Lizzy G had to scramble to do her set in Spanish, but she nailed it.; Watching the Aztec dancers, I felt their plight and flight.
From age six to age eight, I lived in National City. I admired the cholo style: creased T-shirts, khaki pants, black corduroy slip-on shoes, perfectly slicked back hair, and low riders cruising the boulevard — well, Highland Avenue. Then, after my parents split, I moved to Clairemont — a more Caucasian environment. The rest is history. But I haven’t forgotten those early days, and I’m sure they haven’t forgotten me. I was watching KUSI News one morning and this Chicano gentleman named Uno Rodriguez was on the show, promoting the Chicano Music Festival on Cinco de Mayo at the Soap Factory. It struck a chord with me. I reached out, and I’d like to give thanks to Yesi for hooking me up with access.
My Lyft dropped me at the entrance on Commercial Avenue. I walked past a row of low riders to the main entrance, where the security guard was ready to check me for weapons. “Where’s Will Call?” I asked.
“What’s a Will Call?” he replied. I explained. “Oh, try the VIP entrance.” They hadn’t heard of Will Call there either, but they sent me along to the artists and performers entrance. There, I got a green bracelet, which I immediately lost after going into the venue. I had to go back to the entrance and grovel. The lady who had let me in shook her head in disbelief. “You better not lose this one!”
I showed my green bracelet to Raul the security guard as I tried to go backstage. “Only red wristbands are allowed back here,” he said, studying his color chart. Then he changed his mind. “Oh, you’re entitled to go anywhere. You can wander wherever you want.”
The first performers I met were in Louxs Vxlla, a hip hop group from LA whose members play their own instruments. I saw a drone flying around the crowd in front of the stage and set out to see what it saw. Walking through the crowd, I suddenly stopped. The spirit of my Mexican heritage stirred at the sight of traditional Aztec dancing in the middle of the grounds. It was spiritual and emotional. The female and male dancers weaving around gave me an impression of their plight and fight. I wept a little. Then Jimmy Leon came out, rapping in Spanish. I noticed a woman standing by herself wearing a white sombrero, a green and white mid-sleeve jacket, a green bodysuit, fishnet stockings, and white cowboy boots. I asked if I could take her picture. “Oh, you’re so considerate wanting to take a picture of me,” she said shyly, “and I’m so grateful.” I asked for her name. “Lizzy!”
The festival organizers had the acts following one after another in rapid succession. I heard DJ Frost’s “This is For La Raza” blasting on the loudspeaker, and spotted a group of vatos chilling on a rooftop. I asked if I could join them, and had to climb a ladder to get up there. They all had shaved heads and tattoos up their necks. There were also artists, painting murals on mini billboards. They were all from different cliques. A gentleman from Oceanside said, “This would never have happened a few years ago, because we’re all from different hoods. But we all figured out we all have the same common goals as Chicanos.”
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Then they started rolling up a blunt. Someone asked, “Do you want to hit this?” as the blunt was being passed to me. I took a big draw then got paranoid about climbing back down the ladder. Someone said, “Don’t worry Holmes, I got the ladder for you.”
I wondered backstage again and saw Lizzy waiting to get on stage with her head bowed. I asked her what was wrong. She had learned a couple days beforehand that she had to sing her entire set in Spanish. “I’m so nervous.”
I gave her a hug “You got this.” She went out there and sang her entire set flawlessly. As she sang, models in traditional Mexican dress walked the catwalk that was on the stage.
I saw a guy with a Soap Factory T-shirt; it was Chris Sanchez, who help found and open the Factory in 2021 during Covid to make health and wellness products. “All-natural soaps, lotions and cosmetics. We grow geranium, lemongrass, white sage and other herbs on site. We eventually evolved into an event space.” He then introduced me to Mark, who informed me they are self-sustained, have a forty-foot hydroponic wall, can grow their own food, and have programs to help kids earn college credits.
I got hungry and hit the food area with its food trucks and pop-up tents. I decided on three tacos for $10 — two al pastors and one carne asada — from Dominic Siragusa, who’s just starting his business along with his father Dominic Sr. “Would you like to try a Mafioso Dog on the house?” asked Dominic Sr., offering me a hot dog topped with bacon, corn, peppers and onions. I normally don’t eat peppers and onions, but made the exception in this case; I didn’t want to be rude. I enjoyed every bite.
After eating, it was time to head into the VIP area so I could wash my food down with a beer. Got my $8 Pacifico from a girl from Connecticut with ice-blue eyes who stuck out like a sore thumb. The area was packed with cholos, cholas and security guards trying to regulate the weed smoking. As I was wandering around the area, a big vato came out of nowhere and grabbed me. “I heard you talking to my homies about being a writer. I checked you out to make sure you weren’t bullsh*tting us. I like your stuff. Thank you for coming out to help share and reinforce the message of unity.” He also pointed out that they did storage container conversions to make livable studio apartments. I ended up having a great conversation with him. He was right about the unity: there was a heavy contingent from Los Angeles, and I did not see one problem.
