Mariachis Ride Into Uvalde With Songs of Heartache and Hope (2023)

With trumpets, strings and serenades, their music traces the arc of life. It often accompanies moments of jubilation, but it can also speak to a community’s profound sorrow.

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June 4, 2022

UVALDE, Texas — A bus rolled in off the dusty highway and into the heart of a town mired in sorrow.

Outsiders had sent so much to Uvalde lately: food, flowers, millions of dollars in donations, prayers — gestures, large and small, meant to acknowledge a grief that no one believed they could cure. Like the others, compelled to do something, dozens of mariachi musicians had traveled from San Antonio with the hope that they could deliver a dose of comfort.

In the square that has become an expression of Uvalde’s pain, where 21 crosses were erected to mark the lives stolen by the gunman who stormed into an elementary school, the musicians gathered along the edge of a fountain and started to play, drawing on the aching words of the revered Mexican musician Juan Gabriel.

Tú eres la tristeza de mis ojos
Que lloran en silencio por tu amor

You are the sadness in my eyes
that cry in silence for your love

“They don’t pet you,” Anthony Medrano, one of the performers, said of the lyrics. “They cut you.”

Healing requires honesty, however lacerating, he said. A mariachi performance like this one was meant to be a journey, starting in darkness and climbing closer to the light.

The pull to join the performance was strong. “They look like our children,” Sandra Gonzalez, a violin player, said of the victims. “The faces look familiar.”

The musicians brought trumpets, violins, a saxophone, little five-string instruments called vihuelas, much larger guitarrónes mexicanos.

And though Uvalde is only a little more than an hour away from San Antonio, they also filled the bus with snacks: ice chests packed with water, beer, ham, cheese and bolillos, boxes of chips, and cardboard carriers with large plastic cups of sweet tea from Bill Miller Bar-B-Q, a chain that’s something of a San Antonio institution.

“It shows that they’re not alone,” he went on. “Uvalde is not alone.”

Those who are drawn to mariachi, as performers or as listeners, reflect the breadth of the Mexican American experience, particularly in a place like South Texas. For some, Spanish is their first language, and their ties to Mexico are fresh. Others, though, are generations removed from Mexico. The music serves as a portal linking them with their heritage.

“There’s a pride in this music — it’s ours,” Mr. Medrano said. “When they need a spiritual recharge, they can do the grito.” (The grito is a spontaneous outburst — a howl or cry — of pure emotion that punctuates mariachi music, expressing excitement, heartbreak or lust.)

In some families, the tradition is passed down from one generation to the next. “I’m a fortunate one,” Mr. San Miguel said. “I was born into this.” The same was true for his 20-year-old son, Juan, who was also on the bus.

Others stumble into it. Some high schools in Texas have mariachi programs. About a decade ago, the University Interscholastic League, the organization in Texas that oversees statewide academic, athletic and arts competitions, added a contest for mariachi performing, just like with marching band, basketball and debate.

When Mark Cantu, another performer, was younger, Spanish was spoken in his home only when his parents wanted to say something they didn’t want children to hear. Yet when he heard mariachi music, something in it spoke to him. His father bought him a $50 violin from a pawnshop, and he supported himself in college playing weekend gigs in Laredo.

Christopher Andrew Perez, a violinist, was home from Utah, where he studies medicine. He saw the Facebook post and texted Mr. San Miguel to ask if he could play, too. “I always find my way back to it,” Mr. Perez, 25, said.

The musicians believe their music contains a certain power. Even the most experienced performers struggle to translate that sensation into words. But mariachi allows them to convey an array of emotion, even within a single song: joy, pride, love, yearning, sadness. In turn, the music resonates with listeners contending with the same emotions.

The prevailing sentiments now: hurt, anger.

“It can still make you swallow hard and get choked up,” Mr. San Miguel said. “You can take out some emotion on an instrument.”

Mr. Cantu, a public school music teacher, compared performing mariachi music with method acting. Being able to draw on life experiences similar to what is in the music — love, loss, victory — helps deepen the performance. “We’re all actors,” he said. “We get dressed up. We put on the whole suit. You can press play on a device, but you can’t get the experience.”

The performers are acquainted with grief. Members of the mariachi community often gather to play at funerals for parents, spouses and other relatives of performers who have died. And as the coronavirus pandemic ripped through the Mexican American community, mariachi groups were called on to perform. “We have played so many funerals,” Ms. Gonzalez said.

She saw the solace they provided to those families. “We gave that comfort,” she said. She knew what it meant to her and her mother and sisters when mariachis played at her father’s funeral several years ago.

Still, there was apprehension as the bus passed through Castroville and Hondo and approached Uvalde. “This is a first for us,” Mr. San Miguel said. “This magnitude of tragedy.”

There had been no rehearsals. There was not even a list of songs they would perform. An experienced mariachi performer is expected to have instant recall of an expansive catalog of songs. “There are probably 200 or 300 you’ve forgotten,” Mr. San Miguel joked.

The bus reached Uvalde and lumbered into the town square.

“We’ll call out the songs as we go,” Mr. Medrano said as everyone started clambering off, “and do what we do.”

The mariachis performed “Amor Eterno,” the wrenching Juan Gabriel song written about his agony over losing his mother. It was recognizable to many from the first few notes.

The heat was starting to lift, and the pecan trees filtered out the harsh sun. A crowd gathered around the square. Some brought lawn chairs and their dogs. A few dabbed their eyes, quietly weeping.

But just as Mr. Medrano promised, the music seemed to give those who gathered a respite, even if for just a moment. Mr. San Miguel led some of the musicians in an instrumental rendition of “Amazing Grace.” He remembered the comfort he felt when the song was played at his brother’s funeral last year.

His father, the Grammy Award-winning mariachi performer Juan Ortiz, crooned another song that many in the crowd knew instantly: “Un Dia A La Vez.” The song’s consolation: Healing was not here, and no one knew when it would come. But Uvalde could summon the resilience to move forward.

Un día a la vez, Dios mío
y es lo que pido de ti
dame la fuerza para vivir
un día a la vez

One day at a time, my God,
and that is what I ask of you,
give me the strength to live
one day at a time.