His phrase became proverbial: “As long as you don’t stop clapping, Chente doesn’t stop singing.” And so he sang for more than three hours for his lively audience. Public that, coinciding with the day of the Virgin of Guadalupe, raised him to the altar of the immortal idols of the ranchera song, where they are found – in order of disappearance – Jorge Negrete, Pedro Infante, Javier Solís and José Alfredo Jiménez, who they only lived 42, 40, 35 and 47 years respectively; Which compared to the 81 years that the charro lived from Huentitán, Jalisco, causes that the musical heritage that he leaves behind is more abundant than that of his predecessors.
(A parenthesis to remove the misogynistic stink from my column and mention Lucha Reyes (1906-1944) and Lola Beltrán (1932-1996), the two great female stars of Mexican song who are in the same basilica as the idols mentioned above. and that together with the ill-fated Lucha Villa (1936) form the third of queens of the ranchera song).
But today this space belongs to Vicente Fernández, who, like the tenor Don Pedro Vargas and the singer Gualberto Castro, died octogenarians without time diminishing the flow of their voices.
I don’t remember the year well, but it would be around 1973 or 1974 when I saw Vicente perform live for the first time. What I do remember very well is that it was at the Blanquita Theater and that in the middle of a song he left the microphone and, dispensing with it, he continued singing and his voice could be heard perfectly well in all the seats and even the last tier. To be honest, this time, while realizing that he was an outstanding artist, I didn’t like him at all. But he was polishing himself until he managed to sing with that tasty midtone with which he captivated us.
Before writing this column, I spoke with my good friend, the filmmaker Rafael Villaseñor Kuri, director of 20 of the 34 films that Vicente filmed, to find out his opinion of the singer as an actor. He told me that he was extremely respectful of the director. Despite being the star of the film, he never asked for an approach or a protective shot. You learned the whole script, not just its dialogues. With the technicians in addition to being kind during the filming, when he finished filming he would reward them financially with generosity.
The comedian Luis de Alba told me that when they were building a house for him in Guadalajara, he walked around the work to see how it was going. He was greeted by a bricklayer: Hi Luis, how are you? In the belief that he was an admirer, the “Pirruris” returned the greeting: Hello, how’s the job? The builder answered: It is hard. It’s just that I’m preparing for the movie. The worker chambeador was Vicente Fernández training himself to film “El Albañil” starring him and Manuela Torres, directed by José Estrada.
On one occasion we recorded with Vicente at the Rancho del Charro del Pedregal, the program “Nuevas Noches” with Talina Fernández, a television broadcast of which I was the director. With all due respect I made an indication to the charro to whom I spoke about you and said sir, which he did not like: Don’t tell me sir, tell me “Chente” and tell me about yourself. I do what you tell me.
Maybe he didn’t remember, but he and I met in 1975 at an Arieles delivery breakfast in Los Pinos. I went with Ricardo Carrandi. They invited us because we had held a film festival in Aguascalientes. They sat us next to Chente and María Elena Velasco “La India María”. Vicente confided in us that he would only eat fruit because he had a tendency to gain weight. In addition, they served us three tamales: one green, one white, and one red. The target, I think, was an eagle.
Writer and television scriptwriter
The Privilege of Opinion
Mexican television scriptwriter. Known for having made the scripts for programs such as Salad de Locos, La carabina de Ambrosio, La Güereja and something else, El privilegio de command, among others.
Reference-www.eleconomista.com.mx