MUSIC REVIEW : Songs With Message on Fiery Night

On Friday, following the explosion of racial tensions in Los Angeles, when some San Diegans still were afraid to go out, Mexican-American singer/satirist Lalo Guerrero used more subtle methods to address ethnic injustices.

Armed only with a guitar, Guerrero held a sparse audience hostage for 90 minutes of relentless humor at the Centro Cultural de la Raza in Balboa Park. A mere nine of 50 advance ticket holders showed up, the result, concert promoter Ruben Seja guessed, of fear of the spread to San Diego of the violence plaguing Los Angeles in the wake of the Rodney King jury verdict.

At 75, Guerrero is lovable, full-bellied and grandfatherly. Dressed nattily in an outfit that included a white dinner jacket and white shoes, he looked more like a retired golf pro than a serious social commentator.

But Guerrero is a solid musician who has enjoyed a long and varied career. He has acted for films and television, had an American hit with his 1955 song “Pancho Lopez” and had four of his 1940s songs about Chicano “zoot suiters” used in the 1979 musical, “Zoot Suit.”

Guerrero plucked his guitar nimbly and sang in a full-bodied voice, mariachi style, while he keeping steady time with one tapping white shoe. He’s not an especially gifted composer, but good enough to serve his own purposes. His sophomoric lyrics are sometimes set to the melodies of familiar popular songs.

Climbing atop a stool that rested on a raised platform, surrounded by bleachers that held maybe 35 people, Guerrero launched his set with “Cancion Mexicana,” his song that became a Mexican anthem after singer Lucha Reyes recorded it in 1941. After a few more straight songs in Spanish, including “Tucson,” a folksy homage to his home town (“It may sound like so much corn/But I’m glad that I was born/In old Tucson”), Guerrero moved into a political mode and sang in English.

He repeatedly urged his largely Hispanic audience to register and vote. With his “Chicano National Anthem,” he called for his people to “Wake up!/Let’s get involved/No more manana syndrome,” and encouraged the young to stay in school and use their minds to move up in society.

Guerrero’s humor cuts across cultural boundaries. One of his songs pokes fun at politician Gary Hart for his Donna Rice dalliance. Another ponders the implications of a Jesse Jackson presidency: Lola Falana as secretary of state? Steve Wonder and Arsenio Hall in charge of protocol? Diana Ross on the “court supreme?”

None of the current crop of presidential candidates pleases Guerrero.

“Tsongas is no longer among us,” he said, comparing the faded candidate to Elmer Fudd. Jerry Brown was a “dud.” Clinton had Hart-like troubles with Janet Flowers and “Bush won’t get off his tush.”

So, “when it comes time to vote, just note ‘None of the above,”’ Guerrero joked.

His song “No Chicanos on TV” addresses the shortage of Mexican-American actors in prime roles.

Another song, to a familiar tune, advises: “Mexican mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be busboys / Don’t let them pick lettuce or other crops.” Instead, he counsels them to keep their children in school and groom them to become doctors, lawyers and other sorts of professionals.

At his age, Guerrero comes from an era when it was common for men to view women as sex objects, and to make fun of gays (as in his song, “The Gay Ranchero”).

Nonetheless, the crowd seemed to enjoy Guerrero’s version of Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson’s “To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before,” which documented some sexual conquests but ended on a self-deprecating note: “I got the grannies / I’d like to say I want some more / But I just can’t cut it anymore / Since I turned 64.”

Except for emotional homage to mothers and to Mexican-Americans scorned by both native Mexicans and Americans, Guerrero sustained his silly momentum through the end of his set with songs that recalled how he stalled his car on a San Francisco hilltop “I Left My Car in San Francisco”) and paid homage to that staple of the Mexican-American diet, the tortilla.

Guerrero may come off in concert as a light-hearted troubadour, but his off-stage actions show his genuine commitment to social causes. During the 1950s, he often traveled through the northern states during the harvest season, playing his music for Mexican-American farm workers. Among his best-selling recordings are several children’s albums that encourage young listeners to live cleanly and do their homework. Last week, he gave a free concert for some 900 children from Tijuana orphanages.

While his approach to social evolution is more acceptable to most people than last week’s violence in Los Angeles, one sad reality rang true on this emotionally charged night: During his whole career, Guerrero has never attracted the widespread attention that Los Angeles rioters gained in only a few days. It’s too bad that good art doesn’t have the same impact in America as gunfire, burning and beating.