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Hernandez asked the singer if his band, which included his brothers and a cousin, could record the song; in 1972, Los Tigres del Norte released "Contrabando y Traición" ("Contraband and Betrayal"). It was a time when America's youth were getting high in large numbers and Mexican immigrants encountered drug trafficking daily as they crossed the border. The song was a smash.
With that began one of the most remarkable careers in Spanish-language pop music. Since then, Los Tigres del Norte, out of their home base in San Jose, have made 30 records, appeared in 14 movies, won a Grammy, and changed Mexican pop music twice. And they have relied on what one sociologist has called a "remarkable anthropological sense" to remain vital, creative, and the kings of Mexican pop.
Los Tigres del Norte--now four brothers, a cousin, and a friend--are the Mexican immigrant experience personified. Like thousands of immigrants, they crossed the border, made it in America, but never shed their most precious commodity, their Mexicanidad--their Mexicanness. Like the Mexican immigrant community, they are virtually unknown to American society at large; within it, they are idolized--Los edolos del Pueblo.
Los Tigres have twice created trends in Mexican pop music, first with songs about drug smuggling and, later, songs about immigration. Immigrants, in turn, transported their music to parts of Mexico where the band was unknown. Los Tigres' audience now stretches across the United States through Mexico and into Central America, places where people's first contact with norteno music was at a Tigres' dance in the U.S. Together, the band and its public turned norteno music into an international genre.
In doing so, the band modernized the music, infusing it with boleros, cumbias, rock rhythms and waltzes, machine-gun and siren-scream sound effects, and better recording quality. They fashioned pop out accordion-based polka music indigenous to dusty Northern Mexico cantinas. Theirs was a different kind of revolution.
Los Tigres emerged from an unnoticed side of the 1960s. As America's restless children were turning to drugs and music in rebellion, restless working-class Mexicans began coming to the United States. Their exodus was also a rebellion of sorts, if unarticulated and unpublicized. Mexico's young were leaving corrupt Mexico--the Mexico that never gave a poor man a chance--eager to recreate themselves in the fields and restaurants of gringolandia. The irony was that once here, these immigrants wanted more than ever to be Mexican. They missed the pueblo, a girlfriend, Mom. Mostly they asked from the U.S. what Mexico had never allowed them, a chance to earn real money for hard work, to progresar.
As these immigrants grew into one of the world's most important movements of people in the last half century, Los Tigres became their chroniclers, spokesmen for a community that remains largely voiceless in Mexico and the U.S. If you want to know what the Mexican immigrant community is feeling, listen to a Tigres record. Their audience is your gardener and grocer, your car-washer, your bus boy and your heroin dealer. Their best songs distill the essentials of Mexican working-class life: brutal machismo, piercing irony, and the tenderest melodrama.
In 1968, they arrived at the border from the Pacific Coast state of Sinaloa, a kid group hired by a promoter to play two dates: the September 16--Mexican Independence Day--parade in San Jose, and a concert for inmates at Soledad Prison. Since the oldest band member was only 14, they had to convince a middle-aged Mexican couple to pretend to be their mother and father. The band had no name. But the immigration officer kept calling them "little tigers," and since they were headed north, they became Los Tigres del Norte.
Los Tigres never returned to Mexico to live. In San Jose, Art Walker, an English record entrepreneur who spoke no Spanish, signed them, bought them instruments, and gave them music lessons. He also suggested they use electric instruments.
"We never thought you could play norteno music with a full drum set and electric bass," says Hernan Hernandez, the band's bass player and singer. "That was for modern groups, rock groups."
It was this chance encounter with Walker that kept Los Tigres from returning to Mexico and probably spending their days in anonymity. San Jose was still a city where Mexicans daily felt the brush of racism. "We really had to battle to eat," Hernan says. "They wouldn't serve us in stores or restaurants." But San Jose was growing rapidly, as was its Mexican community; in the end, it became a welcoming home for a young Mexican band.