Houston Chronicle - 10 years page 4

How I learned to stop worrying and love the Tejano princess
By JOEY GUERRA
Copyright 2005 Houston Chronicle

In the early '90s, my father and I didn't agree on a lot, musically speaking.

I was a senior at Milby High School, and my pop-tastic cassette player spilled the sounds of Mariah Carey, U2, En Vogue and rap intellectuals Arrested Development.

I had little use for the Spanish-language and the Tejano music my father preferred, though I could hardly avoid it. Dad would blare his favorite radio stations and artists — including Mazz, Emilio and Roberto Pulido — from the small stereo atop the washing machine in the kitchen.

We'd often get into heated arguments over my decidedly American musical tastes. My father, a U.S. resident born in Mexico, couldn't understand why I shunned the music he loved so passionately.

Selena changed that.

Dad had been a fan of the Tejano princess for years, but I was too wrapped up in my own music choices to take notice. His record collection included her ambitious early recordings (Mis Primeras Grabaciones, Alpha, Munequito de Trapo) on the Freddie and Manny labels.

My introduction to Selena's brand of Tejano pop came with Entre a Mi Mundo (Enter My World). That album included Selena's first international hit, Como la Flor, as well as future classics La Carcacha and Si La Quieres.

Something about Selena piqued my interest, something about the modern spin she and brother A.B. Quintanilla III put on Tejano music. It was hip and fun, but Selena y Los Dinos' music also held a deep respect for the musical genres it was updating so effortlessly.

I asked my dad to pick up a copy of Entre a Mi Mundo for me during one of his routine weekend trips to a nearby record store. I remember sitting on the living-room floor, excitedly tearing off the plastic wrap and entering Selena's world.

The first time I saw Selena perform on television, I was enamored of her rich, velvety voice, her smooth dance moves and her million-dollar smile. She seemed to love what she was doing and the effect it had on people.

I was hooked. I snapped up every Selena CD as soon as it was released, including 1993's Grammy-winning Live disc and 1994's career-defining Amor Prohibido, the last album issued before her death in 1995.

Onstage, Selena was alternately girlish and sexy, passionate and funny, inspiring and humble. She made every moment count, whether she was anchoring the revolving Astrodome stage in front of 66,000 screaming vaqueros or crooning for a few dozen dancing couples at a neighborhood bar.

Her sparkly, suggestive outfits gave her the look of a chic urban diva, but Selena's down-to-earth persona was her most glittering trademark. She'd don the occasional cowboy hat plucked from the head of a fan, and often she would bring a sheepish male admirer onstage for an impromptu serenade.

During one late-night club show, Selena joked endlessly about the headset microphone she was trying out for the first time. She pretended to be a drive-through cashier at a Whataburger ("Can I take your order?") and made silly sound effects that had the crowd laughing.

But Selena's defining moment came during her 1995 rodeo performance at the Houston Astrodome. From the time she stepped onstage in that now-immortal purple jumpsuit, the mood was electric. Selena's hair cascaded beautifully down her shoulders, and her 1,000-watt smile lit up the entire arena.

Selena is still in heavy rotation in my CD player, just as she is in my heart. She opened the door for me to appreciate Latino music.

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