I have issues being intruded upon by mariachis while I’m enjoying a meal, but these two musicians I snapped below at the conclusion of dinner at La Golondrina on Olvera Street were not only restrained in their rovings but were actually quite good what with the soulful tender harmonies that they delivered to the large party seated near us.
The trouble wasn’t at all with them, it was with idiot loaf of whitebreads for whom they performed who reminded me that my beloved Olvera Street is a fiction, a
colorful marketplace tourist trap envisioned in the 1920s by a white socialite shocked at how dilapidated the city’s original center had become. At the conclusion of their first number someone at the table asked if they could sing “La Macarena.” When the duo sternly shook their heads no, one lady then queried “Can you play Tijuana Brass?” and of course she pronounced it tee-ah-juana (a pet peeve of mine).
As the pair again shook their heads no my wife and I took that as our queue to depart before these distant members of my tribe could embarrass us further by requesting “Brazil ’66” or perhaps “Mexican Radio.”