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No Turn on Green: Veracruz's Cumbre Tajin Festival
April 12, 2004
Contributed by Derek Beres.
Being that right turns on red are taboo in New York City, you can imagine my surprise when Mexico City taxi drivers barely yielded before going straight through ominous streetlights. "It's just how we drive," one would tell us, "if there's no one coming, it's our custom to go ahead." One goes through much cultural deprogramming on every travel, and this second visit to our southern neighbor for me would be no different. Whereas my first to the Yucutan flatlands and their Mayan religious centers would introduce me to the sweltering heat and unruly rainstorms, this six-hour ride from Mexico's capital to Veracruz's Papantla, whipping around mountainous corners in large buses without pause, would reveal a different education.
Attending Cumbre Tajin 2004, a gorgeously presented, culturally important, four-day fête located one kilometer from recently uncovered Toltec ruins, we would be introduced to a paradoxical social dichotomy of music and history, tempered with the sweet scent of vanilla (the bean was first cultivated there). In its fifth year, the festival boasted Mexico's biggest rock and traditional acts, DJs, regional artists and a spacious purification center with holistic arts, yoga and massage teepees. Also on tap was an array of international talent, including those on our bus: Gnawa rocker Hassan Hakmoun, London-based Indian vocalist Susheela Raman, tabla player/DJ/producer Karsh Kale & Realize Live and my GlobeSonic DJ partners Fabian Alsultany and Acidophilus.
Cumbre Tajin was initiated as a tourism draw playing off the excavated ruins, a collection of 168 buildings (not all are ready for public viewing yet). A Totonaca word translating as "thunder," Tajin's outstanding tower is the Pyramid of the Niches, a building with 365 architectural niches representing the solar year. The ruins themselves are not as grand as, say, Chichén Itzá's structures, but the geographical locale and views are astounding. Yet another paradox unfolded as we walked among the stones: as part of the festival, a massive nighttime light show was mounted; pillars once reserved for sacrificial rites were strangled by thick black cables, giant speakers and production tents, making the entire area feel like an extended movie set. One was left to wonder which light was most important: electrified images set by machines over dark evening or the daytime star that regional ancestors were so intent on reaching.
Nestled on the western side of Mexico's Gulf, Veracruz (the name for both capital city and state) has become prominent in the American psyche, mostly due the rock-en-español scene brewing within the hills. Café Tacuba, more important to the region's citizens than their Toltec (and most likely Catholic) deities, launched an international barrage of Mexicana rockers with the album Re in 1994. Before that, a style dubbed son jarocho defined Veracruz reflecting the fact that Spaniards once flooded the capital city's port with Cuban, African and Caribbean slaves to work in local plantations. Just as those slaves would redefine American music by bringing homeland songs into Christian context and creating gospel, so Mexico evolved the sounds of the jarana (a small eight- or 10-stringed guitar) and the four-stringed requinto, otherwise known as the "guitarra de son."
Son, a form mostly linked to Cuba and meaning "folk," and jarocho, originally meaning "irrelevant" before native psychologically reconfigured it as a source of pride, was exquisitely portrayed at Tajin by Son de Madera, one of Veracruz's most respected and innovative outfits. Led by requinto player Ramón Gutierrez (who also invented the cinco zapotero) and vocalist Laura Rebolloso Cuéllar, the band was interestingly placed between Raman's charged set and Kale's rock/ghazal/electronica hybrid. While the sound people had problems translating the sound of Kale and Aref Durvesh's tablas, they nailed the luxurious textures of the homegrown instruments perfectly - even the foot stomps of fandango dancers resonated warmly. The Indian-Mexican connection may have been archeologically noted a kilometer away, but our technologies are still making the segue.
Performances by Internacional Sonora Santanera and Los Folkloristas rounded out main stage tradition, and while the crowd was appreciative, it was obvious who they were there for: Tacuba, modern gods standing atop Mount Tajin like warrior kings globally spreading the Mexican gospel. 10,000 might be a round number that Saturday night, but I lost count in the screams. Already hyped by the two-hour Gnawa assault Hakmoun launched, fans unacquainted with Moroccan lila ritual grooved hard to sintir -led trance tracks until Tacuba gave them lyrics they knew, loved, memorized and were mesmerized by. Rounding out main stage favorites were local favs Plastilina Mosh, Julieta Venegas and Claudia Martinez, alongside Scotland's Shooglenifty and Tibet's Yungchen Lhamo.
Traditions abound around the festival. Voladores, a folkloric ceremony with four men circling from a pole suspended in midair while the fifth played a Shamanic fife, had daily shows; local singers made lawns and sidewalks their stage crooning "La Bamba," the son made world-famous by Richie Valens; vendors sold authentic and plastic replications of folk art; street vendors poured tall glasses of horchata and seasoned fresh mango and pineapple with chili pepper. The 85+ degree-days faded into exceptional nights, the highlights, aside from actual music, being the scenic landscape of festival grounds as well as our hotel in the coastal town of Tecolutla, where we feasted on delicious huevos rancheros at El Manglar.
Future traditions were fused in the Zulu Lounge, Tajin's dedicated space to electronic exploration. I journeyed as both journalist and DJ, as our GlobeSonic crew opened the first evening's festivities with digital journeys. Another paradox unfolds, and this one need no conflict: no musical dissent existed in Papantla. Favorites, certainly, but given such a broad catalog of artists on one bill, the audience - nearly exclusively Mexican, as our crew of 28 was about the only Americans/Londoners in attendance - was open to good music.
Regardless of the controversy over the ruins, modern treatment of ancient sculptures, governmental disputes over the fête's proximity to sacred ground, all this talk amounted to little concern for the 20,000 who attended March 17-21, 2004. Finding out the state of Veracruz sponsors such a huge artistic gathering was about as foreign to me as taxi drivers speeding through red. I've long since given up any idea of social utopia, as each region has its own quirks, oppression and benefits. But seeing the respect given to traditional music alongside interest in exploration, all funded by one government bringing awareness to its regional culture, was a lesson in itself, and one worth sharing.
Contributed by: Derek Beres
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