Mexico's hot rock band has message that 'just feels right'
Mexico's hot rock band has message that 'just feels right'
By Ray Quintanilla
Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune
Published March 26, 2007
It's an hour before Mana, Mexico's hottest rock band, opens at Allstate Arena and a young couple from Beloit, Wis., is outside bantering playfully in Spanish about their struggles in the United States.
"I'm not sure Americans really understand us," says Monica Sanchez, 19, standing in one of four lines twisting around the arena's massive exterior last Friday.
"Do they want to?" asks her 20-year-old boyfriend, Richard Blanco Benitez.
Those searching for answers to such questions have helped Spanish rockers Mana become one of the most successful rock bands in the United States. With its popularity growing, the group has filled arenas such as Allstate by offering the fastest-growing segment of the U.S. population a musical cocktail of social justice, rage and images of love during a time of great tumult for Latinos in America.
To understand Mana, you have to look down the lines of fans pushing and shoving for position as security guards pace back and forth, attempting to keep everyone in single file.
There are the sons and daughters of Hispanics who angrily marched in the streets last year, protesting U.S. immigration policies. Others are here searching for a loud new soundtrack to life after long ago shelving the bubble gum Menudo songs of their childhood.
A few are here looking to Mexico's U2 to help resolve a much deeper generational conflict: emerging from the shadows their parents depend on for survival.
It's a journey filled with conflict and frustration -- much like Mana's latest release: "Amar es Combatir" (Love is Fighting).
"The music just feels right," explained Guadalupe Guerrero, 19, who traveled to Rosemont with an older brother and a friend from southern Minnesota to take in Mana's concert.
It's difficult to explain, she adds, but the songs "can bring you a lot of happiness when you're going through some bad times."
"Hey, you let's keep this line straight," a security guard tells a small group of twentysomethings who are jumping up and down to see why the line into the arena isn't progressing.
Mana gives voice to young people like them, especially those feeling pressure to give up their native language to find "home" in the United States.
Mana sings in Spanish. Its last release burst onto Billboard's Top 10, no small accomplishment for a band that doesn't have a following in circles where most Americans talk about rock music.
"There's something special happening with Mana," says Edgar Gonzalez, 23, who lives in Rochester, Minn. "I'm into them because they've got heart and want to make it big singing in Spanish."
Mana was formed in Guadalajara, Mexico, in the mid-1980s. By the mid-1990s, the quintet was already wildly popular south of the U.S. border and across Latin America.
Its songs "Manda un Senal" (Send a Signal), "Vivir Sin Aire (Live Without Air), "Combatiente" (Combatant), "Justicia, Tierra y Libertad" (Justice, Land and Liberty) are just a few of Mana's signature tunes -- each of them fluttering ballads with a subtle message to press onward.
"These are songs that you find on Spanish radio," says Paulina Gomez, 19, from the Chicago suburbs. "The words are powerful and I'm not sure how they would translate to an English audience."
Carlos Romero, her friend, says his attachment to Mana comes from the hard guitar riffs sprinkled with rebellion -- music that's difficult to find amid the ranchero and folkloric tunes popular across Chicago's AM/FM dials.
"The old music is nice, but this is more here and now," Romero, 18, said. "It's mine."
The line is again shuffling into the arena, after a short pause. Security guards are smiling as fans, many of them sporting torn jeans, black leather jackets, nose rings, big hair and wide-open eyes begin to argue about what "Mana" means.
"It means 'lets have some fun tonight," one of them shouts, thrusting a fist into the air. "No, it means 'party, party, party,'
" says another.
Actually, it's a Polynesian word for "supernatural force," or so it has been said.
That's the kind of power every new generation of immigrants has called upon to settle into new surroundings.
Why should Mexican immigrants be any different, says Melanie Nunez, a 22-year-old from Chicago's western suburbs who switches from a Mexican-Spanish dialect to English with ease.
"I'm optimistic about the future. This music brings that out," she explains, looking to her boyfriend Jorge Rivero, a construction worker since his arrival from Mexico four years ago.
"The band reminds me of Mexico," Rivero, 29, says. "They take me to a special place. It's in my heart."
As the lines begin to disappear, security guards put down their flashlights and a slice of the future comes into sharper focus.
"We are here to stay," says suburban resident Rafael Covarrubias, 22, holding hands with his wife and their toddler as they bring up the line.
"So is Mana," he adds.
----------
rquintanilla@tribune.com
By Ray Quintanilla
Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune
Published March 26, 2007
It's an hour before Mana, Mexico's hottest rock band, opens at Allstate Arena and a young couple from Beloit, Wis., is outside bantering playfully in Spanish about their struggles in the United States.
"I'm not sure Americans really understand us," says Monica Sanchez, 19, standing in one of four lines twisting around the arena's massive exterior last Friday.
"Do they want to?" asks her 20-year-old boyfriend, Richard Blanco Benitez.
Those searching for answers to such questions have helped Spanish rockers Mana become one of the most successful rock bands in the United States. With its popularity growing, the group has filled arenas such as Allstate by offering the fastest-growing segment of the U.S. population a musical cocktail of social justice, rage and images of love during a time of great tumult for Latinos in America.
To understand Mana, you have to look down the lines of fans pushing and shoving for position as security guards pace back and forth, attempting to keep everyone in single file.
There are the sons and daughters of Hispanics who angrily marched in the streets last year, protesting U.S. immigration policies. Others are here searching for a loud new soundtrack to life after long ago shelving the bubble gum Menudo songs of their childhood.
A few are here looking to Mexico's U2 to help resolve a much deeper generational conflict: emerging from the shadows their parents depend on for survival.
It's a journey filled with conflict and frustration -- much like Mana's latest release: "Amar es Combatir" (Love is Fighting).
"The music just feels right," explained Guadalupe Guerrero, 19, who traveled to Rosemont with an older brother and a friend from southern Minnesota to take in Mana's concert.
It's difficult to explain, she adds, but the songs "can bring you a lot of happiness when you're going through some bad times."
"Hey, you let's keep this line straight," a security guard tells a small group of twentysomethings who are jumping up and down to see why the line into the arena isn't progressing.
Mana gives voice to young people like them, especially those feeling pressure to give up their native language to find "home" in the United States.
Mana sings in Spanish. Its last release burst onto Billboard's Top 10, no small accomplishment for a band that doesn't have a following in circles where most Americans talk about rock music.
"There's something special happening with Mana," says Edgar Gonzalez, 23, who lives in Rochester, Minn. "I'm into them because they've got heart and want to make it big singing in Spanish."
Mana was formed in Guadalajara, Mexico, in the mid-1980s. By the mid-1990s, the quintet was already wildly popular south of the U.S. border and across Latin America.
Its songs "Manda un Senal" (Send a Signal), "Vivir Sin Aire (Live Without Air), "Combatiente" (Combatant), "Justicia, Tierra y Libertad" (Justice, Land and Liberty) are just a few of Mana's signature tunes -- each of them fluttering ballads with a subtle message to press onward.
"These are songs that you find on Spanish radio," says Paulina Gomez, 19, from the Chicago suburbs. "The words are powerful and I'm not sure how they would translate to an English audience."
Carlos Romero, her friend, says his attachment to Mana comes from the hard guitar riffs sprinkled with rebellion -- music that's difficult to find amid the ranchero and folkloric tunes popular across Chicago's AM/FM dials.
"The old music is nice, but this is more here and now," Romero, 18, said. "It's mine."
The line is again shuffling into the arena, after a short pause. Security guards are smiling as fans, many of them sporting torn jeans, black leather jackets, nose rings, big hair and wide-open eyes begin to argue about what "Mana" means.
"It means 'lets have some fun tonight," one of them shouts, thrusting a fist into the air. "No, it means 'party, party, party,'
" says another.
Actually, it's a Polynesian word for "supernatural force," or so it has been said.
That's the kind of power every new generation of immigrants has called upon to settle into new surroundings.
Why should Mexican immigrants be any different, says Melanie Nunez, a 22-year-old from Chicago's western suburbs who switches from a Mexican-Spanish dialect to English with ease.
"I'm optimistic about the future. This music brings that out," she explains, looking to her boyfriend Jorge Rivero, a construction worker since his arrival from Mexico four years ago.
"The band reminds me of Mexico," Rivero, 29, says. "They take me to a special place. It's in my heart."
As the lines begin to disappear, security guards put down their flashlights and a slice of the future comes into sharper focus.
"We are here to stay," says suburban resident Rafael Covarrubias, 22, holding hands with his wife and their toddler as they bring up the line.
"So is Mana," he adds.
----------
rquintanilla@tribune.com
posted by Carlos T Mock @ 7:03 AM
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