Desconocido

Here's something Ronald Reagan said in 1972: "I am very proud to be called a pig. It stands for pride, integrity, and guts." But what would he say about an acronym that stood for Freely Associating Scum Controlling Imininent Sublimated Totalitarianism? How do you think I felt that time in Washington in the mid-'90s when I ate at a restaurant with Fawn Hall at the next table? I kind of thought I'd never have to think about Adolfo Calero again. And who could forget that press conference in 1985 when he answered a reporter by smirking about the whole contra operation:

REPORTER: Mr. President, why don't we openly support those 7,000 guerrillas that are in rebellion rather than giving aid through covert activity?
PRESIDENT REAGAN: Well, because we want to keep on obeying the laws of our country, which we are now obeying.
REPORTER: Doesn't the United States want that government replaced?
PRESIDENT REAGAN: No, because that would be a violation of the law.

What Reagan made possible was a world in which Tony Soprano, realizing in Lorraine Bracco's office that everything he did seemed to turn out wrong, went against his better instincts and massacred Steve Buscemi. What are we to make of him, staggering home like W.C. Fields forever? When all tragedy is erased by comedy, we are in trouble. (And i'm not even throwing global warming into the equation.) What a mess the muddle class is in (hi, Mike).

But anyway last Friday there I was in the VIP balcony at Irving Plaza watching all these hefty hevas (jevas? jebas? hebas?) swinging their hips to "Ponerte en Cuatro" with like José Luis and Julio in the disco sport jackets whipping them into a Spanglish lather. (Wearing boots of Spanish leather?) Gary, Vanessa "la niña" and her homegirls from Rutgers were heavily represented, but all I could do was push my broken-record rap on Enrique L. about my current obsession with ancient Cádiz and all its related epiphanies.

It's just that I can't stop listening to Chambao, specifically the song called "Desconocido." Here are some lyrics:

el amor no tiene nombre
ni tiempo ni cantidad
el amor es un aroma
que tienes que respirar
no tiene estación del año
ni fecha en el calendario
se mueve entre la gente
alguien sabe dónde irá?

desconocido...

The wind and the waves crashed behind me silently, and Los Amigos came all breezy and satisfied into the backstage area, where Enrique, Eva and me arrived after the booze had all been consumed. Julio and me shared a laugh about that show they did at avery fisher hall in 1996, when the proper Venezuelan-American bourgeoisie came all dressed up to see Franco Da Vita and there was Julio, singing "Disco Anal." I always wanted to be Julio, that horny guy on stage with all the secrets of absurd machismo pouring out of him effortlessly. El galán de la telenovela as downtown hipster. José Luis was gracious as usual, running down the details of what it was like to collaborate with MAW, tour Europe, and the joy of making intellectual party music. we are all José Luis now, independent label kids, C.E.O.s of our own metrocards.

Here's my latest statement from itunes music store:

Item Number Description Unit Price

Q0002 Boots of Spanish Leather $0.99

Subtotal: $0.99
Tax: $0.00

Credit Card Total: $0.99

Order Total: $0.99

The evening had started much earlier at Jake's in El Barrio for the party celebrating the publication of Arlene Dávila's Barrio Dreams (U of California Press). Arlene's work was one of the significant templates for my essay on El Barrio that appeared in the New York Times in February 2003. What I like most about her work is that she's not afraid to point out the contradictions between well-intentioned neo-nationalism and the stark reality of class conflict. You can see a picture of me congratulating her at: Barrio Dreams Book Party at Jake's - June 4, 2004

David Ortiz from Montclair State was in the house, as well as Debbie Quiñones (her mother made the bundt cake!), the fabulous Judy Escalona of Prdream.com, Yasmin, Papoleto--he says he's still having trouble adjusting to life without Pedro. Usual suspects Angelo and Gabe showed up near the end, and I got a little feedback from A. about the Encuentro, particularly noting the strength of the Chicago contingent and the eloquence of Nydia Velasquez. Melissa Mark-Viverito was looking very Council-worthy. (Oh yeah, Nelson Denis popped in.) RZR was there and Tato too, but I really missed La Sone, or something like her.
It's hard to beat El Barrio these days for sheer realness, although I'm sure there are some who will say that disappeared in the late '90s. Well for my sold-out ass it seems comforting. When I get on that 103rd Street platform going downtown it feels a little like leaving behind the throngs at Luis Muñoz-Marín. Except there's no duty-free shop with the bottles of 3-star Barrilitos.

Tonight I stopped by S.o.B's for Bryan V. and YE's record-release party, a fambly affair with Arturo O'Farrill showing up for a guest turn on keybs. The second set was particularly transcendent, with another one of those deep-funk wah-wah solos by BV. Anyway Ricky from Bayamón was there and we talked about Larry Harlow and the Fania All-Stars in Africa. I hope that the J-Lo Nuyorican Productions version of the Hector Lavoe movie starring Marc Anthony will incorporate those extra-funky hippie costumes those guys were wearing. I mean Roberto Roena was looking like Sly Stone on those nights he didn't show up. When is someone going to seize these beautiful images and shove them down the mainstream's collective throat? I'm tired of being Desconocido...