‘La Vida Loca’ Is Catchy, but Nothing to Go Crazy Over

All month I couldn’t hide from Ricky Martin, the media monster.

He appeared on my TV almost every night. I’d go to sleep and there he was again when I awoke the next morning. He stared at me from the front page of my own newspaper. And his chiseled mug with that dimpled chin smiled at me (wickedly, I maintain) from the cover of Time magazine, which used his success to announce, “Latin Music Goes POP!”

Last week, the blitz on this boy became unbearable. Ricky Martin on “Access Hollywood.” Ricky Martin on “Good Morning America.” Ricky Martin on Jay Leno and every local newscast I turned to.

One night, I went out with a group of friends for dinner. Blessed relief, no media around. We sat on an outside patio overlooking the water, warmed by heat lamps and the hot music playing in the background. One particularly appealing number infiltrated my subconscious, making me sway to its irresistible rhythm--until the shouted chorus snapped me to my senses.

Upside, inside out/She’s livin’ la vida loca.

Oh, horrors! I was digging the damn song. What the devil is happening to me?

My teenager later helped calm my panic. Miguel, 17, listens to hard-core hip-hop, but even he admits being seduced by the smash from the ex-member of Menudo, the Latino teeny-bop group.

“It’s not that bad if you just take it for what it’s worth,” said Miguel, obviously wise for his age.

I’ve trusted my son’s musical taste since he was a toddler. He was 2 when I took him to a Menudo concert that I reviewed for The Times. Miguel fell asleep amid the pandemonium, an apt commentary on the show’s merits.

But my son was also raised on Los Van Van and Ruben Blades, salsa for connoisseurs. So he knows the real stuff when he hears it. And to him, Ricky Martin doesn’t sound Latin.

“No, not at all,” said Miguel. “They tried giving it a little Latin spice, but it’s just pop music. It’s, like, the stuff little girls like ‘cause he’s cute.”

So what’s all the fuss about this crossover business? Record industry mavens are talking about Martin like he’s the second coming in Latin music. His breakthrough is hailed as a cultural watershed, a sign of greater acceptance for Latin artists in the United States.

Now I’m falling asleep.

People said the same thing when Julio Iglesias caused a crossover furor 15 years ago. The warbling Spaniard switched to English, teamed up with Willie Nelson, produced palatable pop ditties and the public ate it up--for 15 seconds.

Julio’s crossover star burned out like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

Let’s face it. The American pop mainstream finds it hard to accept other cultures on their own terms. The outside artist must almost always conform to American tastes or be marginalized. Music must pass through a mass-market blender, filtering out ethnic character and foreign meanings.

But it’s a one-way deal. Latin American audiences have always embraced U.S. artists, culturally intact and in English.

Julio made the crossover compromise, as did the Fania All Stars, Sergio Mendes and Gloria Estefan. The problem is, artists can’t avoid suppressing their Latino soul when they discard their Spanish, so uniquely tailored to both their sentiments and their rhythms.

Not surprisingly, crossover artists rarely have anything profound, perceptive or poetic to say in their songs. Estefan wants everybody to do that conga; Julio croons about all the girls he’s loved before; and Gerardo (remember him?) brags about being so rico, suave. On Leno on Wednesday night, Martin used a song title from his new CD to make an aside to a half-naked dancer: “Shake your bon-bon, baby.”

Sound like dumb stereotypes to you? In the language of crossover, Latin artists are always sizzling, hot and hip-swinging. The public rarely meets more complex artists who are concerned, sensitive or just smart. Too tough to translate.

In his crossover persona, Ricky Martin preserves even less ethnic identity than that other Caribbean Ricky, the one who loved Lucy. At least Ricky Ricardo held onto his African drum, despite being ridiculed for singing to Babalu, the god of miraculous recoveries.

I’m not blaming Ricky Martin. He’s huge, as Miguel puts it, and more power to him. But let’s not pretend his success is a boon to Latin music. Mostly, it’s good news for music companies whose mission is commerce, not culture.

To me, “Livin’ La Vida Loca” is simply the “Watermelon Man” of the 1990s, for those who remember Mongo Santamaria’s crossover hit of the 1960s.

“Pretty soon,” I told Miguel, “you’re going to get tired of that Vida Loca song.”

“I’m gettin’ there,” he said.

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Agustin Gurza’s column appears on Tuesdays. Readers can reach Gurza at (714) 966-7712 or [email protected]