A Marriage of Contrasts: Mariachi Music & Mexican Charrería Aesthetics

by Ale Díaz-Pizarro

If you mention the word “Garibaldi” to a Mexican, the Italian unification hero Giuseppe would be—if you’re lucky— only the third thing to come to mind. The second might be the garibaldi pastry, a small vanilla cake slathered in apricot pulp and covered with sugar sprinkles. But the first, indisputably, would be Plaza Garibaldi, the socalled “mariachi capital of the world” where, still today, mariachi bands play for business and haggle over prices with people who come from all over the city to hire a group for an event, or just to listen.

The origins of mariachi music lie in Jalisco, a state west of Mexico City that may be best known to Americans as the birthplace of tequila, or for the beach destination Puerto Vallarta. Jalisco held many haciendas and other agricultural enclaves, and when many of its peasant workers emigrated to Mexico City in the 19th century, they brought their music with them. Though Jalisco (and sometimes, the town of Cocula) are cemented as the cradle of mariachi music, the origins of the word are not as clear: the most pervasive origin story is that it originated during the French occupation of the 1860s, as a distortion of the French word mariage, as the music was popular at weddings.

However, there are recorded uses that predate the French occupation, so other theories are that mariachi comes from the name of the wood from which dance platforms were made, from the indigenous word for a type of tree, or from the Mariachi Ranch in Nayarit, a state neighboring Jalisco. Be the origin what it may, what is true is that mariachi is still prevalent at weddings, graduations, gala dinners, and other celebrations. No big event is complete without mariachi turning up around 2am, just when you think the party is about to be over, and trumpeting life back into it.

Mariachi music is ubiquitous within Mexican culture, and it could be argued that it is synonymous with it. The emblematic costume worn by many mariachi bands is actually rooted in charrería, the Mexican art of horse-riding and cattle-herding whose deep embedding in and influence on the Mexican psyche is only comparable to the importance of bullfighting for Spain.

Charrería originated when the Spanish, who originally had orders not to let any nonSpaniards ride the horses they’d brought to the New World, were forced to loosen this prohibition as the expanse and demands of agricultural labor made it necessary to put some indigenous and mestizo [miscegenated, or of mixed Spanish and indigenous descent] workers on horseback. Riding, then, became a symbolic acquisition of status, an arena where indigenous and mestizo Mexicans could be on the same level as the Spanish colonizers.

Quickly, these riders—or charros—developed their own traditions around horse-riding, which evolved into a sporting discipline and a code of knightlike gallantry that turned charros from simple cowboys into folk heroes. Forget dressage, eventing, jumping, or any of the boring categories generally associated with equestrian sports: charros compete in bareback riding (bulls or horses), lassoing horses using only the horse’s front or hind legs and without toppling the horse, and the dangerous paso de la muerte or “death’s pass,” where a charro riding bareback and holding on only to horsehair must approach a wild mare and change horses while riding, taming the mare while still bareback.

Though American rodeos, based on charreadas, have morphed and evolved into their own traditions, the disciplines or suertes involved in charrería are storied and remain the norm: when on a recent visit to the Museo de la Charrería in downtown Mexico City I asked the guide whether he’d been a charro himself, he shrugged and said, “Oh, I was only a pasador de la muerte,” as if making a living from jumping from a horse onto a wild mare, all bareback, was as mundane as other professions. Interestingly, whereas women’s participation in professional rodeos has largely been sidelined, charras (or chinas, after the costume they wear) have always been a part of the sport in Mexico, competing in the 12 official disciplines in women-only competitions and in specialized events within larger charreadas alongside men.

The aesthetics are as important to charrería as the actual riding: the elaborate costumes, saddles, and spurs handmade for charros are recognizable as Mexican anywhere in the world—an aesthetic preoccupation matched only by that of mariachis. In fact, it was a star of Mexico’s golden age of cinema, Jorge Negrete, whose iconic traje de gala (housed in the Museo de la Charrería) combined with his talent for singing rancheras and other popular mariachi tunes cemented the charro suit as the standard mariachi costume.

But if charrería is a repository for the whole of Mexican history, so too is the mariachi wear that pulls from it then infused with that same significance. If charrería is symbolic of mestizaje, marrying Spanish horses with indigenous aesthetics to yield uniquely mestizo disciplines, so too is mariachi, a uniquely Mexican twist on the instrumentation of a classic Spanish theater band—and both with agrarian roots. The mariachis that the dictator Porfirio Díaz enjoyed presenting during his lavish, Europhilic parties channeled the aesthetics of ranchers like Emiliano Zapata, an unparalleled rider who would be a key figure in dethroning Díaz himself. Such contrasts remain in mariachi music: the mariachi aesthetics are emblematic of two stars of Mexican pop as different as Luis Miguel, the Spanish-Italian-descended patron saint of rich kids who take weekend trips to Acapulco, and Juan Gabriel, icon alike to queer Mexicans and middle-class housewives. Mariachis are just as comfortable on a small trajinera boat in the working-class neighborhood of Xochimilco, taking song requests for a few pesos a pop from passing boat riders, as at wealthy weddings or graduations where they’re hired by the hour. Mexico, a country of contrasts and cultural marriages, is neatly symbolized in the mariachi tradition by which much of the world knows it, in the visual and intangible alike. am am am am

Mariachi, of course, is not the only kind of Mexican music: a country as large and diverse as Mexico is blooming with musical tradition, all of which deserves its due attention. But if you’ve ever tried to emulate the iconic mariachi cry, if you’ve ever requested “La bikina” or “Cielito lindo” from a mariachi band at a cantina, if the sound of trumpets makes you think immediately of Mexico—then you've experienced firsthand truly how special mariachi music is.

I would like to acknowledge the Federación Mexicana de Charrería and their Museo de la Charrería for their excellent materials, museography, and guides.

On Sunday, September 8th, the Columbia student ensemble Mariachi Leones will be playing Live Constructions from 10-11pm, co-hosted by Natalie Najar & Ale DíazPizarro.

On Monday, September 16th, Caribe Latino and Urbano Latinx will be pre-empted for a 3-hour Mexican Independence Day special, playing traditional and contemporary music from all over the country. Tune in from 10pm-12am to hear Ale Díaz-Pizarro, and then stay tuned 12am-1am to hear Natalie Najar.