“Wild tongues can’t be tamed, they can only be cut out.”
–Gloria Anzaldúa

For thirty years now, Gloria Anzaldúa’s 'Borderlands / La Frontera' has helped scores of people discover themselves through care and contradiction—through art that is culturally specific, vulnerable, opaque, and hybrid, reliant on intersecting forms, layered genres, multiple languages, and clashing registers. The present anniversary of Anzaldúa’s book, arriving in the midst of absurdist headlines and daily heartbreaks, has spurred many to reflect on the increasingly surreal realities of the U.S.-Mexico borderlands: increased militarization and denigrating media coverage, increased displacement and hostile policies, routine dehumanizations and offensive caricatures, neglectful representatives and still-ailing constituencies. Our present tense is an unequal distribution of fear, its realities at once new and inherited, unforeseen and unsurprising: the gnarled legacy of colonial expansion. And as much as this present continues to overwhelm, it also, as this record attests, is spurring many to respond with forward-looking, reparative art.

'Wild Tongue' emerges from the same soil and spirit as Anzaldúa’s text: the Rio Grande Valley. Where the nine bands featured here speak bravely and vulnerably of body and place, articulating different yet complementary relationships to a complex region, the cover art by visual artist Celeste de Luna—a portion of a larger piece, 'Lotería Nepantla'—draws attention to a local legacy of creative risk and critical necessity.

Amplifying each of their voices is the central aim of this project.

--The Project--

'Wild Tongue' began as a cross-country conversation: Edinburg, TX on one side, Stanford, CA on the other. In February 2018, Charlie Vela—a musician, producer, local historian, cultural critic, and documentarian recently celebrated for his and Ronnie Garza’s 'As I Walk Through the Valley' (2017)—and I expressed shared desires to celebrate contemporary RGV musical creativity. The resulting collaboration, made possible by the Creativity in Research Scholars Program at Stanford University’s Hasso Plattner Institute of Design, led to our inviting nine RGV bands from a variety of genres to record at Sound of Rain Studios.

Each of those bands was to respond to a prompt: “Think about a formative experience you had in the Rio Grande Valley, and write a new song responding to that experience.” Where some artists focused on loss and heartbreak, others reflected on growth and experimentation—and still others on injustice and political action.

And because the voices of women of color artists too often go unheard and uncelebrated, we made a concerted effort from the outset to help address the issue, inviting a majority of bands fronted by women of color to contribute their work.

Too, we also experimented with some degree of early-stage anonymity: on the whole, none of these artists knew what the others had written before arriving to record their new songs. The common themes, then, feel especially significant: representative of personal experiences and suggestive of deeper issues, concerns, and aspirations alive in local communities.

And while this collection is definitely not comprehensive—missing are the hardcore punk bands, the heavy metal groups, the mariachis, the fusion experiments, the jazz combos, the newest solo artists making waves—the album’s gaps may indeed prove productive: every blank calls for more music, more festivals, more support.

--The Tracks--

1. Epi and Friends’s “Me ha tocado a mi sufrir” opens the album with a prayer—for all who have suffered, are suffering, may suffer. Originally written by Epi’s father, Epifanio, and revamped for 'Wild Tongue,' the song celebrates the meek and the divine by way of conjunto, one of the most recognizable ensemble sounds of the region. In its composition and performance, the work is an intergenerational, family effort—the two vocalists, Cruz and Epi, not only sing close harmonies, but are also mother and son. And it underscores that Tejano music is not a relic of some antiquated past, but rather a vibrant expression of contemporary effort.

2. Carmen Fría’s “Agarra la onda” is in no uncertain terms a call to action: a rallying cry for local artists and activists who have long been fighting to improve the lives of the RGV’s most vulnerable community members. Carmen, a versatile multi-instrumentalist and MC active in a number of local bands—Blight Night, Monstruo, Bohemio, Rotary Waves—here fuses psychedelic techno-cumbia, old-school U.S. hip-hop, and extensions of her work with Jesus “Chuy” Reazola in Caldo Frío to deliver a message that highlights the urgency of fighting for social justice. The sentiments expressed—pushing through exhaustion, spreading a message, standing in solidarity with others—are delivered rapidly, bilingually, layered atop an intricate weave of instrumental parts recorded by Carmen herself. The range of techniques on display drives home the underlying message of “Agarra la onda”: “You have the power to shift the power.”

3. DeZorah’s “Las Semillas” takes growth as its core concern. Through ample polyrhythms and mixed meters—hallmarks of the band’s post-progressive rock sound—DeZorah’s song channels the spirit of groups like At the Drive-In while playing to the strengths of each band member’s specific range of talents. To wit: in Danica’s soaring vocals, we can hear a simultaneous expression of joy and terror, a tension threaded throughout the band’s recent work. As a whole, “Las Semillas” expresses the drama of growth—not an easy, tranquil, silent process, but rather one characterized by difficulty.

4. Twin Tribes’s “Still in Still” is a darkwave exploration of the paranoia and melancholy that often accompanies migrancy and undocumented status in the United States. Through danceable rhythms, melodic synths, and infectious hooks, band members Luis and Joel tip their hats to their musical influences—The Cure, Depeche Mode—stretching their creative muscles with an array of instruments: a Roland JX3P, a Korg Poly 800, as well as guitar, bass, and their own vocals. Lyrically, the song is characterized by withholding, by the need to keep secrets that, if released, would immediately threaten people’s lives; it dramatizes this notion that it may be only a “matter of time” before one might be caught, detained, deported. It also demonstrates an appreciation for migrant sacrifice, a coming-to-terms with displacement, and ultimately, a private acceptance. In all, the song maps a vast emotional territory, reminding us that every day, many dance with darkness to find solace and security.

5. Matt and the Herdsmen’s “Bordertown” is a coming-of-age narrative rooted in RGV soil. In a style informed by years of participation in Texas country scenes, singer-songwriter Matt Castillo tells a story of yearning, division, even looming doom—”standing at the Rio Grande / I feared that I would drown”—that eventually transforms into acceptance, appreciation, and rootedness: “Cause your roots are what hold you up / Not what keep you down / Growing up, living in a border town.” Matt, whose family and musical activities have taken him from Edinburg to Austin, Houston, and beyond, here displays a commitment to recording his own growth as a Valley resident as well as his conception of what and where “home” might be. As a result, “Bordertown” draws attention to the complexities of belonging and aspiration in the RGV; somehow, by some alchemy, home is at once a small town, a borderlands, a metropolis, a memory.

6. Maria D’Luz’s “Productivo” is a celebration of grit, potential, and experimentation—a call to embrace creative risk. D’Luz, an accomplished songwriter, pianist, singer, businesswoman, and mentor, here draws on her broad palette of musical styles and techniques to get this across: the extended harmonies familiar to jazz circles, the pointed vocal delivery of many rock singers, the rhythmic structures of zapateado flamenco, and the smooth character of bossa nova. Through its musical fusions—including guitarist Mario Aleman’s impressive contribution—“Productivo” exemplifies mixtures familiar to RGV communities; through its lyrical insistence, it pushes for an embrace—even a pursuit—of new risks and combinations. In effect, the song argues for exploration and openness—virtues alive in the body of work D’Luz has produced to date.

7. Pinky Swear’s “Bring You Down” reflects on departure and intimacy by dramatizing the meltdown of a relationship. Beginning with an ultimatum—”he said / you can stay or follow me, but I’m leaving”—and ending with an evaluation—”you didn’t have to if you didn’t want to”—the song moves through betrayal and bitterness with refreshing honesty. Sitting at the boundary between grunge and punk, the group’s sound here—marked by a gritty chord progression and Sarah Danger’s scorching vocal performance—brings the lyrics to life. In its transparencies and up-frontness, “Bring You Down” shows how larger pressures to stay or to leave—whether an individual or a place—drive wedges between people, breaking connections apart. The song sits with those pressures to take steps toward individual and communal healing.

8. Jesika’s “Party is Over” is a reflection on the importance of refuge. In many ways a monument to the thriving RGV music scene via its invocation of Cine El Rey on “17th street,” the song follows the slow shed of anxiety that comes with settling in: “Yeah I think I found my peace / in the way the sun sets over 83 / with the way that these transplanted palm trees are just as native as me.” In its interiority and intimacy, “Party is Over” outlines the very architecture of this album: a call to celebrate personal experience and discover unknown commonalities with others as a result.

9. Arcanedisplay’s “Split in Two,” the album’s closer, is an intricate synthesis of many of this album’s major themes. A true infusion of lyrical content and musical structure, the song utilizes bilingual lyrics, mixed meters, interlocking polyrhythms, ambient electronic textures, and a nuanced arrangement to relay a personal story of division and reconstitution. It begins by exploring the pressures of assimilation, the suppression of language, manner, and gesture: “Don’t roll your R’s they’ll look away / Take every chance you can to blend.” It then hones in on the heartbreak of seeing this pressure as part of a bigger picture, a historical inheritance, a colonial scar: “It broke my heart to learn the truth / We weren’t broken into two / We didn’t have to choose.” Finally, in its last moments, the song becomes anthemic: an embrace of self and home.

Each of these songs, in their specificities and engagements, speak to the artistic diversity of a region consistently characterized as a space of wanting, absence, and criminality. Each of these songs, as standalone works, are unique and personal expressions of what it’s been like to live and work in the area. But taken together, they form a larger impression—incomplete yet rich, unfinished and promising.


--The Hope--

It is our hope that this album capture a small slice of the creativity of RGV musicians; something of the values of collaboration, even across thousands of miles; something of the richness of personal exploration through the arts; and something of the necessity of more numerous and nuanced representations of border communities in times of unrest, division, and uncertainty.

It is our hope, too, that 'Wild Tongue' resonates with others who are striving to do the same. There is the work being done by the entire staff at Neta, a bilingual multimedia platform committed to creating “engaging, culturally relevant content” that addresses issues specific to local residents. There is the work being done by Sirheem “Seems” Fuentes, a musician in the band Future Wives and founder of Mujer RGV, to provide crucial support for women musicians in the region. And there is the work of the numerous activist groups, music promoters, documentarians, poets, painters, music producers, and small business owners striving to nourish local culture. Without question, these efforts are enriching the cultural ecosystem of the present and drafting visions for a more inclusive future. With this project, we offer our own contribution—a musical reminder that while present hardships might feel endless, wild tongues will not be tamed.


—Jonathan Leal