Described as "a post-modern
Last Poets meet Pérez-Prado, a Thelonius Monk meets Coco
Fusco and Lenny Bruce. Los Delicados embrace contradiction. They
have no problem giving props to Fidel Castro and Celia Cruz in
the same stanza. By throwing together words and references that
people don't normally encounter in the same context, they break
down dominant conceptions and force their audience to think for
themselves - to participate in the lo-cura by forming their own
associations and drawing their own conclusions. Theirs is a communal
poetics. They combine the subversive power of music, theatre,
and poetry into a new genre. And - as true sons and daughters
of the movimiento of the 60s and 70s - they have selected this
genre as their weapon of choice in a struggle to popularize under-represented
voices and challenge ideological structures." (Camille Taiara,
SF Bay Guardian)
Responsible for popularizing the Mission Libre as a drink of choice and described by Rene Yañez as a group that "will do anything in the street," Los Delicados chose the guayabera - the "old country tuxedo" - as their uniform "before guayaberas became, 'Ultra slick, swing kid!' ...because blood is thicker than water," explains Norman A. Zelaya.
It all began on a mild afternoon back in 1996, when Zelaya and a Chicano poet by the name of Darren J. de León stormed a hill at S.F. State and started throwing rhymes. Paul S. Flores joined their ranks a few months later, and thus Los Delicados were born.
The spoken word performance trio has been taking their act to "where it's needed most" and terrorizing unsuspecting audiences with their guerrilla "quantum poetics" ever since. As such, they form part of a new generation of Chicano/Latino cultural warriors who are picking up where their predecessors left off. Whereas artists like "Love and Rockets" comics creators los Bros. Hernandez, author/playwright Cherrie Moraga, border brujo performance artist Guillermo Gomez-Peña, and Culture Clash and Chicano Secret Service comedy troupes were pivotal in reconceptualizing Chicano/Latino identity as an amorphous hybrid, Generation Ñ is bent on exploiting its potential. They are combining the subversive power of music, theatre, and poetry into a new genre. And - as true sons and daughters of the movimiento of the 60s and 70s - they have selected this genre as their weapon of choice in a struggle to popularize under-represented voices and challenge the systems of thought that keep us down and relegates us to invisibility.
True to their vow to reintroduce trash-talking to poetry and credited with "introducing lucha libre as a lyrical form," Los Delicados believe that "quarantine words should be treated like the flu." Their aim is to "take poetry off the page, off the podium, and into the 21st Century" in a way that is both accessible and relevant to the youth of today. "Why you wanna box me up?" is a line they repeat over and again. Their act is a flurry of rhythm, motion, and in-your-face rhymes that would make Robert Frost roll over in his grave.
De León comes off as a crazed, late-night TV evangelist preaching revolution and the merits of a well-prepared Tecate-and-lime cocktail. A San Bernadino Chicano who supplements his income selling contraband Delicado cigarettes smuggled by the case from Tijuana, he explains that much of his creative process comes to him "through transportational meditation within a Crown Victoria." Zelaya -a Mission District Nicoya with the character of an Italian mafioso and the soul of an Orisha dancer- can often be found chewing on a fat cigar and reminding his peers of the days in the barrio "before green burritos ... and pathetic neo-hipsters chompin' on my nuts." Then there's Flores. A Chicano-Cuban former Minor League baseball player and ex-member of a San Diego-based punk band, Flores now throws curve balls with words.
Together, they're a post-modern Last Poets meet Pérez-Prado, a Thelonius Monk meets Coco Fusco and Lenny Bruce. They embrace contradiction. They discredit "making sense" because normalcy is a loaded notion. They have no problem giving props to Fidel Castro and Celia Cruz in the same stanza or laying out the basic principles of "mondongo physics." By throwing together words and references that people don't normally encounter in the same context, they break down dominant conceptions and force their audience to think for themselves - to participate in the lo-cura by forming their own associations and drawing their own conclusions. Theirs is a communal poetics.
Now, with four years of experience performing on the streets and in venues from the Bay Area to Southern California and New York, this self-ascribed "trinity" has come out with their first CD thanks in part to the graces of Calaca Press - an independent and, some would say, foolhardy outfit dedicated to recording and distributing neo-Chicano spoken word. Now all you've gotta do is strap on your seatbelts and hit the play button.
- Camille T. Taiara, October 2000