 I
went to Guadalajara so the end of this story could be told. We had
heard tales of rock to be had and of the legendary women of the
land. With roses with eyes as big as stars and good old Jack White
on guitar, both counts would be proven true.
As with any road trip in tierra azteca, half the adventure is getting
there and back again, and there will always be surprises. La Mesa
plateau on the autopista between Leon and the rock show screamed
out a holy place, a striking visual image and a validation of the
magic of Mexico. This same blind faith in the invisible inherent
system of right-of-way would also be applied repeatedly at the blind
street corners of bustling Guadalajara.
 Guadalajara
is alive. As we did the crap dump at the hostel, beautiful girls
aggressively sold me fruit I had never seen before. Plaza after
plaza was filled with free cultural events catering to all demographics
and tastes. And pink rice milk water (agua de horchata) was always
within arms length. But a proper look around would have to wait
for there was a rock show tonight. From the Queen of England to
the Hounds of Hell, we all knew it was going to be a good and proper
one at that.
Cross-town escapades in a chilled-out, well-fumigated and reggae-infused
taxi, brought us to a venue I wish was present in San Miguel, but
our scene does not warrant it. The inside/outside set up allowed
for a perfect night to seep in, and as we walked in on the Green
Hornets, the sound system was coming correct. The Green Hornets
ripped through a full on rock set that got the crowd dancing. Dancing,
I said. Not moshing, not doing the head bounce routine, or the more
fresa approach: act like you are too cool to care they are playing
even though you are paying to be there. No, as with the city, this
crowd was alive, and the Hornets honed in and gave the kids what
they wanted. It was so nice to see live music again.
 After
the Green Hornets finished, the hooting and hollering let them know
it was a job well done. Then confusion reigned as the best-dressed
roadies of all time took the stage. At first they looked like they
were the next band, as the sheer amount of equipment being step
up would require a band of at least five. But then the White Stripes
made a brief side stage appearance and the jig was up, and the cheering
began.
In the world of rock comparisons, the White Stripes are a two-person
Who. It is quite frankly unbelievable that so much sound emits from
the White Stripes, even with Meg White’s minimalist drums.
But between the explosions of Jack White, are these ever so well
performed silences, which really make this rock band for me. And
live and in charge, they showed they are not some studio-one-trick
pony. No, they were rock stars.
 They
blasted through the classics, bridging each song to form a long
train of rock, and the crowd was on board, rocking like a lion in
cage. From playful Spanish to dramatic build ups from a single tap
on a kettle drum, the White Stripes have the ability to build layers
and emotions till at the exact right moment Jack White explodes
the song, himself and the crowd along with it. Rock show.
Then came the obligatory wait for the encore. Here’s a tip
for the unseasoned, if they don’t turn off the monitors, stick
around. And if the band hasn’t played their radio hit yet,
even more reason. But the crowd was cheering its nuts off to begin
with and the song 7 Nation Army soon had everyone just plain jumping.
Then magic happened.
It wasn’t ironic, satiric, or anything, but the crowd started
chanting that guitar lick that will stick in your mind for days
afterwards. For a performer in a foreign land, they must love nights
like this. And so Jack took the crowd’s lead, slung his guitar
over his shoulder, and belted out the rest of the song as the crowd
provided the melody. It was hot. Even hotter than all the insanely
cute make-out-club-indie rock girls of Guadalajara packing the place.
So if you ever get the hankering for live Rock, though a bit farther
than other locales in central Mexico, the scene here might be closer
to an aficionado’s heart. And said heart will more than likely
be broken at the sight of those ojitos tapatios, even if they are
all gazing lovingly at Jack White.
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