Louise T. Guinther

Feliz Cinco de Mayo, everybody!

If you look up the holiday on the internet, you’ll find a lot of know-it-alls telling you that everything you think you know about it is wrong. It’s not Mexico’s Independence Day; according to The Washington Post, “Instead, it refers to a famous military victory when an ill-equipped, ill-armed, poor Mexican army was able to fight off a superior French army on the outskirts of the city of Puebla on May 5, 1862…. 

“As the legend goes, upon hearing the news of the victory, Mexican American mineral miners in Columbia, Calif., fired gun shots into the air, which some historians cite as the first Cinco de Mayo celebration. Since then, Mexican Americans have used the day as an opportunity to honor their ethnic pride.”

So now we know. Now can we go back to the celebration? Let’s start with some good guacamole (just avocados, lemon juice, a little onion, salt and pepper—chopped tomatoes and chili powder optional), accompanied by a perfect margarita. (If, like me, you are not a big fan of tequila, you can substitute a mojito. Full disclosure: they’re really Cuban, but who cares?)

And while you’re enjoying your tacos or your enchiladas, I recommend a little mariachi music — but not just any mariachi music. Why not start with the creme de la creme — three great operatic tenors who love flaunting their Mexican roots. I had the privilege of interviewing all three of these legends during my time at OPERA NEWS, some of them more than once, and I can assure you that they exude at least as much Latin charm and charisma in person as they do onstage. Since no vocal music can be fully appreciated without knowing what the singer is singing about, I’m including lyrics for each selection.

We’ll start with Plácido Domingo, the greatest of all time. Okay, he was born in Spain, but he grew up in Mexico, where his parents were stars of their own zarzuela company, and mariachi is part of his musical DNA

ELLA

“I grew weary of imploring, Weary of telling her that without her I’d perish of pain.

She grew weary of listening. If her lips parted, it was only to tell me, “I don’t love you anymore.”

I felt my life slipping away into an abyss, deep and black as my destiny.

I wanted to find oblivion, Jalisco style, but those mariachis and that tequila, they made me cry.

I grew weary of imploring. With tears in my eyes, I raised my glass in a toast to her. I could not ignore her. It was the last toast of a prince for his queen.

The mariachi went silent, and from my weak hand my glass fell unnoticed.

She wanted to stay when she saw my sorrow. But it was already written: that night I would lose her love.”

Ramón Vargas is Mexican through and through, and one of the most delightful gentlemen I have met in the opera business. If you like this (and I dare you not to be dazzled by the sustained note at 1:33), try his album Mexico Lindo.

LA MALAGUENA SALEROSA

“What beautiful eyes you have, beneath those two brows.

They want to watch me, but you won’t let them — not even for a blink.

Graceful Malagueñan, I long to kiss your lips, and to tell you, beautiful girl, that you are stunning and bewitching, like the freshness of a rose,

If you scorn me as a poor man, I grant you are right, I don’t offer you riches. I offer you my heart.

I offer you my heart, instead of my poverty.”

Javier Camarena, also a native Mexican, is better known for thrilling audiences with fioriture and acuti, particularly the fusillade of high Cs he fires off in “Ah! mes amis,” from La Fille du Régiment, which he has regularly been called upon to encore at the Met, but he is equally at home in the gritos of mariachi.

LA NOCHE Y TU

“Last night I dreamed of you. I dreamed and dreamed that I had you here in my bed, that I held myself to your chest, that your mouth kissed me.

Last night I dreamed of you. I was dreaming that my troubles were dispelled, that my veins were dilated, and I woke up crying.

The moon, the stars and the night are witnesses to our great passion. The night, the stars and the moon heard me offer my song, my love and heart.

The night robs the sky of its light and silver, and you rob me of life, leaving the wound to bleed that kills me for your guilt, and thus I pass the hours, singing, singing.

I almost feel happy, and it’s not so painful to spend the night waiting.”