Climbing the Banda ladder, rung by rung

Last month, my wife and I were visiting Oaxaca, Mexico. We were strolling down the main pedestrian street early one evening and saw a poster advertising Banda la Flor (from Michoacan, I think) at 10 in a nearby bar.

Live Banda! This is what I'd been dreaming of. Banda is the Mexican version of the New Orleans Brass Band, a roving group of about a dozen musicians, brass, winds, and percussion. We had to go.

We return around 9:30 that evening and sit in the dusk on the steps of a nearby church and watch people go by until it's time to go to the bar. Suddenly, we hear Banda wafting from up the street. Down they come, marching along. A guy with them (presumably with the bar) stops in front of us with a tequila bottle in one hand, a shot glass in the other.

"Quieres un trago? Gratis!" (Want a shot? It's free!)

Free tequila imbibed, we follow the Banda parade into the bar, with high hopes of a big crowd and a great night.

Well, Banda la Flor was sensational. But the bar was dead. To make matters worse, the singer's mic wasn't working, so he had to stretch a cord that only went to the stairs, high above the band - he sang his heart out in the dark.

Later, that night, I asked a bar owner what the deal was. He said all the real Banda places are up in the northern suburbs. And anyway, this is a young band just trying to break into the Banda scene. Like with garage bands in the U.S., you gotta start gigging every night, no matter who shows up, no matter how good you are.

So tip a glass and enjoy Banda la Flor. Sorry, though, no free tequila shots.