Nicolás Lell Benavides’ familial and local ties to New Mexico form the basis of his strong perspective and voice on Canto Caló (Oct. 10, Aerocade Music). The composer’s concise, witty and heartfelt debut album pays homage to his home state and his grandparents, who also called New Mexico their home. Across the album, a focus on perspective unites the two multimovement works, which both feature changes in point-of-view and time period as core aspects.
The title work for mezzo-soprano and string quartet uses point-of-view as an organizing and expressive device more directly. The five songs each feature different text sources, including a common nursery song, original lyrics by Benavides and mezzo-soprano Melinda Martinez Becker, and a poem by Benavides’ grandfather. Canto Caló (“I sing Caló/Caló Songs”) refers to the language created by the Pachucos, which combines elements of Spanish and English. Pachucho culture has since moved beyond its origins with the Chicanos of the Southwestern United States known for their Zoot Suits, becoming a national movement.
“El Zapatero” and “Bueno” are light and comedic, and both explore a familial tie: Becker’s grandmother and Benavides’ grandfather, respectively. “Bueno” especially demonstrates Benavides’ skill as a lyricist; the track pairs Pachuco rhyming idioms and phrases with a remembrance of his grandfather, who used to answer “bueno” as a catchall response.
“Canción de Guerra” takes a more serious turn with transparent and simple, yet slightly uncanny and haunted textures in the strings. Becker delivers a highly expressive but controlled delivery of a poem by Benavides’ grandfather, who served in the Korean War. This text is stirring, though also ambiguous and troubling at points. The speaker writes about duty to race and country, as he tries to maintain a sense of confident objectivity, even while mired by its own absurdities when he is subjected to the draft and war.
“Ni el cielo” is concise and clear, but also shining and dense. The beauty of this gem-like song is in its subdued character, which creates a feeling of wonder through its concision. The final song is much more rhythmic and extroverted as Benavides seeks to express the “spirit” of New Mexico through a character that draws inspiration from his grandparents. This brightness takes on more aggressive dimensions during a series of phrases each beginning with “Me gusta.” The music breaks down around the repetition, and ultimately, a warm and content affect is found in the closing.
Named after New Mexico’s state bird, Benavides’ string quartet El Correcaminos uses the roadrunner as an organizing thread. Perspective plays a large role in the work: each movement portrays the roadrunner as seen by groups of people who came to New Mexico at different times: the Americans who travelled West in the 19th century, the Mexicans (and Spanish) who settled there before, and the Hopi peoples who were the land’s caretakers before colonization — and finally, in the fourth movement, how Benavides “imagine[s] the roadrunner thinks of itself.”
Trills and pointillistic textures begin “Chapparral Bird,” building into evocative gestural soundscapes from which melodies slowly emerge. At first tentative, these melodies become more wild and expressive, gradually incorporating glissandi and resonant harmonies that bring to mind fiddle and mandolin playing. The movement also invokes Bartók’s harmonies and Copland’s melodic writing. The second movement is more lively, beginning with hand percussion on the bodies of the string instruments, which speed up gradually and transition into a pizzicato-based section. Eventually, the writing becomes more lush, with up-beat melodic material appearing with uneven, shifting rhythmic patterns and structures.
The third movement, “Tadai” is very focused; short phrases repeat and iterate with slight variation, like a spiral tracing out from its center. Benavides delicately balances the individual affects of these contrasting phrases, each one subtly intensifying the expression of the others while cultivating a distinctive and compelling soundworld. The harmony is also particularly beautiful, with configurations of symmetrical note groupings that have a certain fragmented stability. The performance by the Friction Quartet (who are heard throughout the album) is astounding, and particularly admirable for its patience and delicacy of expression, which heightens and refines these qualities of the music.
“Cyx” draws material from the three previous movements, aiming to show the multiplicity of the roadrunner through this ability to be so much to so many different peoples. Sometimes previously heard sections and textures are arranged sequentially, while at other times, they are layered atop each other, or recombined and intermingled. Friction Quartet does an excellent job of creating a sense of anticipation and momentum, ultimately fulfilled by soaring melodic lines and the return of hand percussion on instruments. This orchestrational style, often used in string quartet arrangements of pop songs, undercuts the moment a bit with its generic feel, but the effect is still involving and moving.
One of Benavides’ biggest strengths is his sense of perspective and individual voice, and his music is at its very best when he leans into this ability, such as in “Tadai.” This is slightly dampened at points when cliche elements become too apparent, but this is ultimately only a minor detraction from this wonderful album. Overall, Canto Caló is deeply moving, and the love and attention Benavides and his collaborators have for New Mexico and its people is irresistible.
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