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If there's one mariachi you need to know in New York right now, it’s probably Alvaro Paulino Jr., a fifth generation New Yorker who has performed at weddings, funerals, quinceñeras and even divorce parties (the art form is versatile like that). Paulino has redefined what mariachis can aspire to by performing at monumental venues from Radio City to Madison Square Garden and St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
Now, as we enter an era in American history that has doubled down on its hostility towards immigrants, his mission has taken newfound importance: Not only to educate New Yorkers about the art form, but also to bring joy to New York’s Mexican community.
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Paulino’s father migrated to the U.S. in the 1970s, where he became a mariachi pioneer on the East Coast at a time when you couldn’t so much as find jalapeños at a grocery store. When Paulino was growing up in Brooklyn, he was the only Mexican student at his school, and he’d attend picture days dressed in a full mariachi fit to represent the culture.
Paulino wants people to understand that although mariachi is a form of entertainment, it’s also a creative outlet that blends indigenous, European and African musical traditions. Mariachi music often served as an emotional valve in Mexico’s smaller towns, where tradition prevented men from fully expressing their emotions. There’s a real weight to mariachi, and you don’t just wear a mariachi suit as a costume—you have to earn it, Paulino says, by getting professional training.
Mexicans’ ties to mariachi music comes from hearing it everywhere. It’s the music usually played at weddings, big barbecues and even funerals. For Paulino, the music brings hope and nostalgia to New York’s Mexican community, many of whom are terrified about the current administration’s actions—so much so, that the vibe of neighborhoods like Corona, Queens are shifting because some are too afraid to leave their homes. “We have to work as a big family and as a big team,” Paulino tells Time Out New York. Recently, he’s been playing his music at protests and rallies because sometimes, words just aren’t enough.
Right now, Paulino says, he wants his music to serve as a bridge, “for people of Mexican heritage who aren’t able to travel to Mexico because of their legal status or other reasons.” He also teaches mariachi at New York University, and he sees a responsibility to dispel some of the misconceptions people have around it. “People have big stereotypes, the first thing they think of is a big Mexican with a mustache and a tequila bottle under a cactus,” he says. “When I put on a mariachi suit, I want them to respect me just as they would someone wearing a navy suit. It’s not a party outfit, it’s something powerful, and it connects me to my ancestors.”
Growing up, Vicente Fernandez’s “Volver Volver: played at every family function I can remember. In the song, Fernandez recounts a humiliating heartbreak. Dispersed by his own agonizing screams, he confesses: “I know how to lose, I know I lost, and I want to go back to you.”
It's the opposite of a hot girl anthem—it’s a down bad ballad. There are emotions in the song that might be described as “cringey” in today’s terms. Through that vulnerability, though, you reach catharsis: a realization that if you can hurt so bad you want to die, you can love just as hard, too. For a community that has faced a lot of hardship, untethered expression is both a form entertainment and survival. Italians have the opera. Americans have Broadway. Mexicans will always have mariachi.