Los
Palmeros
Su Casa 1015 SE Walnut St., Hillsboro, 648-5779.
6-9 pm Fridays, 1-4 pm Sundays.
A quick glance down Southeast Walnut Street in Hillsboro takes
in wide streets, big parking lots and auto-bound shoppers:
In other words, it looks an awful lot like Suburbia, U.S.A.
Walk through this unassuming nexus of commerce and culture,
though, and the all-too-familiar strip-mall atmosphere melts
away under Latin heat. Subwoofers kick it polka-style. Storefront
signs are mostly bilingual--and, often enough, they use
Spanish only, matching the chatter of most passersby.
The closer you get to Su Casa, a Latino-oriented one-stop
shopping center complete with formidable bakery, music shop,
restaurant and dry-goods selection, the deeper the immersion
gets. Salubrious smells greet the nose. The mariachi sounds
of Los Palmeros welcome the ear.
The four tradition-steeped men of "the Palm Trees," Su
Casa's house band and one of Portland's premier mariachi
ensembles, hail from all over Mexico, from Jalisco to Guerrero.
Six years ago, they joined forces in Tijuana, the seething
mariachi capital of the universe. After busting ass for
four years, Los Palmeros burned out on the competitive,
hectic, low-income music scene in TJ, where dueling fleets
of mariachis swarm the streets in search of tourist dollars.
Even though it was time to seek fortune elsewhere, the group's
solidarity never shook.
"We all go together," Los Palmeros' Adalberto Carreto says
simply. With help from family in the area, Los Palmeros
relocated to Portland two years ago, taking up residence
at Su Casa. Here in the great Northwest, they've found their
niche.
Traveling as far as Medford, Seattle and The Dalles, the
band scores gigs at weddings and parties, occasionally stepping
outside Latino circles for new clientele. In fact, business
is so good, it's become a full-time job.
"None of us work in any other thing," Carreto says with
evident pride. "We are the hardest-working mariachis in
Portland. Other groups do indeed have other jobs apart from
music."
Moreno--who, like Madonna or a Brazilian soccer star, uses
only one name--puts it simply and well. "We're dedicated
to the music," he says in his soft, emphatic manner.
As $10 pitchers of margaritas flow and fajitas come hot
off the skillet, Su Casa's vibe feels more there than here.
People circulate in and out of the bakery, picking up pan
dulce and Mexican pastries. The extensive import dry-goods
market, the largest these eyes have seen, brims with exotic
foodstuffs, sacred candles, piñatas and kitschy ceramics.
The music section is fully stocked with cassettes and CDs
from genres like banda, ranchera, Norteno
and tropical. Flags festoon the walls, inclusively
representing most North, South and Central American nations,
as well as Cuba and Puerto Rico. The relatively low-key
environs provide an aptly intimate venue for the music of
Los Palmeros.
Honoring the mariachi tradition, Los Palmeros don the black,
silver-studded traje de charro (horseman's suit)
and flow from table to table, playing requests. Antonio
Rubio navigates his intricately syncopated lines on the
bajo (bass), an instrument resembling a pregnant
guitar. Young crooner Saul Castaneda also plays trumpet,
and Servand Carreto adds a sweet layer of melody with violin.
Adalberto Carreto alternates between guitar and bihuela
(a small lute). Playing flamenco-esque solos on pequito
guitarra, the cherubic Moreno rounds out the group.
All sing together on the choruses, voices reverberating
off the high ceilings of the restaurant, evoking the passionate
soul of a more sun-baked realm.
The term mariachi may have derived from the French
word mariage, as the form first became popular in
weddings. This history of itinerant playing means mariachi
instruments are portable, enough so that Los Palmeros commute
via MAX between Portland and Hillsboro.
Mariachis are customarily paid per song, acting as mobile
human jukeboxes. Thus, financial success depends on a large
working repertoire. A serious mariachi can bust out any
one of 1,500 songs off the top of the dome, each one a potential
moneymaker. Although Los Palmeros are paid by the hour nowadays,
they nonetheless demonstrate an impressive range. Deftly
veering from Jalisco classics by Mariachi Vargas to a bilingual
"It's a Small World After All/Un Pequeno Mundo Es," Los
Palmeros flex their cross-generational appeal as well. One
afternoon last week, their youngest targets couldn't have
been more than 3 years old--evidently old enough for some
heavy head-bopping.
In mariachi, Carreto explains, youth is key. "The preference
for learning mariachi is from 7 to 8 years and up, because
they pick up everything," he says. "When they are very small,
the kids have no problems. They pick it all up--all the
music. They pick it up rapidly! When you are already grown
up, it doesn't feel easy to learn so quickly, but the kids
learn fast. They don't have problems. A big person, all
grown up, has more problems and things to do."
That wistful sentiment may shed some light on why Los Palmeros
now happily call Portland home. Although homesickness tugs
at them from their various points of origin, they always
return to follow the fruitful path of the Rose City mariachi.
An abundance of nostalgic patrons ensures a natural prosperity;
in contrast to the craziness of Mexico, Moreno touts the
vida tranquila of the Northwest. "People help you
here," he says. "We have family here."
After all, it could be a while before light rail comes
to Tijuana.
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Willamette Week | originally
published September 15,
1999
|
