Monday, April 21, 2025 · Puerto Peñasco, Sonora
Proof of concept
I had to start somewhere, and I started in Puerto Peñasco (AKA Rocky Point) during Semana Santa.
I knew, from when Hiram and I lived there between 2011 and 2016, that there would be many musicians on the malecón and on the beach. We also have friends there who could help. Two of them promised to put me in touch with musicians they knew.
The two referrals were a coin toss. One commitment from a friend of a friend fell through. “He’s gone to Hermosillo,” my friend said when I arrived and asked for contact info. The other friend-of-a-friend came through, albeit wackily. Aside from those commitments, the idea was to talk with the musicians working for the tourists, tell them about the project, schedule an interview and portrait. I quickly learned my priorities meant squat to the working musicians. Then, by accident, well, really just doing what I enjoy most—photographing people—combined with a technology I don’t want—WhatsApp—I stumbled on a workflow that suited all of us.
During Semana Santa, the holy week between Palm Sunday and Easter, Mexicans flock to the coasts. Families and friends huddle in the springtime breezes along the malecon and on blankets and under tents on the beaches. Men wheel ice chests around, full of sixes of beer. Everyone brings a bag of their favorite chips and offers up the Tostitos, Takis, and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos onto styrofoam plates. They smother the mix with Valentina, Huichol and Cholula sauces. From there, it’s down the hatch, washed back with sweaty cans of Tecate Light before sogginess sets into the suicidal communion.
But the musicians arrive before the tourists. They set up amplifiers and lights. Bass drums feature the band names in futuristic typefaces and QR codes that link to their WhatsApp accounts. The tourists hire the musicians and dance.
I was certain I could find musicians there. A wandering guitarist listened to my spiel, his eyes glazed over and he offered a photo and a song for 100 pesos. In the afternoons, I wandered the malecón and interrupted bands as they assembled their instruments. They gave me their cards and looks that said, “Are you insane?”
I felt discouraged, but also gave myself the benefit of the doubt because, after all, this was a trial run to figure things out.
But time was running out. I was only going to be there for a few days. I looked forward to meeting up with the guitarist my friend Mario connected me with. At least I’d go home with one interview. In the meantime, I’d take photos, because that’s what I enjoy. I asked musicians for photos, got their WhatsApp numbers and promised to send them the pictures.
On the last day there, I met with an independent journalist who also plays guitar in restaurants in the al talón style (hoofing it), going table to table and taking requests. We talked at a restaurant, and while I spoke with him, he passed his phone to Hiram so there’d be footage for his YouTube channel. In the middle of it all, he shouted, “CUT!” and directed Hiram to get another angle.
My mind wandered to a Gilligan’s Island episode in which a movie producer ends up on the island bossing around the castaways as if he were on a movie set.
After the interview, the journalist went table-to-table playing guitar and singing for people at the restaurant. I followed with my camera and photographed him. Turnabout is fair play.
When I returned to Tucson, I sent the photos I had taken during the trip. The snare drum player was gracious. The tuba player was thrilled. The accordion player was happy too. I told each of them about the project. Could I schedule a Zoom or phone call with them? The drummer was non-committal; he’d get back to me. The tuba player was game, but he was on tour from Chiapas (wrong border). The accordion player agreed to talk by phone next week.
I was there to learn, and I learned that no one was there to hear about a student’s capstone project. The musicians’ reluctance made perfect sense. They were at work, and a stranger wanted them to help with his homework? I’ll keep this in mind as I plan to work with musicians again for this project.
In other news
This is a busy semester. I’m in Kendal Blust’s Advanced Reporting class, learning all about talking to strangers and AP style—farewell, my beloved Oxford comma, see you on the other side. I’m also in an independent study course with Jessica Retis, preparing a formal proposal and timeline for this project. The course meets with the graduating class (my cohort, if I had been attending full-time), and I think the most valuable lesson I will take away from the experience is seeing how much work this will be.