Far from NRMAL: A Day at the Monterrey Festival

Last time I came to Mexico was in the back of a pick up truck. We stayed with some friends in the valley that night and Javi said he’d drop us off at the border before Reynosa. Once we walked across the border, we were to wait at the Carl’s Jr. in Reynosa (first one you saw) and wait for our driver (who we did not know) to pick us up. A couple hours later, our driver did in fact pick us up and we spent the next three weeks having a wild ass time, huffing glue, defacing Mexican national monuments, and even had a quick foray into black magic. I have a feeling that my experience this time around is going to be very different.

Upon landing, I link up with my Mexican handler, Gaby. Gaby is a mix of Frida Kahlo and Ally Sheedy’s character from The Breakfast Club. She doesn’t drink due to an unknown medical issue and I don't feel like asking. Gaby speaks English and assures that she would help find me some weed. Along with Gaby, at the airport is a rag tag group of performing artists that are appearing at NRMAL, the Monterrey festival and my destination.

Noisey’s decision to send me down south was a logical one. My lust for life/go-getter attitude, coupled with my extensive Latino punk knowledge made me a shoe in for the gig. Although this fest wasn't exactly stocked with classic Mexican punk like Massacre 68 or Sedición and sadly no current rippers like Los Monjo or Crimen, there are bands I cannot wait to check out. One of them even has keyboards, and if I can find enough mescaline I might just go see one of ‘em.

Monterrey is in the desert. It's caught in the middle of gnarly Mexico and reeeeeaally reeeeeaally gnarly Mexico. It's a very industrial city. It's home to giant Mexican companies like Tecate and Cemex (cement company) and is the center of Mexico’s steel industry. It's loud and dirty, as you might imagine. Similar to border towns along the south coast of Texas, Monterrey is littered with the typical "pharmacy" and "dentist" signs you might see crossing Reynosa.

NRMAL is an international fest of the highest caliber. That being said, as a journalist flown in for the gigs, I have little-to-no info on the festival except for a link I found online providing a list of bands performing. Having spent the last couple years either running or attending music festivals non-stop, I think for NRMAL, I'm just going to find some grass, kick back, and potentially watch a band or two. Sure, I had to use YouTube to find out who most of the bands are, but so what? Big fucking deal. Most of y'all don't know jack shit either. It should be noted that the rest of the info I have is entirely in Spanish. Although I was formerly a resident of Barcelona, my Spanish is very, very limited due to no one ever teaching me and me never caring. Thank God my charm and blind-ass luck have carried me through this life (most likely several others) because Lord knows if left to my own devices, I wouldn't have made it to 30. And right now, it looks like I'm gonna see 31. Fingers crossed.

After a nice nap and a shower, a couple tacos, and a beer or two later, I'm corralled into a van with 20 other people. Some are Mexican and others are Australian and Columbian. The driver’s name is Omar. Only Spanish is spoken in the car. Well, Gaby did sing a Young Thug song the entire way, poorly. Actually, one Aussie is talking to our chaperone but I assume that's because he's trying to hit it.

We drive for what seems like forever and end up in a semi-posh neighborhood in San Pedro. San Pedro is not Monterrey, but is definitely Monterrey. From what I can tell, it’s a city inside a city. I'm once again corralled into a small courtyard full of smoke and Mexicans. I say "Mexicans" because we are in Mexico and they are in fact Mexicans. Gaby tells me to check out this band called "who the fuck knows" and I'm once again corralled into a concrete room filled with smoke machine vapor and more Mexicans. Some woman on stage is dressed like Gold Dust from WWF and her male (?) counterpart is hunched down over a laptop like a dork. When are people going to realize that hovering over a computer making music is pretty much like reading in a bar? Sure, it's allowed, but you look like an asshole.

One of the bands I met on the ride from the airport was Schiro Schwarz. Schwarz wears all black while his female counterpart, Shiro, wears all white. Schwarz was very tightly carrying a “keytar.” I ran into them several times throughout the day. Every time, I was greeted with a smile and peace sign which, although confused me, I did appreciate the hospitality albeit potentally misguided. Shiro Schwarz happened to be playing in one of the tiny concrete rooms Gaby dragged me into. They have a projector playing animation of the duo running around what seemed to be a crazy drug-induced Mexican video game. Schwarz was dressed like a pirate. He looked like a Mexican Captain Hook accompanied on stage by a tiny Mexican Tinkerbell. I did not hate their music at all. Sounded like a gayer Mexican Prince. Which is pretty tight.

I take some weird Mexican pill and next thing I know, it's 3 AM and I'm at some weird fancy dance club in San Pedro. I meet a bunch of Australians. They seem like nice enough guys, just out looking for a good time on a Thursday night in Monterrey. It reaches that point in the night when all I wanted to do is hit the hotel, but I'm out of pesos and feel I need to try and scam a ride back. It should be noted that House of Pain’s "Jump Around" is blaring at level 11 and people are losing their minds. A bunch of Mexicans and Aussies losing their minds to an Irish dude from Boston has me amused to no end. I find 100 pesos in my pocket, saw the Aussies were having a blast and I didn’t want to bother them so I just split on my own.

I wait out in front of “Peppers” for a bit and freeze my ass off in the process. Finally get a cab. Driver goes to the wrong hotel. However he goes out of his way to play Guns N' Roses’ “Don’t Cry" (banger) on the most archaic car stereo I may have ever seen. I find myself relaxed and just go with it even though the cabby is driving like a bat out of hell, ignoring all traffic signs. When we get to the hotel, he tries to fuck me out of a couple more bucks. We exchange a few words. I yell at a bell hop: “This guy's trying to rob me!” And the cab peels rubber to leave the scene with a quickness.

If you missed it, check out Logan's very helpful "Guide to Doing Drugs at SXSW" as well as his interview with John Joseph of Cro-Mags. He is on Twitter - @itsloganworrell