Kidnapped by a Trio

Finally! If you'd talked to me two days ago, I'd have lamented that I *still* haven't made a meaningful contact in Merida's very rich world of music.

Sure, they're everywhere, playing every night, singing Trova, playing for Danzon (see my previous posting on Danzon here). But somehow, I've not been able to talk at length with the musicians I've seen; chalk it up to shyness (don't laugh-- I'm shy on occasion!), though I did muster up the courage to chat with the Trio Montejo (right) after a wonderful performance last week.

(As the show ended, the audience learned that the Trio Montejo was the last of the original trios that started the Thursday night serenata performances 45 years ago. I was moved to thanked them, and that was that... still no closer to making music with others.)

But that all changed on Friday night, and like so many of the good things in life, it happened when I least expected it.

So, it's 8 p.m. and I'm on my way to dinner at a friend's house. For this, I need to find a taxi, and rather than calling a taxi, I decide to walk down to the plaza and simply catch one there.

Approaching the plaza, this is what I see: a parade of strolling 'trio' musicians and horse-drawn carts, the men dressed in their finest guayaberas and the women adorned with flowers to match their gorgeously embroidered ternos.

I take some pictures, smile at the folks passing by, and follow the parade with the understanding that I won't be finding a taxi any time soon.

Soon, I'm chatting with three men in the procession. They're sitting up in a horse-drawn cart which is rolling along at the same speed that I'm walking, giving me a perfect opportunity to ask what the parade is all about. Before I know it, they've got me up in the cart, occupying the fourth seat-- lucky me, this is a parade celebrating trios and not quartets.

Actually, this is a parade celebrating Trova, a ballad-centered style of music sung by trios or soloists backed by delicious harmonies and Latin, jazz-like rhythms.

In fact, the entire month of March has been dedicated to Trova, though I've been only vaguely aware of this. (As I explained to my new-found friends, "Oh, I thought every month was Trova month in Merida." They liked this.) So, this parade is the closing ceremony for a month celebrating all things Trova, and I'm starting to understand why I've seen so much superb music in the past several weeks.

There are no pictures of this spontaneous horse-drawn cart ride among the stars, I'm happy to say. I briefly consider whipping out my camera, but realize just as quickly that doing so would instantly and irreversibly transform me from participant back into mere observer. Instead, we talk.

Arturo, Carlos and Jorge, all in their mid-70's, have known Trova all their lives. Arturo's father, Arturo Alcocer Escamilla, was a famous trovador in the 1940's and 50's, known as "el artistócrata de los trovadores". Carlos Gilm, sitting next to me, is a soloist and, I'm thrilled to learn, a teacher of Trova.

At this point, the parade comes to an end, the buggy stops, and we disembark. I should be going. I'm due at my friends' house, oh, right now, and I'm nowhere close to a taxi. My new friends offer to take me, but only if I join them for a coffee first, and so we're off to a close-by cafe for more Trova and a dose of caffeine.

This is when I know I have arrived. There is a young trio playing when we walk in-- a soprano guitarist, an alto guitarist, and a bass player, each with voices to mix and match on the harmonies. As we sit, the young trovadors acknowledge my new friends, the old-timers, and it is clear that I am in the company of much-admired musicians. Almost instantly, Carlos is invited up to sing a tune with his once-students. Now it's safe to take out my camera.

Carlos sang beautifully, we drank coffee, we all exchanged numbers, and I'm pretty sure I snagged myself a top of the line Trova teacher. When I finally arrived my other friends' dinner party, I apologized for being late, telling only the truth: I was kidnapped by a trio.