Actually not all do. Pere Ubu, for instance, has been around more than 20 years now. I believe they have been on major labels in the past, but never compromised their music.
Los Lobos flirted with selling out around the time of "La Bamba," but they couldn't bring themselves to do it. Instead of following up their mega successful "La Bamba" soundtrack with something similar, they released an EP of Mexican songs. The Mekons is another group that's been around 20 plus years and couldn't sell out if you pointed a gun to their heads.
Of the bands that do sell out, my favorite excuse is "We wanted
our fans in little towns like Lancedboil, Okla., to be able to
buy our records at Wal-Mart."
Early in my "career" as a performer I was interviewed for the local paper. The first writer was a guy who seemed pretty cool and enjoyed what he was doing, so I thought, "That wouldn't be a bad thing to do."
The second was a writer who seemed so unhip and out of it, that
I thought, "Hell, I could do better than that." Soon after that
I submitted my first piece, completely unsolicited, to the Santa
Fe Reporter, our local weekly, and they published it and started
asking me to do more things.
Just a habit I suppose. Laziness, lack of ambition. Family.
Shortly after college I was going to go seek my fame and fortune in Amarillo, Texas (God! What was I thinking?), but one beautiful early autumn day walking down East Marcy Street (just a block or so from The New Mexican, thought that didn't mean much to me then) I had this strange revelation that I belonged here and that I should stay.
That was in 1976.
Probably Pearl Jam's first album, "Ten." I panned it when it first came out, comparing Eddie Vedder with David Clayton Thomas.
About a year later was in L.A. covering a trail (some local kids
had gone to Malibu, killed a woman in a Zuma Beach restroom for
her car keys, then got caught when they smashed her car back here
in New Mexico). I was sitting in Barney's Beanery, feeling tired
and lonely and the song “Black” came on and it really hit me.
I realized what a powerful piece of music it was. I went out and
bought a copy of Ten (I'd given away my promo copy the year before)
and the whole album began to grow on me.
You saved the toughest question for last. I can't decide which hometown Santa Fe act I should go with -- ThaMuseMeant, The Gluey Brothers, Mose McCormack are all very worthy. I could choose the path of nepotism and plug my brother Jack Clift, or the path of egotism and plug my own CD, “Picnic Time For Potatoheads.” But, as President Nixon used to say, “That would be wrong.”
So instead, I'll go with Al Hurricane, the godfather of New Mexican music. Al's an Albuquerque singer and guitarist who has been recording various styles of Hispanic music on his own Hurricane label for more than 30 years. He often starts his shows by coming out into the audience, singing there -- while dancing with little girls, flirting with their mothers, joking around, slapping backs and shaking hands -- while his band plays on stage.
Last time I saw him he didn't even take the stage until four or
five songs into his set. He's a modest, self-effacing guy, even
though when I had lunch with him for an interview earlier this
year, we kept getting interrupted by people seeking his autograph.
He's also very serious about music, listening to records from
all over the Spanish-speaking world as well as opera to get ideas
for his own music. For my interview with him on the Web, go here.
Copyright 1998, Thomas L. Mangan
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