By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
Against this backdrop at Tijuanas historic Moorish-crafted stadium, Jai Alai Palace, now a converted dance hall, Bostich breaks into a crackling dubby pattern, over which a small herd of cowbells clatter and a drumroll barrels downhill, making way for a deflating accordion to punctuate the entire loop. He repeats this cycle for a good five minutes, teasing with horn farts here and there, rewarding the dancers with the signature line of his groundbreaking 1999 single Polarisa stuttering tuba honk that sounds as if it came from a 16-wheeler crossing la frontera with maquiladora-made electronics.
The crowd responds immediately by whistling and applauding the veteran DJ, who acknowledges them with a waving fist in the air. In Tijuanas underground electronic scene, Polaris is as recognizable to fans as Beethovens dah-dah-dah-DAH.
To celebrate the release of the Nortec Collectives Tijuana Sessions Vol. 1, issued domestically on Chris Blackwells Palm label, organizers incorporated Nortec City as an electronica suburb of TJ for one night, inviting the international press. Jai Alai is City Hall, and Bostich, a/k/a Ramón Amor Amezcua (an orthodontist by day), presides as mayor. The rest of the Nortec City Councilabout a dozen fashion designers, graphic illustrators, filmmakers, and writersis laying down a vision of the future to somewhere between 2000 and 3000 constituents. The anthem of this post-utopian meltdown is a cheeky, warped-bongo techno-cumbia by Hiperboreal entitled Tijuana for Dummies.
Tijuanas the city that Krusty the Clown calls the Happiest Place on Earth. Franco-Spanish singer-songwriter Manu Chao wrote its jingle, a lament of the towns Sin City heritage, which started in the days of Prohibition: Welcome to Tijuana, tequila, sexo, marijuana . . . The Nortec Collective cuts and pastes this environment indiscriminately: la migra, prostitutes, the assembly-line tech industry, FBI Wanted posters of the Arellano brothers drug bosses. U.S. teenagers rush to bars along Avenida la Revolución, the main boulevard, where at least 80 cantinas await; that Jai Alai is also on La Revo adds weight to nortecs countering the typical tourists representation of TJ.
The Tijuana Sessions Vol. 1 compilation offers a keyhole view of the latest chapter in an electronica history that dates back in Baja some 15 years. Terrestre offers a drunken, brass-heavy, and jazzy Wurlitzer-lined techno-polka entitled Tepache Jam, referring to the fermented-fruit Aztec drink used before cannibalistic sacrificial rituals. On Panópticas ambient dub And L, the snare drum, high-hats, and cowbell bounce through the snap and crackle of an analog filter. (And L is a bilingual pun: pronounced AHN-da-lay like Speedy Gonzalezs war cry, the common Mexican term for hurry up.) And Fussibles Ventilador, with compressed breakbeats and disjointed melodies cut by a washboard rattle, fans the winds that carry Mexicanness over any obstacle.
Like the Brazilian tropicalistas of 30 years ago, who cannibalized technological advancements from the invading pop cultures of America and England, these bicultural Mexican binationals have devoured influences from both sides of the sociopolitical boundary. And yet even more than the musical movement of Os Mutantes, Caetano Veloso, and Tom Zé, nortec is an aesthetic: perhaps the first postmodern way of life with a south-of-the-border center. As Baja California artists from various disciplines adopt nortec as their own, it becomes not so much norteño-meets-techno as norteño eats technology.
The concept, the artists say, had been swishing in the back of their minds for years as they sought a Baja identity. In 1999, programmer Pepe Mogt, one half of Fussible (say it: foo-SEE-blay), finally started playing around with raw recordings of norteño and Sinaloan banda groups (usually characterized by tubas, trumpets, cymbals, and more-tropical percussion), with a grin on his face. At parties, most of his cuates would joke around about infusing Mexican hillbilly sounds into their electronica to pick up some local fans. When he took the recordings to his friends, they gorged themselves on the clankety beats and belching horns.
The nortec sound reflects our reality on la frontera, Mogt told me in New York, where he and Bostich played at Fun a few weeks ago. Its the same with big beat in London. The difference is, our hybrid comes from sounds we collect in our city.
Just before Fussible played at Jai Alai, I wandered into the art exhibit areas to find plastered on hallways and doors colorful Warhol-style posters of assassinated presidential candidate Luis Donaldo Colosio (Mexicos JFK equivalent, killed six years ago in Tijuana) with a cowboy hat. Above his image reads, in Spanish, Ill be back. One graphic-design piece had a space-age urban cowboy reclining on decorative furniture and holding a margarita. Another gallery showed the blueprints of nortec architecture, which rehashes the hillside shanty as a Frank Lloyd Wright design. In another room, fashion designers at a little swap meet sold their wares, including cyber-ponchos cut with nontraditional fabrics.