Balas y Chocolate – Bullets and Chocolate for Dia de Muertos
This weekend is Día de Muertos in Mexico (and in a few other countries too, especially in the USA). The days and nights are filled with music. In my town, a three-day festival features two music stages with constant programming and a parade with various bands, marching, and otherwise. Music ranges from the Led Zeppelin cover band Sol Remains to Mariachi Real Axixic, to Ballet Folklórico, to even a sitar concert.
Over the years, many songs and albums have been released to celebrate Día de Muertos; one of the best, in my opinion, is Balas y Chocolate (Bullets and Chocolate) by Lila Downs. The album reflects not only the Mexican culture of the dead returning to visit the living, but the duality of life – her life in particular. The songs feature heavy, devastating lyrics about violence, mortality, and political corruption, deliberately paired with cheery, high-energy rhythms like cumbia, mariachi, and Balkan brass delivered with relentless energy. Cheeky, full-on Lila Downs
The intensity of the album reflects the intensity of her life when it was written and assembled. The personal story behind Balas y Chocolate is deeply intertwined with her relationship with her late husband, Paul Cohen, an American jazz saxophonist, music arranger, and her lifelong artistic director. They were a team in every sense: for over 30 years, Cohen co-wrote her tracks, managed her career, produced her records, and directed her touring band. But right before work began on Balas y Chocolate in late 2013, Cohen was diagnosed with a severe, terminal heart condition and was put on a list for a heart transplant.
This affected Downs deeply. At one point, she said that death was suddenly “peeking through her window”. But instead of letting grief paralyze them, Lila and Paul chose to use the album as an emotional lifeline to process the bad news by defying sadness with the joy of Día de Muertos. Instead of the spooky laments of her earlier “La Llorona”, she produced an album with lively cumbia, brassy klezmer, and festive rhythms to literally dance in the face of death. In fact, one of the songs, Son de Difuntos (Song for the Dead), co-written by the couple, was directly inspired by Cohen’s illness, a sonic celebration of life, acknowledging that death is inevitable but should be met with music and irony rather than quiet defeat. Cohen danced in the face of death for several more years, but died in 2013 at the age of 69, triggering another album by Downs, her 2023 release, La Sánche .
Balas y Chocolate is made up of 13 songs, each unique, but all full of the duality and contrast of the Mexican philosophy of Dia de Muertos. The intro piece, Humito de Copal, is a haunting, ritualistic opening with voices in conversation that uses heavy brass and bongo percussion to summon the spirits. Mano Negra is a kind of frantic, ska-infused song of political corruption driven by a strong horn section and a relentless, accelerating beat by Paty Pinon and Yayo Serka. It turns righteous societal anger into an irresistible, high-energy dance track – you know, dancing at the demo.
The title song Balas y Chocolate blends upbeat cumbia rhythms with a dark, satirical laundry list of mortal dangers that captures the Mexican tradition of laughing directly in the face of death – the point of Dia de Muertos. It is followed by Una Cruz de Madera, a classic mariachi or Mexican party band anthem that rejects a fancy coffin and big reception in favor of a humble burial.
La Patria Madrina (featuring Juanes) is a protest anthem that explodes so much you want to look for the rock band behind the curtain. But in the lyrics, beyond he beat, is a passionate cry for a wounded homeland, one with pain and crime (it has changed a lot since she recorded this – Mexico is now the world’s 12th-largest economy and is building cars, developing AI tools, and exporting computers).
Las Casas de Madera is a melancholic, accordion-led ballad ( a neat trick) that offers a rare, stripped-back moment of vulnerability on the album. It provides a necessary, deeply moving emotional breath amidst the sonic chaos.
But the chaos continues with La Burra, a playful, chaotic folk track that relies heavily on traditional humor (in Spanish)and rapid-fire vocal delivery – almost rap. Son de Difuntos is a festive, carnival-like celebration of mortality co-written with her husband to dance away his diagnosis. It is the ultimate use of rhythm as a protective shield against grief. Dulce Veneno highlights Downs’ ability to sound entirely unhinged – which she does in parts of this song – yet completely in control of her voice, in a weird, jazz-infused ranchera that explores the intoxicating, destructive nature of heartbreak as only ranchera can. Viene la Muerte Echando Raserois is her scary, chilling folk piece that personifies Death as a grand equalizer riding through town with a sinister vocal delivery, making it a cinematic masterpiece.
Juan Gabriel is featured on the next song, La Farsante, a show-stopping, theatrical duet where two generations of Mexican music icons exchange playful vocal blows – but with love and a twinkle. The one really captures the camp of classic ranchera music, and I love it. It is followed by Cuando Me Tocas Tú, which is kind of a romantic lullaby that strips away the album’s loud brass to expose a soft, sensual intimacy. I think she included it as a beautiful, glowing tribute to the healing power of love amid personal hardship.
The album wraps up(slightly different arrangement of songs on various platforms) with A sweeping, dirge-like ballad, La Promesa that uses her deep, deep register to handle the themes of grief and long-term devotion. It is out of place, given the upbeat tempo and musical excitement of the rest of the album, but it does end it with a period.
I am sure when I parade in my Catrina face paint and charro costume tomorrow night, there will be many shops and houses along the way blasting out songs from this album. And the parade will turn into a moving dance party…which happens every year.
Patrick O’Heffernan
