ALEJANDRO FERNÁNDEZ, “SI TÚ SUPIERAS”

18th October, 1997

Wiki | Video

As if to prove that Enrique Iglesias isn't the only son of a famous Latin singer of the 70s and 80s who can command attention, respect, and screaming devotion, here's another extremely recognizable last name. Although we did, if briefly, meet Julio Iglesias early on in this chart voyage, we never directly encountered Vicente Fernández. This is more or less an effect of when the chart began; if it had been running in the 70s and early 80s, he would have waged serious siege to Iglesias' domination. Fernández pére was (and still is) the greatest ranchera singer of his generation and arguably of all time, comparable perhaps to George Jones' position in country music, and if his music didn't always have the transnational appeal of Julio Iglesias pére's, the devotion of his Mexican and Mexican-American fanbase was, and remains, a force to be reckoned with.

Fernández fils began his career following in his father's footsteps, with ranchera and mariachi albums in the early 90s, and had moderate-to-high levels of success. But in 1997 -- and I can't imagine he didn't have one shrewd eye on the stunning success of baby-faced Iglesias fils -- he joined up with Emilio Estefan and Kike Santander, the twin forces behind the throne de la Gloria, and recorded an album of modern bolero, not unlike what Luis Miguel has been doing, but more dynamically arranged. If he was attempting to challenge Enrique for top-of-the-chart supremacy, it worked: "Si Tú Supieras" ("if you knew") was the biggest Latin hit of the second half of 1997, with Fernández' strongest advantage over Iglesias -- his polished, resonant voice -- front and center.

The song itself is only so-so; a languid bolero with flamenco touches on the guitar, it's a ballad of romantic longing, as the title suggests. The most remarkable thing about it is the chorus, in which he expresses a desire "para sembrar mil rosas nuevas en tu vientre" ("to plant a thousand new roses in your womb"), an arresting image that (though I believe it's a spin on an existing Spanish idiom) has become something of a touchstone for online Hispanophone flirtation. It's a strong production, as you would expect from the Estefan machine, and if Fernández still sounds a little formal, a country Mexican singer feeling stiff in these city Miami duds, he'll doubtless grow into them.

MARCO ANTONIO SOLÍS, “LA VENIA BENDITA”

11th October, 1997

Wiki | Video

Since Los Bukis’ very first appearance in these pages, I’ve used the “regional” tag on both their and Marco Antonio Solís’ songs. If this is the first time it actually sounds directly applicable, that has more to do with evolving standards of identification with Mexican regionalismo than with an actual change in genre. For students of country music, a comparison with, say, the difference between Ronnie Milsap and Randy Travis in the mid-80s might be useful: both of them were certainly country musicians, but Travis’s neotraditionalism helped to spark a sea change in how country identified itself, so that Milsap’s AC-friendly glossiness now sounds hopelessly dated and unreal. Given the increasing visibility of tradition-minded ranchera, tejano, mariachi, and norteño at the top spot of the Latin chart in the mid-late 90s, Solís is just blowing with prevailing winds.

“La Venia Bendita” (lit. “the blessed arrival,” but see below for an in-context translation) takes the hypertraditional form of a ranchera waltz, complete with mariachi horns and two incandescent, sobbing gritos, one right at the beginning and another at the first completion of the chorus. Its traditionalism is entirely understandable: it’s a wedding song. Not explicitly so (explicitly occasional songs are almost universally terrible), but just take a gander at this chorus:

Besame así despacito y alarguemos el destino
Pues este amor tan bonito que se nos dío en el camino
Tiene la venia bendita del poderoso divino

Kiss me so, slowly, and let us prolong our destiny
For this love so beautiful that has put us on the road
Has the blessing of the Divine Almighty

The verses are similarly hyperbolically sentimental (there’s even a reference to the grave the lovers will share in time), but the astringent rhythm and sweet-sour horns cover a lot. Solís being Solís, his melody doesn’t follow traditional ranchera templates — which is good, because his voice isn’t strong enough to tackle, say, a Vicente Fernández song. Still, it’s the first Solís song I’ve unequivocally enjoyed (I’m totally an authenticitymonger, sadface), and I hope he got nice fat royalties out of the millions of walks down the aisle set to it.