Having two languages and no single room where both of them are ordinary is a specific kind of loneliness. Most music asks you to pick one and stay there.
Luz Elena Mendoza's project refuses. The songs move between Spanish and English mid-thought, the way people actually talk in half the households in this county, and the arrangements sit somewhere between Mexican folk tradition and something considerably stranger and more fragile — harmonies that stack up and then drop out entirely, leaving a voice alone in a way that is almost uncomfortable.
Vanessa Zamora opens, coming up from Tijuana, which reframes the whole night. It stops reading like a tour stop and starts reading like a regional conversation that happens to be selling tickets. Two artists, one border, nobody treating it as a theme.
Doors seven-thirty, music eight-thirty, a Tuesday.
October 13, Casbah, 2501 Kettner Blvd. Bring your mother if she will come, or the friend who also code-switches without noticing they are doing it. The border runs directly through the middle of this city's music and it very rarely gets booked that honestly.
Having two languages and no single room where both of them are ordinary is a specific kind of loneliness. Most music asks you to pick one and stay there.
Luz Elena Mendoza's project refuses. The songs move between Spanish and English mid-thought, the way people actually talk in half the households in this county, and the arrangements sit somewhere between Mexican folk tradition and something considerably stranger and more fragile — harmonies that stack up and then drop out entirely, leaving a voice alone in a way that is almost uncomfortable.
Vanessa Zamora opens, coming up from Tijuana, which reframes the whole night. It stops reading like a tour stop and starts reading like a regional conversation that happens to be selling tickets. Two artists, one border, nobody treating it as a theme.
Doors seven-thirty, music eight-thirty, a Tuesday.
October 13, Casbah, 2501 Kettner Blvd. Bring your mother if she will come, or the friend who also code-switches without noticing they are doing it. The border runs directly through the middle of this city's music and it very rarely gets booked that honestly.
Having two languages and no single room where both of them are ordinary is a specific kind of loneliness. Most music asks you to pick one and stay there.
Luz Elena Mendoza's project refuses. The songs move between Spanish and English mid-thought, the way people actually talk in half the households in this county, and the arrangements sit somewhere between Mexican folk tradition and something considerably stranger and more fragile — harmonies that stack up and then drop out entirely, leaving a voice alone in a way that is almost uncomfortable.
Vanessa Zamora opens, coming up from Tijuana, which reframes the whole night. It stops reading like a tour stop and starts reading like a regional conversation that happens to be selling tickets. Two artists, one border, nobody treating it as a theme.
Doors seven-thirty, music eight-thirty, a Tuesday.
October 13, Casbah, 2501 Kettner Blvd. Bring your mother if she will come, or the friend who also code-switches without noticing they are doing it. The border runs directly through the middle of this city's music and it very rarely gets booked that honestly.