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BlazeRadio’s Alyssa Mitchell spoke with the indie rock band ‘Bremen’ about their upcoming tour and new EP and what its like to be a local band in Birmingham.

TERLINGUA, Texas — Most bands are known more for their music than for their name. This is not one of those bands.

Meet the P(ASTERISK)(ASTERISK)ches Gringos — four “white guys” from far West Texas who have ignored repeated suggestions to embrace the politically correct times and pick a more respectable band name. After all, “P(ASTERISK)(ASTERISK)ches Gringos” is derogatory Mexican street slang that essentially means, well, something along the lines of “Damn Gringos.”

“After being called ‘p(ASTERISK)(ASTERISK)che gringo’ by so many, so often and in so many ways,” quipped lead singer Ted Arbogast, 57, “the name just stuck.”

The Gringos know their name raises eyebrows — “shock value,” they say — but they won’t have it any other way. They concede that their name and music may not sit well in cities like Dallas, San Antonio or even liberal-minded Austin.

Their specialty is Mexican music, particularly corridos — folk songs — and cumbia.

And at a time when the Texas-Mexico border and the issues it represents — illegal immigration, drug trafficking and violence — are highly politicized, the Gringos say they are reminding people that for many, band members included, the border remains a “helluva of a place to live.”

Terlingua sits in the shadow of Big Bend National Park, with its brilliant blue skies and deep canyons, a rugged region known for its natural beauty and the quirkiness of its residents.

“People here have a sense of humor,” said Mike Davidson, the band’s guitarist and executive director of Brewster County Tourism Council. “You have to laugh, or otherwise you go crazy with the way the border is portrayed by the 24-hour news folks and conservative commentators.”

The “four white guys” from Terlingua, as Arbogast describes his mates, have been jamming for more than 15 years. Through their music and humor, they blur the lines of difference between two countries, breaking down stereotypes by playing Mexican music and poking fun at themselves and those around them.

“Why do I like playing Mexican music?” said Davidson. “For no other reason than that I love the music and it’s what I grew up listening to. It’s part of who I am.”

The Gringos don’t travel much outside their “comfort zone” of the Big Bend region, and outsiders might not know what to make of their mix of traditional Mexican music and mainstream pop.

“We’re uncomfortable, and folks are uncomfortable, too,” explained bass player Laird Consitine Considine, a state park ranger and environmentalist originally from Dallas. That’s because in other Texas cities, and even in New Mexico, folks seem to take themselves too seriously, he said, waiting for “midnight before they’re lubricated enough to dance.”

“In Terlingua,” Davidson added, “’self-conscious’ is not in the vocabulary.”

The band’s fourth member and drummer, George Womack, is a mechanic and a former percussion player for the Houston Symphony. Arbogast, the singer, is a music teacher originally from Tucson, Ariz.

The Gringos are especially popular during holidays, whether it’s Day of the Dead, Christmas or New Year’s Eve.

On a recent Saturday night, painted with a full moon, the band performed at an event staged by Juan Manuel Casas to celebrate the release of his book, “Federico Villalba’s Texas: A Mexican Pioneer’s Life in the Big Bend,” a memoir of his great-grandfather. Casas was joined by more than 40 family members and friends from across the country.

Asked what his great-grandfather would think of the Gringos, Casas grinned and said, “I’m sure he’d laugh, and he’d be amazed by the melding of the cultures and how far we’ve come.”

Inside the historic Starlight Theater, with its pink adobe walls, towering beams and hanging disco ball, Mexicans and Anglos happily coexisted on the sweaty dance floor. The Gringos played “Y Volver Volver,” a slow, soulful ballad of longing to return. The sadder the song, the happier the dancers seemed to be.

The band played on, morphing from Mexican norteno music to the Beatles’ “I Feel Fine” and turning the dance floor into a sea of uninhibited revelry. A blond woman dressed in black covered her face with a red devil’s mask and danced with abandon. A lanky Anglo man in a colorful tie-dyed T-shirt, long shorts and red cap danced with three Mexican-American women from three different generations.

Patti Pena, a dental hygienist from Plano, Texas, said people around her “started snickering” when she mentioned the band’s name. “I had no idea what the name meant, and when I was told, I was, well, surprised.”

Her husband, Martin Pena, a retired federal agent, described the Gringos as “very enjoyable, and fun to watch and dance to.”

Ismael Pena, 37, who works at a ranch across the border in the state of Chihuahua, wore a black cowboy hat, a belt with a giant buckle and a big grin. He tapped his pointy boots to the music. “They’re the real thing because they play with heart,” he said of the band.

The Gringos played “Stairway to Heaven,” a song that only in Terlingua transitions seamlessly to “Contrabando y Traicion,” a corrido about drug smuggling and betrayal. Dancers flooded the floor again, waving their arms and kicking their heels.

(MCT)