What did you listen to this weekend? Sara Rubin here, touching back down to reality after three days at the Monterey Jazz Festival, a celebration of a distinctly American genre, and also attending yesterday’s sixth annual Oaxaca by the Sea celebration in Seaside.
The latter is a celebration of the heritage of a region in another country, yet it also felt truly American. That this country opens its doors to immigrants and that those immigrants—and their American-born children, grandchildren and beyond—commit to keeping cultural heritage alive reflects the diverse composition of our communities. These stories and practices (dance, music, parades, festivals) are not ignored, but shared openly.
Seaside’s Evelyn Escamilla, who had been crowned Diosa Centeotl for 2026 (something approximating Miss Oaxaca for Northern California), spoke about that heritage. Addressing parents, she said in Spanish, “I want to give thanks to you for leaving behind your roots, and also for teaching us about our roots, the dances and the music…My message to the youth is, pursue your dreams, but never forget where you come from.”
After two days at the Jazz Festival, I was primed for this theme that we contain multitudes, and so do our cultural and musical traditions. On Saturday night, MJF’s commission artist, Meshell Ndegeocello, played a potent hour-plus-long set that captured some of her ethereal themes (“They′re calling me, back to the stars / Deep outer space / I can see, I can hear you, I can touch, I can feel you / I can hear you,” she sang in “Virgo”).
But she also performed a lot of music about more tangible reality. Collaborator Justin Hicks sang the opening track from their 2024 record No More Water: The Gospel of James Baldwin that sounds like gasping for a chance in a world designed to suppress (“Now I go ahead just to see how long I can breathe,” he sang).
Before she picked up her bass for a stretch, Ndegeocello spoke about her complicated relationship to the U.S. military, in which her father served for 30 years. “It made our lives better, but at the same time, [they] have issues,” she said.
In so many ways, she captured that essence of contradictions, including in her commission piece themed around America at 250. As she sang her take on the National Anthem, I teared up (so did Senior Staff Writer Pam Marino, I learned later). She started with themes of anger and exclusion, building up lyrically to sing about belonging. Despite our isolating traits, she sang, “still, we are all a little human.”
I was deeply moved, especially as our country’s tradition of progress and openness is under direct attack. It felt like a song of resistance. So when I went the next morning to Oaxaca by the Sea, where the crowd sang the American National Anthem in English followed by the Mexican National Anthem in Spanish, I teared up again. This spirit of inclusiveness—of not only accommodating, but celebrating another heritage—is as American as it gets.