Guadalajara

     

I just got back from a little short of a week in Mexico’s second largest city.  Guadalajara is a fascinating and beautiful metropolitan city  that sits at a similar elevation to Denver. The plazas, cathedrals and brick streets invoke something vaguely European, but the place is unmistakably Mexican.  We saw a majority of Mexican tourists taking pictures of the scenic landmarks.  Aside from the massive and bustling Mercado Libertado (open/free market) where you can buy just about anything, the major events were the Guadalajara Filharmonico at the Teatre Degollado, and the Lucha Libre wrestling (you know the masked guys like that Jack Black movie).   

The Teatro Degollado is said to rival the famous concert hall in Milan.  We saw the Filarmonica de Jalisco perform some great material.  Most memorably Fantasia Mexicana para dos Flautas y orquestra by Samuel Zyman.  There are several levels of box seats in the theatre adorned by columns and reflective gold all over the place.  The impressive circular ceiling has a fresco of angels painted on it.  

Unfortunately the Museo de Arte was temporarily closed, but a helpful man working there directed us to an impressive local gallery.  It was housed in an old nun’s covenant with stone walls.  It featured impressive works by regional artists.  I was even more delighted to find out they were screening Mexico’s art house classic The Holy Mountain .  The screening room was something of a dungeon with movie seats, perfect for such a mind boggling cinematic journey of the psychedelic absurd.  

I was a little disappointed to find out I had a hard time adjusting to the Guadalajaran accent.  I was confident it would be no trouble, but the tapatio’s rapid speech sounded dissimilar to the families I was working with in the fall (most of whom were from Chihuahua in the north and had adopted a lot of U.S. Spanish slang).  The other problem was all of my exchanges were short and business related (at restaurants, the market etc.).  In reality I felt more capable a couple years ago in Spain although my vocabulary was weaker at the time.  Accent does a lot to language.  

One of the only friendly charlas I got was with an old fisherman at Lake Chapala who was using one liter pop bottles as fishing poles.  He had the line wound many times around the middle of the bottles with a key as a sinker and an array of three hooks baited with tortillas on each line.  He started to indicate the change in color of the lake several meters out, thinking he was an expert I asked him what caused the effect.  He just smiled and shrugged “No sabemos, es naturaleza.” (We don’t know its nature.)  I found that very charming.  

Guadalajara is an amazing city.  Un dia yo regresare. 

New Toys: the American Ecstasy/Conundrum

After months of patience I am going to be a proud owner of one of these babies. I told myself I would cease the purchasing of additional guitar effects, as it is a humerously dorky addiction that usually results in loss of income, pimples, and hilariousy prog rock guitar tones. Nonetheless, I could not resist this New Zealand made overdrive that adds odd harmonics on top of your original signal. It makes guitars sound frantic and as much as I try I can’t get over agitated guitar rock.

Characteristically, I can’t merely purchase a new toy and enjoy it. Instead I see it as part of the frame work of my cultural heritage for better and worse. Do I need this piece of gadgetry? Obviously not, but I feel prompted to buy it with the sudden presence of income after a summer of poverty. Nonetheless, buying things I don’t need feels like it is essentially wasteful, and if unchecked can become a frivilous and shallow habit that coincidentally 85% of the world can’t participate in. USA!/Materialism……

Here is where it gets interesting. If materialism means an intense preoccupation with objects, America’s recent model for consumerism is anything but. Rapidly evolving fashion and technology, coupled with an almost Tokyo-like ominpresence of product placement seems to have left our cultural reflex in a state that can’t buy new things and get rid of old ones fast enough.

A true materialist would be saddened by this state of affairs. You can find them still, but most of them are a bit older. Like the guy that lovingly polishes his Firebird every weekend and drives it with one ear cocked to monitor every idiocincracy in its timing. Or, a wine enthusiast who instists you will taste the oak if you try hard enough. A Japanese tea ceremony is far more attentive to the presence of physical things then I am in any trip to Target.

So where does that leave a gear head? I suppose, when it arrives I better engage my senses to every nuance of my odd little fuzz pedal and use it attentively to agitate for many years.