Police Brutality: Charanga Cakewalk and "El Ballad de José Campos Torres"

Today's song, El Ballad de José Campos Torres, sounds deceptively mellow - like a song one would like to relax to on a Saturday evening while playing a mix of similar, low-key music during a sunset. And maybe that's the point, because the name of José Campos Torres symbolizes anything but mellow and relaxing times.

In 1977, Houston police picked up José Campos Torres, a 23 year old Vietnam veteran, on a disorderly conduct charge. They took him to a waterway called Buffalo Bayou, where they proceeded to beat him and inflict serious injuries. After the beating, they took him to the city jail, but the jail refused to admit him due to his injuries. The cops were ordered to take him to the hospital, but instead they took him back to the bayou, handcuffed him and dumped him into the water. One of the cops supposedly said "Let's see if the wetback can swim." After a trial of the police officers on state murder charges, they were convicted of negligent homicide, given one year of probation and fined $1 each. A year later, they were brought up on federal civil rights charges and convicted, with each serving 9 months in prison.

The story attached to this song hits close to home, given that I live in Albuquerque and our police are under investigation by the Justice Department. Since 2010, officers of the Albuquerque Police Department have shot and killed 27 people. These shootings and the investigation into the police have been covered by Albuquerque media, including KUNM, and by national media as well. The most notorious shooting was of a homeless man, James Boyd, who was shot and killed while apparently surrendering to police. Other shootings by APD include a man in his own back yard, and a young woman running from an officer who brought her down but apparently didn't turn on his lapel video camera. All of this, coupled with the recent national discussion focusing on the police killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson and about the militarization of police forces nationwide during the War on Terror continues to shine a spotlight on the role of the police. Are they our guardians, or should we be guarding ourselves from the police? And if you are a minority, are you automatically targeted? This discussion isn't just happening in the United States. The recent conviction of Oskar Pistorious in South Africa on lesser charges after shooting his girlfriend through a bathroom door (by a black judge) has reignited questions of whites in that country automatically get the benefit of the doubt in criminal cases. The fact that in this country, blacks comprise about 13 percent of the total population but about 40 percent of the total prison population may hint at many things - the role that poverty has on our minority communities for one, but also the way that police view minority communities for another. If anything, El Ballad de José Campos Torres can remind us that until we are all treated in similar fashion as guaranteed to all US citizens under the Constitution, regardless of whether we are shopping, driving, or getting picked up on suspicion of a crime, the United States will always still have a way to go to live up to its full potential as a democracy.

El Ballad de José Campos Torres is by Charanga Cakewalk. Charanga Cakewalk is the brainchild of Michael Ramos, a Latino Chicano Mexican who also describes himself as a citizen of the world. A once sideman and rocker who played with John Mellencamp, Paul Simon, Patty Griffin and others and was a sometime member of the BoDeans and The Rembrandts, he maintained a keen interest in the Latino music of his childhood. Ramos has made Charanga Cakewalk the leading proponent of a style called cumbia lounge. Within his musical landscapes, you might hear tejano, flamenco, merengue, salsa, garage rock, ska and reggaeton. Charanga Cakewalk has released three albums. El Ballad de José Campos Torres is from his 2006 album Chicano Zen.

Lucha Libre: Los Straitjackets and Dame una Seña

Once I watched a documentary called Super Amigos about some Mexican luchadores (wrestlers) that had taken up the mantle of superheroes.  One took up the rights of animals and called himself Super Animal.  Another was all about the rights of the poor and called himself Super Barrio.  The third was concerned about the environment and called himself Ecologista Universal, and a fourth was a champion of gay rights and called himself Super Gay.  A fifth called himself Fray Tormenta, a priest who took up wrestling and used the profits to build two orphanages.  They traveled across Mexico to bring to light that country's serious social problems.

The only reason I bring this up is that today's featured band, Los Straitjackets, wear Mexican luchador masks as a part of their stage show.  What this is supposed to mean, I'm not sure.  When I saw Super Amigos, I was made aware of the rich and colorful history of Mexican wrestling and the characters of the wrestlers within it.  Luchadores come in two main types, the bad guys who do not play by the rules, and the good guys who are very technical and stay within the rules.  The characters are as well or better known than their American counterparts in World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), and often take on a heroic persona through their matches, tie in comics and other media.  The mask, while not universally used, is usually a prized possession and losing the mask in a match (an unmasking) is a terrible loss and insult.

I don't know if this is what Los Straitjackets was going for in their costuming, which consists of dark clothing, large medallions and luchador masks.  If it is, they are suggesting that they are heroic rockers, masked crusaders for justice, rough and tough and willing to take all comers.  Or, they could have just been trying to look cool for the stage show.

Los Straitjackets started in Nashville in 1988 and has released 13 albums.  An instrumental band, they began to gain a following after the movie Pulp Fiction brought a surf-oriented sound back in the limelight.  Their stage shows are apparently something to see - only band member Danny Amis speaks and does so in bad Spanish.  Many might remember their appearances on Conan O'Brien's late night show, in particular as his regular holiday band in the late 1990s.

This song, Dame Una Seña (Give Me a Sign), is from their 2007 album Rock en Español, Vol 1.  The album consists of 1950s and 60s English language rock tunes as Spanish language covers.  Vocals are provided by guest vocalists including Little Willie G. of Thee Midniters, Cesar Rosas of Los Lobos, and on this song, Big Sandy of Big Sandy and his Fly-Rite Boys.

Wasn't Much Into Elvis, but El Vez? En el Barrio, by El Vez

Elvis was a little before my time.  Born in 1963, I came in on the tail end of the music that defined a generation.  Elvis in the 50s and all the psychedelic rock and protest rock of the 60s only came into my awareness when they were already somewhat antiquated.  My musical tastes ran into the progressive rock of the 70s, a smattering of disco and funk, and finally into some of the new wave of the 80s along with punk and post punk.

Elvis was already old news when I was listening to music.  Sure, I knew Jailhouse Rock and Blue Suede Shoes, but I didn't appreciate them for what they were...they were already oldies but goodies.  But I can say the Elvis song that did make an impression on me was In the Ghetto.  In the Ghetto coincided with the comeback of Elvis in 1969, and I probably heard it later in the 70s on a radio station.  Having only known Elvis through his rockabilly, I didn't know that he could sing songs like that - a song with a story of poverty and hardship.  It might seem trite, but I grew up in a small town and had never considered such things before.  Poverty and ghettos were things that appeared on the nightly news, but were not present in my day to day reality.  The circle of life, poverty, crime and death outlined in the song was something outside my world, but the way Elvis sang it was very compelling and drew your attention.

I also knew about the Elvis impersonators, and even have a friend who played guitar for one in Wisconsin.  But even though I shouldn't have been, I was surprised and taken a little aback to find that there was a Latino version, a man named Robert Lopez who was part of the punk group The Zeros and who became El Vez, the Chicano Elvis.  More than just an impersonator, El Vez also performs other major rock icons including David Bowie, Iggy Pop, John Lennon, and Bob Dylan.  I had no idea about him until a DJ friend gave my wife and I a collection of covers of various song by artists around the world.  This collection had things like The Beatles singing their hits in German, and also foreign artists covering various rock standards.  While listening, when the first chords of En el Barrio came up I recognized it for what it was, and then realized it was not Elvis but someone singing it quite well in Spanish.

Unfortunately, I was not able to find the Spanish version online, but at least I have El Vez singing in English with his backup singers, the Elvettes.

Of course, we don't speak of ghettos anymore, where "colored" people live and work.  Our consciousness has raised so that the ghettos became inner-cities and colored people became black and brown, and the African-Americans and Latinos/Hispanics.  All of that is good, but as one who has lived in the inner-city for more of his adult life than not, the cycle that In the Ghetto and En el Barrio chronicles is still active.  Children are still born, and mommas still cry because they don't have enough to feed them, and sometimes we see, and sometimes we turn our heads and look the other way just like Elvis and El Vez sing.