it in
the always-cutthroat music biz because they were willing to do whatever it took
is an inspiring rags-to-riches story: Who says the American dream isn’t
available to everyone? Patoski tells their story with such empathy and insight
that we began to understand Quintanilla’s fixation and almost admire him,
despite his unlikable qualities. And Patoski captures eight-year-old Selena
singing her heart out in the family restaurant in Lake Jackson so exquisitely
that it feels like he was actually there.
Selena had “it,” whatever you call that indefinable but tangible star power —
charisma is the best word we have. Her innocent seductress image combined with
an amazing voice, sexy dancing, and an obvious and exuberant joy tantalize. I
never saw her perform live but having seen videos and heard her songs is enough
for me to know she will live on forever in my heart. This book is a beautiful
tribute that goes a long way towards explaining the phenomenon that was Selena
and the South Texas Mexicano world from which she came, the world that is still
an underclass despite whatever progress towards racial harmony and
understanding we may have achieved. (At least you don’t see “No dogs or
Meskins” signs posted in restaurants any more,
[[questiondown]]verdad?)
Among the small coterie
of writers interested in Texas-Mexican musical culture, most seem to prefer the
older, more traditional, and therefore presumably far more “authentic” conjunto
style, which is unequivocally fabulous, but I’m a renegade for liking Tejano
too. Some colleagues disdain Tejano to the level of asserting we would be
better off if it didn’t even exist. They are not alone in this opinion. Not all
Mexicanos like “Mexican” music, although they usually only admit this to me in
whispers. My teenage son, whose taste ranges from Metallica to Mozart,
regularly tells me things like: “I can’t stand Tejano; I’m not kidding,” and
“Tejano music sucks.” My goddaughter and best friend feel the same way,
although both are wild about Selena’s duet with David Byrne, “God’s Child
(Baila Conmigo),” on Dreaming of You. Indeed, who did call this
child to walk on the moon?
I say Tejano music is just as authentic as conjunto. So what if it’s
“polluted” by rock, country, reggae, non-Mexican Latino styles, rap, or
whatever else and employs sinful synthesizers? From that perspective, conjunto
is equally impure. Flaco Jim�nez tells how his dad, the great
acordeonista Don Santiago Jim�nez, Sr. used to eavesdrop at
German dances in the central Texas area. And how about the corrupt electric
bass replacing the stand-up bass tololoche?Musical cross
influences have been fermenting in Texas at least since Anglos started
migrating here. How can we write off Tejano music, just because it — like
virtually all contemporary musical styles — is mongrel? When it moves millions
around dance floors?
The fact that few outside this huge scene even know it exists (aside from
Selena’s murder) is pretty bizarre. Now, I don’t think all Anglos must get into
Tejano with a vengeance, because if nothing else I revel in the role of token
gringa on the scene, but I sure would like to live in a Texas where Mexicanos
get a hell of a lot more respect than they do now. We can assume they wouldn’t
mind either. They’ve already endured an incredible amount of shit from us since
Anglos first started moving to Texas long after they had settled here, and we
still have la migra to terrorize recent arrivals who are the only ones
willing to do our dirty work in this promised land.
One of the major strengths of this book is Patoski’s in-depth knowlege of
Texas musical history in general. His inclusion of extensive descriptions about
the context in which the Quintanillas struggled to make their mark is
fascinating and greatly enriches the possibility for outsiders to understand
this story. So the fact that the inimitable Lydia Mendoza is only mentioned in
passing as another act recorded by Quintanilla’s early mentor Johnny Herrera,
with the added phrase “considered the greatest Mexican-American female voice of
modern times,” is inexplicable.
Lydia deserves at least her own paragraph for her pioneering role. In her long
career, she has recorded over 1,200 songs, beginning at age 12 in 1928 with her
family band. She toured extensively in Mexico and all the many places around
the U.S. that migrant workers from Texas traveled (and many cases settled). I
had the thrill of seeing Lydia at the recent Quincea�era Party of the
Tejano Conjunto Festival in San Antonio, and she is — at 80 — as regal,
glamorous, and beneficently gracious as ever. Although she has been retired for
about a decade due to failing health, two nights later she sang with Mingo
Sald�var at the festival and reportedly still sounds great. Lydia
Mendoza is the First Queen of Tejano Music.
Although Selena credits Laura Canales, called la reina, whose singing
career was falling apart as Selena’s was taking off, as having paved the way
for her to be in the music business, in fact, both Laura and Selena and every
other woman (and man for that matter) in the Tejano scene are trodding in
Lydia’s formidable footsteps. (I wondered if Selena knew who Lydia Mendoza was,
because she had to cross back over into her “own” world and her roots didn’t go
all that deep, but several Tejano friends have insisted to me there is no way
she couldn’t have known, so her statement about Laura was referring just to an
immediate predecessor.)
Although I’ve seen maybe sixty m�sica Tejana acts live, I still
feel like somewhat of an interloper as a gringa — a mere Tejana wannabe — at
Tejano Ranch, even though I go with friends who are insiders on the scene.
Crossing into this world, like crossing out of it, means entering contested
ground. Despite his overall superior research on Como la Flor, the
author is not an insider, so a few glaring errors crept in. In general, the
earlier musical era in which Abe almost made it with the original Los Dinos
(Selena would become part of a later version of Los Dinos) is more movingly
evoked, while descriptions of the contemporary era of Tejano music do not fully
capture its vigor. The hot neo-conjunto group Intocable (untouchable) is
mistakenly identified as “Intocables,” but worse, La Tropa F and Jaime y los
Chamacos are included in a list of an “even newer generation of Tejano acts,”
— La Tropa are a few months short of 25 years playing together and have used
their current name at least since 1982 (previously they called themselves Los
Hermanos Far�as), and Jaime started playing drums in his father’s
conjunto at age five and formed his own group in 1985.
Of course, much of the blame for this slight weakness in the book can be laid
at Abe’s feet; due to his powerful stranglehold, nobody with any monetary stake
in the current Tejano scene could give interviews for this book for justifiable
fear of retaliation from Q Productions. Not to say that people who were cut out
of the business when the major labels moved in and thus had nothing to lose
didn’t offer significant insights about Selena’s life and music.
The most potent message of this book is the continuing virulence of racism,
and Patoski does not sidestep that issue. I think every Texan — and I include
y’all naturalized ones here — who cares about the future possibility of racial
harmony in our state and nation should read this book. It’s also highly
recommended to anyone just looking for a stimulating read. And, Mr. Patoski,
since you’ve done such a great job on unauthorized bios (including co-authoring
with Bill Crawford for Stevie Ray Vaughan: Caught in the Crossfire), and
you have exceeded your previous writing efforts in weaving together Selena’s
complex tale, I’d like to put in a request for additional biographies on Roky,
Doug Sahm, Little Joe, Freddy Fender, and Willie — they might cooperate!
Other books about Texas-Mexican music are coming out, but they won’t tell all
the story, either. Dark, sordid stuff still shrouded in murkiness surrounds
Selena’s prematurely aborted crossover dreams, and the dreams that seemingly
every other Tejano star has of crossing over somewhere.On a rerun of
Puro Tejano (KNVA, Sundays, 11:30am), Selena told the story that
inspired her hit “Amor Prohibido.” In Mexico, her grandmother was a servant
girl in the home of a very wealthy family and one of the sons of the family
fell in love with her. Of course, their love was completely forbidden, but they
escaped the established system to found their own household. Sometimes, even
forbidden love can be attained. But Selena’s longing remained unrequited. The
forces trapping people inside her world were too strong to let her escape.
Governor Bush was a special guest at the 1995 Tejano Music Awards at the
Alamodome. He was among the few of many emcees, presenters, and awardees on the
program who spoke in Spanish. To my non-fluent ears, his accent sounded
passable and his remarks inspirational. A number of the 35,000 or so audience
gave him a standing ovation; I hope they weren’t all Hispanic Republicans, but
just appreciated that he came there and spoke their language. (The last time I
stood and clapped for a Republican was when Barry Goldwater came to San Antonio
in 1964 campaigning against President Johnson, but I would applaud if the
Governor would make Cinco de Mayo and Diez y Seis official state holidays for
starters. They should be. Those of us in the vanilla majority have ignored the
richness of our collective Tejano heritage for way too long.)
We can hope that Selena’s tragic death may lead to her being as seminal a
cultural intermediary as the Aztec goddess Tonatzin, who manifested as Our Lady
of Guadalupe to bring Indians into the fold of the Catholic Church and save
millions more from genocide. (20 to 40 million indigenous people are believed
to have died in the wake of the Spanish conquest.) Of course we’re way too
advanced in our morality to commit genocide, but what about virtual genocide?
Just because walls are invisible doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Selena was
breaking down some of those invisible walls between the Tejano world, and the
outside world, when she died.
Like La Llorona, who, legend has it, wanders riverbanks weeping for the
illegitimate children she drowned, surely Selena’s spirit is restive. Even
though she’s a featured soloist in the choir of angels up in heaven now, surely
she longs to walk back on earth and search for the children she told her
brother she wanted more than anything. Selena wanted to live, not die.
I have an ofrenda (Mexican,
and in my case, pantheistic altar) for Selena in my home. A photo of her
looking sultry, yet remote, is surmounted by NuestraSenora de
Guadalupe, surrounded by many images of people and objects I venerate,
including a postcard of Stevie’s statue right next to Selena, Hindu gods I
worship from two years living in India, Frida Kahlo, John Cage, etc., but she
is the central figure, the main icon.
I aspire to achieve Selena and Stevie’s level of inspiration. A tabloid story
claims that Selena has been performing miracles since her death, healing sick
people and appearing to children in dreams telling them to stay out of gangs
and off drugs and make good grades in school. Admittedly both a “true believer
type” and obviously a Selenaphile, I believe these stories are true.
Selena will be an icon for all time for the sheer glory of her human spirit.
Not many saints manifest themselves in these latter days, but for me, with her
death, Selena became an instant saint. Her not-quite 24 years among us not only
increased her own people’s pride in themselves — especially young women — but
she lived and sang and danced with all her being trying to get more respect for
the living cultural legacy of her people and died trying to achieve the Great
American Dream. Eternamente Selena. C�mo te extra�o.
n Former ChronicleDance Editor Sarah Wimer is writing the libretto
for an opera, Mnemonia,about a teenage girl who has a vision about
Atlantis. This collaboration with composer/ multimedia artist Geroge Cisneros
will premiere next year in San Antonio.
This article appears in June 28 • 1996 and June 28 • 1996 (Cover).