La Bamba, Música Jarocha, and the Musical Richness of México’s Caribbean Coast
By Lorenzo Covarrubias, PhD in Cultural Anthropology
Ever since the movie La Bamba premiered in 1987—focusing on the life, struggles, and tragic death of young Mexican-American rocker Ritchie Valens—many English speakers have come to associate this iconic son jarocho more as an “oldie but goodie” than as a cornerstone of Mexican folk tradition. Valens famously transformed La Bamba into a rock-and-roll hit in 1958, giving the song global reach far beyond its regional roots.
The version featured in the film was performed by Los Lobos, a versatile Los Angeles–based band. While already well known among Spanish-speaking and bilingual audiences, the movie catapulted them to international fame. By 1995, when they collaborated with Antonio Banderas on the soundtrack for the crossover hit Desperado, the band could only be grateful that La Bamba—both the song and the film—had firmly placed them on the English-speaking cultural map.
In México, three states are almost automatically linked to powerful musical traditions: Sinaloa with banda, Jalisco with mariachi, and Veracruz with son jarocho. People from Veracruz are also known as jarochos—a term they use for themselves and one recognized nationwide. Surprisingly, the word jarocho originally referred to a horseman or cowboy and is closely tied to Afro-Mestizo communities during México’s long colonial period under Spain (roughly 1521–1821). Because many cattle herders in Veracruz were of African descent, the term gradually became associated with the region as a whole, including its music.
Son jarocho exists in many forms, but one defining feature is its fast-paced style of playing and dancing. Energetic, intricate footwork is central, with the dancer’s body held mostly upright while the legs and feet carry the rhythm—somewhat reminiscent of Irish Riverdance, where movement is concentrated below the waist.
México’s Caribbean Coast is a hotbed of musical expression. Stretching from Tamaulipas along the U.S.–Mexico border all the way south to Belize and Guatemala, this region gave rise to many of the country’s tropical sounds, later blending with danzón, cumbia, and salsa. Veracruz sits at the heart of this musical convergence. Jarocho music, like most significant Latin American genres, is born from the fusion of three cultural roots: African, European, and Indigenous. The same blend underpins danzón in Cuba, cumbia in Colombia, merengue in the Dominican Republic, and tango in Argentina.
No other region in the Americas rivals the greater Caribbean in musical production. Beyond the famous islands—Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Hispaniola (shared by Haiti and the Dominican Republic)—the Caribbean cultural sphere also includes México, Central America, Colombia, and Venezuela. Baseball fans may recognize this shared identity through La Serie del Caribe, a tournament featuring champion winter-league teams from across the region. Now you know where the name comes from.
La Bamba is only one—albeit the most famous—of many son jarocho songs. Others, such as “Tilingo Lingo” or “El Querreque,” reveal the same infectious energy and cultural depth. The main instruments include two specially adapted guitars—the jarana and the requinto—alongside the Mexican harp, played standing up due to its size. Together, they create a sound that is unmistakably jarocho.
The lyrics often share a playful spirit, poking fun at life, politicians, lovers, the wealthy, and the working class alike. Double entendres are common, and during popular gatherings the verses can become lively, irreverent, and even racy. In folkloric performances, both men and women traditionally dress in bright white, accented with touches of color. Musicians frequently improvise new verses and are rewarded with enthusiastic applause for clever rhymes and creativity.
It is believed that La Bamba once had dozens of verses that have since been lost or replaced over time. Some scholars suggest the song may date back to the 17th century, or even earlier. The earliest known recordings come from the 1930s, by which time the song already existed in a more fixed form.
Unlike other major Mexican regional styles—often defined by iconic performers, such as Banda El Recodo for banda sinaloense or Mariachi Vargas for mariachi—son jarocho transcends individual artists. Musicians come and go, but the style endures and continues to thrive. It is, above all, music of the people. For this reason, el son jarocho—la música jarocha—will undoubtedly persist well into México’s musical future, with no end in sight, just as it should be.
