Lamentably I never got the chance to fully understand the mystique behind Jenni Rivera before a plane crash took her life on December 9th. In order to least make some attempt to try and connect with both her spirit and the audience that watched her on television, bought her albums, and flocked to her concerts I gave a listen to "La Misma Gran Senora" ("The Same Great Lady"), her compilation album. It pains me to say that, while in the regional Mexican community an artist who unleashes her anguish in service of articulating the madness of romantic entanglements may be a novel, even groundbreaking concept, to more discriminating audiences such as myself, it wears thin even when I don't require lyric translation to figure out what she's in distress about. What you'll find in abundance on this album are all the earmarks of classic norteno music. By this I mean accordions that get such a generous piece of the action it would make Weird "Al" Yankovic envious, zestful horn fills including the tuba, an instrument that doesn't get much love outside of a polka concert or a marching band assemblage, and bass guitar. A picture is created but trouble is once the dots are connected the completed masterpieces grow old fast. Now that I've pieced together the connective tissues I'd like to explore to greater detail the vocal stylings, if that's what you or I choose to call them, of Jenni Rivera. On the plus side the fervor with which she tackles love affairs she's glad to be rid of, drinking to help forget the love affairs she's glad to be rid of, and her pretty open-ended criterion for obtaining a true love that may or may or not morph into one of those love affairs she's glad to be rid of are actually quite convincing. One thing about norteno is the artists involved inhabit an impenetrable world of their own once the mike's focus is on them. I must say the horn section intros to such interchangeable fare like "Por Que No Le Calas" ("Why Do Not You") "Que Me Vas a Dar" ("What Will You Give Me If I") and "No Vas a Creer" ("You Will Not Believe") left me with the uneasy conclusion that I was hearing the same song treading down three different yet not totally unrelated pathways. Jenni's cries of anguish, though within her artistic license rights, didn't raise my appreciation level either. I mentioned Jenni's a whiz with a pity wallowing drinking song. "Hermano Amigo" ("Brother Friend") is what I was alluding to. Just a yarn about two people sitting together and commiserating. In the country music world that's called "What happened to me last Tuesday". In norteno that sort of contemporary theme gets you noticed. My apologies for needing to tip my uninitiated hand but here in the music appreciation blogosphere we're all pals, right? Hot on the heels of a scorching accordion "La Misma Gran Senora" ("The Same Great Lady"), in addressing the same theme of how a woman doesn't need a man on her arm to both survive and thrive in this world, destroys any momentum that preternaturally animated instrument gave her. When you're dealing with a subject that English language songstresses running the gamut from Annie Lennox to Kelly Clarkson have already covered and left their own special imprint on them you, even if you've got the novelty of being a regional Mexican artist in your corner, need to seek out a way to make your version of the weather worn theme stand out. There's nothing about this song that would make me want to give it multiple listens. It's not necessarily Jenni's fault. Even the best of the lot of recording artists can be weighed down by lead balloon material. If you can't turn a sow's ear into a silk purse you have to start questioning your product supplier. I can't say I feel the same sadness about posting this negative review as I do reflecting on the abbreviated life of Jenni Rivera. As contemporary vernacular would say the girl had it going on. Bottom line this go round is "La Misma Gran Senora" ("The Same Great Lady") fails to produce "musico inolvidable" ("unforgettable music").
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