Ken Burns Hates Mexicans

Image of the Day

Photo by Thomas Michael Alleman. Check out his complete L.A. portfolio of images here.

Not Just Another Michael Jackson Piece...

Gilbert Garcia, over at the San Antonio Current, writes a great piece about MJ. Read it here. But what's especially wonderful is Garcia's opening anecdote, telling the story where in 1982 the King of Pop contributes backing vocals on a classic Tex Mex Nuevo Onda single...

There’s a little-known Michael Jackson recording that I’ve been flashing back to ever since MJ’s death last Thursday.

It’s a lilting reggae ballad by Austin Tex-Mex cult hero Joe “King” Carrasco called “Don’t Let A Woman (Make a Fool Out of You).” The story goes that Carrasco, then working on his 1982 album, Synapse Gap, spotted Jackson standing in the corridor outside the recording studio, and lured him in to do some backing vocals. Jackson’s harmonies are wonderfully ethereal on this track, with none of the self-importance that we would come to accept from him over the last two decades of his life.

What I love best about the recording, though, is the story behind it. The fact that Jackson, at the same time he was constructing his monumental Thriller album, willingly lent his golden falsetto to a song with little commercial potential, made by an obscure guy that he barely knew, is somehow reassuring. It suggests that while he was never a “regular guy,” Jackson did have a small window of young adulthood when he was approachable, when he wasn’t yet obsessed with his own myth.

Go here to listen to the song. Badass.

Robb Chavez -- El Mero Metal

For the past 12 years Robb's Metal Works was a San Antonio cable access show dedicated to all things musical, loud, and heavy. The show ran as a labor of love. Hosted and produced by Robb Chavez, the show was made for no money and little mainstream acclaim. Ni modo. The fans and the bands and labels loved the show. And whether or not you were a metalhead yourself, it was hard not to stand in awe of Robb's dedication to his show, metal fans across South Texas, and the often maligned genre. The show finally ends this week. Robb's going back to school to get his PhD.

In an article I wrote for the San Antonio Current back in 1990 on San Antonio metal, (you can read the piece here), Robb figured in the part where I talk about the local scene. (Oh, and for those lame Coldplay fans out there wondering what exactly a "Pissing Razors" is, they were a metal band out of El Paso, Texas.)

It's a typical Thursday night at the White Rabbit and standing on a chair this Pissing Razors night is Baylor University graduate Robb Chavez. No musical genre draws such intense fan loyalty as Heavy Metal, and in San Antonio, there is no greater metal fan than Robb Chavez.

For the past two and a half years, Chavez has produced the cable access show Robb's Metal Works (Saturdays, 11:30 am, on Channel 20). Consisting of band interviews, live concert footage, and traditional music videos, Robb's Metal Works is a cross between a local version of MTV's Headbanger's Ball and a very well-connected fanzine.

Serving as Metal Work's host, interviewer, videographer, producer and editor, Chavez will celebrate his 100th episode on May 22nd – no small feat for a guy with no budget and no prior production experience, all the more impressive, when you realize he's never shown a rerun. A contemporary cable version of another passionate hard rock fan, Joe Anthony, Chavez serves a dual function as disseminator of what's up in the international metal scene, as well as a promoter of local band talent.

"I got the idea for the show," Chavez says, "because there was nothing else out there."  Robb's Metal Works is just one part of an underground network of ‘zines, slick mags, word of mouth, and the internet.

These days, in true bad-boy fashion, metal kids surreptitiously log on in the school library computers and download valuable pages of treasured and arcane information from any number of web sites hosted by metal bands, distributors, and metalheads from all over the world. These days, there’s easily accessible news, such as Pissing Razors CD release date, downloadable sound files of upcoming releases, blow-by-blow tour diaries, passionate debate on whether Marilyn Manson is Metal or not; and ad infinitum links to other metal sites around the world. 

Jim Beal at the San Antonio Express-News writes a great piece about Robb here. Robb's official website is here. And I leave you with a clip of an interview Robb conducted with guitarist Nick Hipa of  San Diego metalcore band As I Lay Dying.

Viva Sotomayor!

Artwork by Favianna Rodriguez. Visit the website and download here.

Image of the Day

Been way busy these past few months with various projects. Among them, two new music videos for Girl in a Coma. They'll be ready in a week or so. Till then, here are some pics I took of the band during their in-store appearance at Best Buy in San Antonio. Great crowd. Raza for days....

The girls are touring as we speak. Go here to check if they'll be in a city near you. Their new album, Trio B.C., is available now on Blackheart Records. And for sure marvel at the very badass cover art by Shizu Saldamando.

Still Invisible

From a New York Times Book review by Toure, writing about the latest Colson Whitehead novel, Sag Harbor, and the concept of "post-blackness."

Substitute "black" with "brown," or, to get even more specific, with "Chicano," and a better description of post-ethnic life can't be found since the writings of my man Greg Tate

Unfortunately, for us post-Chicanos, we find ourselves not reveling in a wonderfully complex and nuanced world making our art, but instead waste our time telling gringos that "no, the last immigrant in my family was, like, in 1926," and "no, I couldn't tell you which part of Mexico but I can tell you that the bean and cheese at Taco Cabana is delicious."

Now that we’ve got a post-black president, all the rest of the post-blacks can be unapologetic as we reshape the iconography of blackness. For so long, the definition of blackness was dominated by the ’60s street-fighting militancy of the Jesses and the irreverent one-foot-out-the-ghetto angry brilliance of the Pryors and the nihilistic, unrepentantly ghetto, new-age thuggishness of the 50 Cents. A decade ago they called post-blacks Oreos because we didn’t think blackness equaled ghetto, didn’t mind having white influencers, didn’t seem full of anger about the past. We were comfortable employing blackness as a grace note rather than as our primary sound. Post-blackness sees blackness not as a dogmatic code worshiping at the altar of the hood and the struggle but as an open-source document, a trope with infinite uses.

The term began in the art world with a class of black artists who were adamant about not being labeled black artists even as their work redefined notions of blackness. Now the meme is slowly expanding into the wider consciousness. For so long we were stamped inauthentic and bullied into an inferiority complex by the harder brothers and sisters, but now it’s our turn to take center stage. Now Kanye, Questlove, Santigold, Zadie Smith and Colson Whitehead can do blackness their way without fear of being branded pseudo or incognegro.

Image of the Day

Go here for a virtual tour of the bathroom at the legendary NYC punk club CBGB

"We Are America"

One of the highlights of this weekend's National Association of Independent Producer's conference (a high point, of course, rivaling the sight of a famous director -- who shall remain unnamed -- doing the Worm on the dance floor) was the inspiring speech filmmaker and playwright Luis Valdez delivered at the Friday luncheon.

Well, at least I was told it was one of the highlights. I arrived late to the conference on that Friday afternoon, and my only viewing of the great Luis Valdez was watching the director of the classic film La Bamba carrying his luggage out of the hotel. And for those of you wondering, I can safely report the vato tipped the valets well so my high esteem of the Chicano icon remains high. Even more impressive? The valets were all white dudes. It was that fancy a hotel. You don't seen that demographic represented amongst the usual raza-filled occupation.

But I digress. Back to the speech. NALIP has uploaded an mp3 of the Luiz Valdez here. Historical. Inspirational. Political. It is very badass.

Included above is part I of Valdez' first film, I Am Joaquin (1969), based on the poem by Corky Gonzales.

Video of the Day

If you're in L.A. or New York go see this movie. Very badass.

Make Brown Film

Your intrepid blogger here, just back from Newport Beach, California, and the 10th annual National Association of Latino Producers (Nalip) 10th annual conference. For those raza unaware of Newport Beach it's a rich-ass city in Orange County, a city best know for a mall called Fashion Island, one-time home of NBA badboy and ex-Spurs Dennis Rodman, and, according to wikipedia as of October 2008, a city whose political demographics broke down into "35,870 registered Republicans and 13,850 registered Democrats" Nuff said.

For those raza unaware of Nalip, it's a membership organization of independent film and TV producers, which is a polite way of saying it's a membership organization of filmmakers who can't get their work funded, broadcasted, or respected. It's like a gathering of Brown Rodney Dangerfield's, networking about, but using Spanglish in their punchlines, dependent, usually, on various uses of the word "pendejo."

Highlights of the conference was spotting Luis Valdez schlepping  his own luggage (a reminder that our Chicano icons are indeed mortal); the screening of Alex Rivera's new sci-fi movie Sleep Dealer (ok, I didn't actualy SEE the Nalip screening -- but I've seen the movie twice already -- just dropped in for Alex's Q and A, which was funny despite homeboy never using the word "pendejo"); I also like visiting old friends, and last but not least, getting a personally autographed copy of Josefina Lopez's new novel, Hungry Woman in Paris.

As part of the 10th anniversay program the organzers  invited writers to talk about an issue or event that has been significant to making Brown film in the last 10 years. I wrote about my anoyance with the narrow minded tendency by execs and film writers to expect any Latino film to automatically be a film about immigration. I coulda wrote more but they only gave me a 1000 words. Read it after the jump...Oh, and the pic of the groovy guy in the dapper hat and cool shade I'm including as conference photo? That's legendary underground Latino filmmaker Gustavo Stebner strking a pose.

I'm Back. Sort Of...

Has it really been two months since my last posting? Many, many things have been happening since February. Most good, but all of them all-consuming.

May detail about them in the near future but for now just a quick note to any readers left that I am in fact going to return to blogging. Soon. Promise. My long ass project I've been working on is now over -- or at least the production part is finished -- and so with time comes a new focus on KenBurnsHatesMexicans, a renewed assessment of the blog: its intent, POV, goals, and even name change. Only thing I know for sure is a continued harassment of perennial Wet Burrito Award winner Ruben Navarrette Jr.

So check in to KBHM in the next couple of weeks. I won't be posting every day but will be working out some issues both creative and technical. Until then enjoy this El Vez. I know, I know, I've posted this before but true genius never gets old...

Oh, and if you really want to hear some of my pontifications on all things Latino and pop I am now Twittering. Follow if you have nothing better to do. My last post was on Glenn Beck taking his freak show to the Alamo next week and my request for someone to do an Ozzy on the guy. Wait, no, that was my Facebook status update. Man, this virtual communication is getting so confusing...

Image of the Day

Graphic art by Cruz Ortiz.

The Pocho is Me

The condition lives on. The in-between state of neither here nor there. The third-gen Brown experience of looking like a real Mexican yet speaking Spanish like a third-grader, of patiently explaining to your parents that it's pronounced Ramones and not Ra-mo-nes, blah-blah-Hybrid-Existence-blah. You know what I'm talking about.

And so does, apparently, Kiko Martinez, in his article about this year's San Antonio CineFestival, the nation's longest running Chicano/Latino film festival, in the latest issue of the San Antonio Current. A must-read:

A man running through the forest; a woman diving into a swimming pool; a funeral procession.

That’s all I’m able to grasp from watching the two-minute trailer for Matar a Todos as I scan through the CineFestival website for this year’s film lineup.

I’d like to know more about director Esteban Schroeder’s 2007 political thriller, but the preview is in Spanish (with no subtitles), and the only phrase I can recall my bilingual parents inadvertently teaching me growing up was, “¡Ay, como fregas!” (loosely translated as a way to express frustration).

Yes, I am a third-generation Latino living in the U.S. I like football but not fútbol, refer to snow cones as raspas, cringe at the smell of menudo. I can roll my Rs with the best of them, but I don’t know any of the words when my fiancée sings to her Julieta Venegas CDs in the car.

I’m a living, breathing example of an internal culture clash.

Now, with the 31st annual CineFestival upon us, I suddenly realize I can’t relate to most of the issues depicted in the various feature and documentary films scheduled to screen during the four-day event. I don’t know any undocumented immigrants, nor have I ever found myself caught in the middle of a turf war with a rival gang. I recognize the injustices and corruption occurring across Mexico and Latin America, but don’t consider them more or less significant than the same issues encountered in parts of the world where my ancestry doesn’t extend.

Does this mean CineFestival — the oldest running international Latino film festival in North America — is slowly but surely disconnecting itself from Latinos like me? Are Latinos like me so detached from our indigenous roots that we are indifferent to the struggles of past generations? Are Latinos like me tired of watching Latino filmmakers make movies about the border, day laborers, and poverty-stricken third-world countries?

I sincerely hope not.

As a film critic, I credit CineFestival for selecting some high-quality work on a variety of worldly topics that few other U.S.-based film festivals bother to include in their programs. As a Latino, I credit CineFestival for a lot more. For not losing sight of the festival’s primary focus for over three decades; for being receptive to filmmakers from countries such as Chile, Panama, and Uruguay and allowing them to share their unique Latino experiences; and for proving to Latinos like me that as long as we know where we come from, we’ll never lose pride in our culture.

As you can see, minus a list of the upcoming CineFestival film screenings, I've included the totality of Martinez's piece. Apologies. I kept looking for a bite-sized excerpt and couldn't bring myself to edit down to a blog-friendly length. Couldn't do it. Was fascinated throughout.

Video of the Day

Doing some visual research for an upcoming music video I'm making -- a professional process better known as "stealing," details on that exciting project later -- and I couldn't resist sharing this very badass Mexicano proto music videol with you now. Enjoy...

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Commissioned Paño Art by Shizo Saldamando.

Shameless Self-Promotion

Doh! I just realized I never posted my latest music video. It's for Girl in a Coma, the song is called Their Cell, I shot it in Gonzales, Texas, population 7,202, proud hometown of my mom, and the jail location is the exact same jail famed Tejano bandit hero Gregorio Cortez was held in 1901. Blackheart Records released Their Cell right before Christmas. I mention all this because the video is currently playing on the Logo Channel -- among other networks across the country -- and you can go to Logo's Click List and vote for the Hecho en Tejas music vid. Go. Vote. If for no other reason than to beat Hillary Duff.

Image of the Day

César Chávez by Richard Avedon.

FRESAS NO!

Came across a blog post the other day reporting the questionable "news" that way fresa Mexican actor Diego Luna is slated to play UFW leader César Chávez in an upcoming biopic. Yes, that César Chávez, deified icon of grape boycotts, hunger strikes, carnal of Bobby Kennedy; Chávez, the farm worker with the smiling, beatific (and way moreno) face seen on countless Hispanic Heritage posters and a 37 cents U.S. postal stamp. What tha -- ?!

Ok. Before I got all riled up and Chicano nationalist because of the ridiculous casting choice, I turned to the trusty Google window on my browser. And came across the news (here and here) that, yes, Diego Luna is in fact connected to a film about César Chávez but it's as a director. And it's a documentary about Julio César Chávez, the boxer, and not César UFW Chávez, Chicano saint. Or at least that's what I'm hoping. The other news is too horrible to contemplate. I'm still on the story, readers, if you know anything let me know. Stay tuned...

And FYI, this is not the first César Chávez - César Chávez confusion. As artist Ruben Ortiz and I wrote in our timeline for the  Phantom Sightings show, organized by LACMA:

April 23, 1993
Southern California
United Farm Worker founder César Chávez dies in his sleep near Yuma, Arizona, at the age of 66. The breaking news of the activist’s untimely death is announced immediately on Spanish-language radio across Southern California, prompting distraught listeners to call in lamenting their hero’s death. Their worst fears are allayed, however, when they realize the person who had just died was César Chávez, the Mexican American civil rights leader, and not Julio César Chávez, the great Mexican lightweight boxer.

'Nuff said.

Image of the Day

Immigrant Rights Rally, 2006. Indian Occupation of Alcatraz, 1969.

Video of the Day

Among the welcome, Bush-changing directives issued by President Obama in his first seven days was an executive order to close the prison at Guantanamo. Still to be decided, however, is where to put the inmates. Their pesky designation as a terrorist, whether unwarranted or not, has made the typical Guantanamo prisoner unwelcome in their home country. Fortunately, some Republicans have an idea how to solve the problem -- send the dead-enders to Alcatraz. From a Telegraph UK article:

"If liberals believe they ought to go, maybe we ought to open Alcatraz," Congressman John Boehner, Republican leader in the House of Representatives, told NBC. "It's very secure."

Perhaps by coincidence, or perhaps not, Alcatraz is in the constituency of Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House of Representatives and a vocal liberal opponent of Guantanamo.

Seven days into a new administration and the spirit of bipartisanship ends never started.

Don't know about you, but Alcatraz reminds me of two things. 1) The 18-month occupation of the island, now tourist attraction, by a group of Native American activists in 1969, and 2) this video by Los Tigres del Norte, El Jefe de Jefes, from the album of the same name, the first Los Tigres album I ever bought, shot on location at the GOP's dream of a future Gitmo. Oh, and one fun fact from that Indian occupation? Among the protestors was a five-year old Benjamin Bratt, the movie actor, his mom was one of the activists. Badass.

La Llorona

Alberto "The Geneva Convention is Quaint" Gonzales isn't worried the long arm of the law will catch up to him for any number of the crimes events he participated in during the Bush presidency. And for those of us who've been keeping track, that's a long-ass  list, an infamous catalog that includes: 1) Gonzales' role in the illegal firing of U.S. Attorneys for partisan political purposes; 2) sanctioning torture as valid U.S. interrogation technique; and 3) speaking in that affected, annoying Texas High School football coach accent.

Huffington Post reports that in an interview with NPR Gonzales seemed unconcerned regarding any potential legal repercussions based on new Attorney General Eric Holder's unequivocal statement that "waterboarding is torture." If you remember back in the g0-go Abu Gharaib / George Bush years waterboarding was OK in Gonzales' book. The ex-AG explains his nonchalance:

"I don't think that there's going to be a prosecution, quite frankly.'' Gonzales said. "Because again, these activities ... They were authorized, they were supported by legal opinions at the Department of Justice.''

Holder "will have to make a decision as to whether or not move forward with an investigation or a prosecution,'' Gonzales said. "But under those circumstances, I find it hard to believe."

As for regrets, Gonzales says, "I'm not sure how productive it is to lament about things that went wrong. Maybe it was inevitable."

Alberto, the post goes on to report, has been down on his luck of late becasue no one will give homeboy a job. Figures. Not a lot of openings these days for George Bush legal enablers. But unemployment has given Gonzales lots of time to travel. Seems my fellow Tejano was on the plane with George Bush after the President headed out of D.C. the day of the Obama inauguration. According to this Think Progress post, the flight back home to Texas was not only sad, but Bush game Gonzales a kiss, and Alberto "The Geneva Convention is Quaint" Gonzales cried.

Why cry, he was asked?

"Just pride," Gonzales answered, "just love and appreciation for the man and what he did...being on this trip did a lot for me, in terms of just making me realize — it was a small part, but I played a part in protecting our country, and I take a great deal of pride in that."  Check out the video for yourself. Better than a telenovela.

No word yet if Alberto-Apologist Ruben Navarratte Jr. has an opinion on the revision of history.

A Brief History of Stereotypes

The recent hullabaloo over at Guanabee regarding the site's outing of some idiot Tulane Law Students and their Mexican-themed "Border" party reminded me, oddly enough, of the Frito Bandito. Not so much any of the student's resemblance to any particular cartoon character (though the fake cholo guy does bear an uncanny resemblance to those Tweety Bird statues they sell in TJ), no what actually interested me were the goofy sombreros the white kids wore to signify their Mexicaness...a la the Frito Bandito.

Why do white people sporting floppy souvenir sombreros offend? Should they? And how far does the use of these kinds of degrading Mexican stereotypes go back in pop history? One infamous example I immediately recalled was the Frito Bandito.

In the mid to late 1960s, in an effort to sell corn chips, the Frito Lay company came up with the Frito Bandito, a singing cartoon Mexican bandit who's shtick was stealing bags of Fritos because they tasted so delicious. One commercial, for example, created around the time of the 1969 Apollo moon landing, featured the Frito Bandito on the lunar landscape robbing a moon-walking astronaut of his tasty snack treat. The short, squat, black mustached cartoon character spoke in a heavy Mexican accent, wore the afroementioned sombrero, and bullets criss-crossing his chest a la Pancho Villa.

Frito-Lay made dozens of the commercials and they ran for years, as did print ads in all the national magazines. Depending on their availability on YouTube, you can find various examples for your viewing pleasure edification. Here are two. You may recognize the voice of the Bandito as that of Mel Blanc, the guy who also did the voices for Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, and Barney Rubble.

But if the Frito Bandito was just the latest example of Madison Avenue's exploitation of American ethnic stereotypes to sell food products, what happened next was an example of how the 60s were also a time for so-called minority groups to push back. The National Mexican-American Anti-Defamation Committee upset at the offending cartoon depiction, successfully organized a boycott of the animated character. They wanted the Bandito off the airwaves and out of Life Magazine. The group filed a lawsuit in federal court asking for $610 million “for the malicious defamation of the character of the 6.1 million Mexican Americans in the United States”— one hundred dollars for each of them. Frito Lay eventually bowed to the pressure and removed the Frito Bandito from its advertising in 1971.

For everything you want to know about the Frito Bandito and the boycott go to this excellent piece by Chon Noriega. Oh, and if you think Mexicans hold a grudge and still want to boycott the lip-smacking corn chips I defy you to vist any church festival across the Southwest and NOT find a booth selling delicious Frito pies, a tasty hybrid concoction of chile con carne spooned into a slit-open bag of Fritos.

Image of the Day

Came across Bay Area artist Rio Yañez' blog. It is very badass. Love his "Moz Angeles" cap. As I do his graphic design, like this reworking of the famous Sex Pistol's Never Mind the Bollocks LP. Cheeky.

Same At It Ever Was #49

Some people just don't get it. Or if they do, they just don't care. Seems another group of ignorant white students -- in this case, law students at Tulane University -- not only planned a party around the theme of "The Border" -- showing up for the fiesta in large, floppy sombreros and pasted-on black mustaches -- but stupidly photographed their gringo selves in the offending costumes.

And then they posted the images on Facebook. Pendejos.

Remind me not to retain any lawyers graduating from Tulane. They sound like idiots. Guanabee, broke the story and has the details here, plus they thoughtfully posted more of the festive party pics at which to gawk at with disbelieving, open mouth. Someone please forward the pics to the Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh types who are now arguing that Obama's election (which they all opposed, by the way) proves America is no longer racist and for all the brown people to now please shut up and stop complaining.

For some odd reason a few of the gringos sported aviator sunglasses as a signifier of "Mexicaness." The sombreros I get, but aviator sunglasses? I'm guessing that's because Benicio del Toro wore them in Traffic? Or is that giving their semiotic skills too much credit? In any case the beer of choice appeared to be Corona. Typical. One of the students, a Peter Skarsgard looking chubby guy, deviated from the sombrero look and was dressed like a cholo. I immeditatley knew homeboy was inauthentic because he was not leaning like one. Plus vato's whiteboy's fake Pendelton shirt was buton-down. Dork. Be sure and read the comments over at the Guanabee post. Some people actually defend the use of racist stereotypes as appropriate Law School party wear. Our future best and brightest indeed.

The Americans, in Washington

As most of my friends know, DO NOT get me started on either the genius of Los Bros. Hernandez and their 50-issue series Love and Rockets, or ex-pat, Swiss photographer Robert Frank, who taught Americans how to look at themselves. I will bore you for hours. I guess the Spurs I like to talk about a lot too. And Mad Men. Diane Arbus. Sandra Cisneros' 'Bien Pretty.' Blah blah blah. I digress.

Last year, to celebrate the 5oth anniversary of its publishing, Steidl Books reprinted Frank's groundbreaking, Beat-era collection of photographs, The Americans, a book that was almost never made. Frank documented America in the 1950s, the conformist decade of Eisenhower and Joeseph McCarthy. Who wanted pictures that exposed the dark underbelly of the bright and cheerful times? Unable to find a U.S. publisher, The Americans had to first be printed in France. Bewildered U.S. critics initially dismissed the photographs as amateurish, sloppy, and ; the photo's content as "an attack on the United States" full of "spite, bitterness, and narrow prejudices." Nothing like turning a mirror on someone to raise their ire.

Slate has a great slideshow on Robert Frank, his trips across American that produced the images, and analysis on some of the more famous, iconic images. The National Gallery of Art in D.C. is presenting an exhibit on The Americans called Looking In. It opened on the 18th and will run through April 26th.

It's Official...

A Chicano is inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of fame. Congrats to Metallica bassist Robert Trujillo. In an earlier KenBurnsHatesMexicans post -- go here to check it out -- I jumped the gun and waxed semi-poetic about the meaning of Trujillo. But it's official now. You can now safely headbang in homeboy's honor. Metal Fucking Rules! as they say in the wonderfully brown Southside of my hometown of San Anto.

And, since we're on the subject of resurrecting old KenBurnsHatesMexicans posts, here's a piece from last year where I ranted -- not even close to semi-poetic -- on the right wing deification of U.S. Border Patrol agents Ignacio Ramos and Jose Compean...you know, the Chicano migra agents who shot an illegal in the ass, tried to cover-up the crime, and when arrested wrapped themselves in the bloody flag of Lou Dobbs-inspired anti-immigrant hate rhetoric. Seems George Bush bowed to right-wing pressure and commuted the sentences of the agents the day before he left office. Oh well, at least he didn't give Scooter Libby a pardon. From the earlier Ramos/Compean post:

And, second, as great as the Salon piece is, what's absent in any analysis I've read so far is any inquiry into one particular layer of complexity: that of Mexican American agents shooting a Mexican. Despite the fantasies of Lou Dobbs and the Minutemen, the U.S. Mexico border is a wonderfully messy place. What Americo Paredes called Greater Mexico, it's a place where an arbitrary line on a map may divide a region legally, but does nothing to separate a shared cultura. Take, for instance, how the cover-up by Ramos and Compean was blown. The Mexican mother of Aldrete-Davila, the guy shot by the agents, called her comadre over en el otro lado, who happened to be the mother-in-law of another Mexican American Border Patrol Agent. Hearing the chisme from his Mother-in-Law the guy then calls Homeland Security, which sets the whole case in motion.

Equally fascinating is the fact that the nativist, right-wing, primarily white, anti-immigrant propaganda machine have chosen to exploit one set of brown guys in their fight against their true enemy, the larger set of brown guys, women, and children crossing over into the U.S. And as the Salon piece points out, a key figure in the transformation of Ramos and Compean from cops trying to cover up a bad shooting into poster boys for the anti-immigrant right lies with another brown guy, Andy Ramirez, is the chairman of the California-based Friends of the Border Patrol, "a Minutemen-like organization." Talk about Brown on Brown facilitated by Brown crime.

For regular readers of KBHM the Ramos/Compean blog post is significant in that is the only time I ever agreed with perrennial Wet Burrito Award winner and Republican flack Ruben Navarrette Jr. And so in the spirit of bipartisan unity on this special Inauguration Day I leave you with something that always makes me smile, the very badass musical stylings of Mr. Robert Trujillo, who joins Richie Valens and Carlos Santana as the latest Chicano member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Radio Is Dead

While this bit of sad news is actually a week old, it's important nonetheless, if for no other reason than a lament for things gone...

The very badass Los Angeles radio station Indie 103.1 went off the air last Friday. The station's eclectic mix of alt rock, old school punk, listener faves by Morrissey and L.A.'s own hometown band X, the always entertaining blatherings of Steve Jones and his afternoon show Jonesy's Jukebox (where the ex-Sex Pistol once spent a day playing showtunes and another with an insightful two hour interview with Tony Bennett), a station where you could listen to Dave Navarro hitting on girls who called into his late night music show, and, of course, hear the Modern Lover's sublime single Roadrunner played at least once a day...all of this contributed to a true L.A. sound: modern, nostalgic, absurd, unpretentious, vaguely Chicano, knowledgeable, pretty and vacant.

One of the best shows on the station was Joe Escalante's morning show, "The Last of the Famous International Morning Shows," (a very funny title if you're a Morrissey fan). Escalante was a lawyer, record label owner, amateur matador, and bassist for the So Cal punk band the Vandals and member of the best Smith's tribute band in the world, the Sweet and Tender Hooligans (YouTube here and here). Escalante's smart and funny morning show featured great music as well as daily weather reports by David Lynch, sports reports by Deadwood TV actor Timothy Olyphant, and a tone of ironic DJ detachment that never annoyed. (Call me a reverse racist, but irony from the mouths of Brown people somehow doesn't grate on my nerves as it does when I hear it spouted by white hipsters.) Escalante's show abruptly ended last November. Should have read the writing on the wall.

Indie 103 was one of the last unique and independent voices in a corporate-dominated American sound scape. DJs picked the songs they wanted to play, not from a list of over-produced, soulless, Top 40 so-called hits by Britney, Coldplay, Rascal Flatts and their ilk. I mean, who do you know who actually buys a Nickelback CD? And who wants to hear it?

Rolling Stone has the sad story on Indie 103's demise here, and a link to an earlier story calling the station "the best radio station" in the U.S. is here. The station was a favorite of recent settled L.A. resident Prince, who debuted four of his new songs on Indie 103 last December. There is an informative interview with the station's now ex-musical director Mark Sovel here. Recommended.

What's not so well known is that the owners of the hippest, coolest, independent alt radio station in the entire United States was Spanish language broadcasting chain Entravision Communication, owners of many Univision TV stations nationwide. The fact that a parent company making their money broadcasting Spanish language telenovelas subsidizing a radio station that gave valuable air time two hours a day, five times a week to a guy who played guitar for Sid Vicious used to delight me to no end.

Well, the party's over. Latest word is that Indie 103.1 is now going to be known as El Gato 103.1, and will be playing "contemporary Mexican regional music." Corporate radio sucks no matter what language it's speaking.

Mandatory Head Count

Forget the scarcity of Latinos in Obama's cabinet (at last count there were two, used to be three, but Bill Richardson -- he of questionable Gringo last name anyway -- dropped out last week), no, the real indicator of Barack's Brown Problem is the almost total lack of Raza in the so-called star-studded Inaugural concert at the Lincoln Memorial.

Springsteen will be there, as will Beyonce, Jon Bon Jovi, Garth Brooks (?!), Usher, and even U2, who are not even Americans. And who is the sole representation for the largest and fastest growing minority group in the United States, a voting block which helped propel Obama to victory in several key battleground states? Shakira, who, like Bono and his Irish bandmates, can't even vote in this country.

At least George Bush had Emilio and his pudgy brother Raulito perform at his inauguration.

Me? I Woulda Gone With a Love and Rockets T-Shirt...

The Sunday New York Times Magazine published images by acclaimed editorial and advertising photographer Nadav Kander called "Obama's People," a collection of the 50 plus "top advisers, aides, and members of the incoming adminstration." Kander's portrait work is, for the most part, straightforward, unsentimental, sometimes unflattering in a Richard Avedon sort of way, but always deep and insightful depictions of human personalities.

For this assignment, Kander shot the subjects against a plain white background, with the photographer's stated intent to omit "time and context" in the created void, the better to heighten any gesture the subject may come up with. Kander also asked the subjects to bring an object with them that best describes their personalities. He included the objects in the portraits.

Of the 52 Obama's people depicted, three were Latino: Ken Salazar, ex-U.S. Senator from Colorado and now secretary-designate of the Interior Department, who wore a cowboy hat; Hilda Solis, Labor Secretary-Designate, called by some the only true progressive in Obama's cabinet, who chose a rebozo as her personality-defining object; and Ceclia Munuz, MacArthur Foundation "Genius" award-winner, ex-senior VP at the National Council of La Raza and now director of intergovenmental affairs who also went with the old school rebozo. Ho hum.

Image of Day

American painter Andrew Wyeth, July 12, 1917 – January 16, 2009.