Very rarely have I come across a CD so evocative of time and place as Calexico's stunningly gorgeous offering, Carried to Dust.Named for a border town along the California/Mexico line, Calexico's music is as vast and expansive as the chaparral desert. Haunting and desolate, Calexico, the city, is a lost strip of population, 120 miles east of San Diego, 70 miles west of Yuma, Arizona and officially lost in the middle of nowhere. Straddling the border with it's sister city, Mexicali, Calexico is a place where the stars shine down at night with the ferocity of a million watching angels. A place where the desert horizon never seems to reach the end of its line.
Both the Pope and I are intimately familiar with the interior desert of southern California. Years ago, I used to volunteer at a clinic in Tecate, Mexico and twice a month I'd make the two hour drive through the chaparral; rattlesnakes and jack rabbits darting out my path as the Mexican border came closer. Sounds echoed simply from the vastness around me, until they eventually faded away and died, like the sun-bleached, skeletonized remains of a deer that wandered too far away from water. Scorpions ducked under rocks for shade and the loneliness of being without company in the midst of such desolation was so intense it'd reverberate in my bones.
And Calexico takes you there.
"Victor Jara's Hands," is an effortless transportation to this remote border town, and within moments became one of my favorite songs of the year. Scratch that, one of my favorite songs ever! Starting with some gently shaken percussion, the soft, near flamenco guitar drifts in as easily as the warm desert breeze. Vocals layer on top, tenderly, delicately, as if not wanting to disturb the desert sands underneath. Moaning guitars sing through the sky, in and around the song, as drums rumble gently below like some far off desert thunderstorm, languidly approaching. Then, as effortlessly as a desert moth takes to the clouds, the song elevates itself, riding a rimshot of snare, the chorus soars to new heights, full mariachi horns reverberating like a mournful funeral epitaph. Sung half in English, half in Spanish, "Victor Jara's Hands," tells the tale of an activist murdered by the Chilean police in 1973 and is as beautifully mournful as that subject matter might suggest. Rarely have I ever heard a song this somber and mournful, yet delicate and full of life at the same time. It's pensive but a finger snapper. There's no other way to describe the craft of this song but exquisite.
"Two Silver Trees," continues this amazing fusion of cultures, Californian and Mexican, driven together by a common need for survival in the midst of living in one of the most inhospitable places in the Western hemisphere. Percolating out with remarkable beauty and restraint, sung in hushed tones, driven by a trickling piano melody, this song speaks of the vast emptiness of the desert in ways that can't be given words. But I'll try. Go with me for a second here. On one of my trips in Mexico, I awoke early, before dawn, the first crescent of red highlighting the sky to the east. Stepping out my front door to embrace the briskness of the morning air, I froze in my tracks, a coyote holding ground a mere three feet before me. His dark eyes never strayed as he investigated me, and mine never panicked as I watched him. And there we stood, staring at each other in guarded inquisitiveness. Minutes passed, the sun broke over the horizon, searing through the desert mist, when finally the coyote gave me a silent nod and walked on. I watched him leaving, feeling oddly at peace, connected to something far vaster than myself.That's Calexico.
"The News About William," a somber, hushed song is driven by some stellar Mexican-flavored guitar work, while "Writer's Minor Holiday," rumbles out sounding surprising like the opening to The Nails old track "88 Lines about 44 Women." But don't worry, it soon takes a left turn to explore the desert nooks and crannies. "Man Made Lake," is perhaps the most spartan song on the album, nearly reverberating in the vast open spaces. Carried by a gorgeous melody and emotive vocal performance, this is a song to get lost in while you are yourself getting lost. Shrub cactus passes to your left, rock outcroppings to the right, as you walk on.
Throughout the entire disc, you never know where the guys will take you next. "Inspiracion," is a mariachi festival in the small town square, horns ringing behind the Spanish vocals. All the men are dressed in white with red sashes, the women in flowing white dresses, as the mayor steps forward to make an announcement, leading to the flamenco-styled "House of Valparaiso," another song of infinite delicateness and beauty. Song structures, while familiar, are unconventional with instruments I can't even name or identify lending their own tones to the proceedings. "Bend to the Road," is another standout, spacious and ambient, whispered over hushed guitar tones, you can feel the road under your wheels, leaving some troubles behind you as you lose yourself into the vastness of the empty road before you. I've been there, driving off through the desert, alone, the road stretching beyond sight, not even a curve to break the lines. It's a lonely, yet ultimately freeing feeling. The muted trumpet mourning above the mix captures this, circling around the song like a red-tailed hawk soaring through the sky.
If it seems like I'm losing myself in my own desert-themed analogies and metaphors, then you're right, but it's hard not to. Calexico have seamlessly fused rock, folk, flamenco, jazz and traditional Mexican mariachi into the lost soundtrack for the greatest western movie never made. It is a soundtrack of definitive place and geography, as quirky, sensual and rugged as the border town they represent. A soundtrack of complexity and subtlety, vastness and huge empty spaces. It is the sound of a coyote greeting you on a misty morning then nodding to you as the day begins. Imagine the feeling left in your heart after that experience and put it to music.
That's Calexico.
--Racer
Buy here: Carried to Dust
www.myspace.com/casadecalexico
Two Silver Trees
Victor Jara's Hands
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