Border Lore: A Brownsville Pundit Auditions At Las Dos Republicas...

 

By EDUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ

MATAMOROS, Mexico | His best song at this time of his nascent musical career was "Coal Miner's Daughter," a gig staple of country crooner Loretta Lynn. The year was 1981 and lanky, high-throated Jerry McHale was itching to branch into other genres. He'd tried conjunto stuff, but that was all about the accordion, he told himself over a pitcher of beer at a joint in Brownsville called The Swarm Bar.

Now, having turned 30, he was going south. Not in a bad way, though. McHale was crossing the busy international bridge from downtown Brownsville into this very-Mexican border town.

He'd met a waiter who worked at a nightclub called Las Dos Republicas and it was that friend who arranged a "no promises" audition. Guitar case in hand, McHale walked the busy sidewalks all the way to the nightclub, drawing quizzical glances from Mexican street musicians and restaurant patrons.

One of the musicians seated on chairs playing al fresco for arriving tourists even let out a whistled catcall at McHale, something he thought sounded like a diss, of sorts. In his grass-whorled mind, he thought it was no different than the Mexican musicians saying, "What - you've come for our jobs?!"

But onward he marched, like the ever-victorious. Gilded caissons at his side, all armed with state-of-the-art cannons, all ready to defend him against anything. McHale was pumped. Inhaling the heavy, humid late-afternoon air, he neared Las Dos Republicas at the appointed time: 6:30 PM.

The club was one of the busier ones in town, but the action didn't get going until about 10:00 PM, when the Americans from across the Rio Grande ambled in with women not their wives to drink and listen to perhaps the best organ player in the region. McHale had been in the nightclub with a bevy of big-breasted, airhead Hispanic girls.

Gollo Hernandez, his waiter friend, saw him walk in and motioned McHale to the small stage. Then he said the club manager would be out in a minute or two to gauge the audition.

"What song are you singing, Jerry?" the portly, mustachioed waiter asked.

"El Rey, vato. Mi mejor rola," McHale said in reply.

He was tuning his guitar when heavyset club manager Gilberto Estrada Lopez ambled in and said hello from a few feet away. McHale nodded and said, "We ready?"

"Listo," said the club manager.

History has no recording of the audition, and what a jewel it would be today, but what happened next should have been on MTV's Greatest Hits Ever show. McHale more than nailed El Rey and even let out a loud "Ahuuuuuuua! Viva Mexico!!" as he wrapped up the fabled song.

All he saw from the club manager was a quick shaking of the head, a pursing of the lips and a quick wave-off adios. McHale was stunned, temporarily paralyzed. Convinced that he'd nailed the audition, he was now totally perplexed by the club manager's reaction.

Gollo Hernandez, the waiter, let it out: "It sounded too Gringo, Jerry. Like you were making fun of Mexico. Sorry, my friend. Las Dos Republicas is just not for you, ese."

As he hobbled up the sidewalk back toward the international bridge, McHale drew on a conversation he'd had the night before at the Autel Nieto's restaurant with his pal, Dave Handelman, also a musician.

Handelman had indeed said something about not tackling a well-known Mexican song at the audition, but McHale had blown that off. He wanted to be the essence of Las Dos Republicas, as Mexico as any similar club in Mexico City.

Handelman had suggested McHale sing an American tune, like "You Are My Sunshine" or "A Horse With No Name," which would have been what a nightclub crowd would have wanted from him, not Mexico's greatest song...

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