My dream is set on a Sunday, it’s a warm sunny morning and I can’t sleep in because my cat decides to serenade the whole neighborhood demanding its brekkie. A few minutes after the kitty decides to go full blown boss-bitch on me, my alarm reminds me that it’s the glorious day Little Jesus and Caloncho play in La Phoenikera.

Bubastis, midnight crazies virtuoso.

I feel all excited and determined to make some delicious desayuno after attending to my imperious feline. I make chorizo waffles, a sunny side up eggie, some fruit salad, and a licuado de Chocomilk, all this while terrorizing my gentrified apartment complex blasting my Li’l J/Caloncho playlist. For some reason, I’m sharing my meal at Dobbins Lookout with friends in full drag gear. Don’t ask me why, that’s just how it works.

The details of the rest of the day are unclear: a kaleidoscope of images involving beaches, you and I echados al sol sin tu bañador; cuddling time with my furry companion and fellow night-crazies enthusiast; me reciting lyrics for the night’s show pa’ no quedarles mal.

It’s 6 p.m. I’m ready, all dolled up for the concert. I’m also frantically following Little Jesus’, and Caloncho’s Insta stories play by play as if it were a royal wedding. The show starts at 8:30 p.m. (the Facebook event says doors would open at 7:00).

A winged coyote flies me over to The Crescent Ballroom. Our city looks like a mockup from some movie, like the view when Ellitot flies over his town in E.T. or Adam’s in Tim Burton’s Beetlejuice. I’m uncharacteristically on time but Little Jesus’ set has already started, and I almost barfed thinking I got there late. La Maga plays in the background, and the person allowing my passage to the main stage takes her sweet ass time tying the wristband to my ankle.

As I walk in, I’m surprised that only around 100 people are there, including some furries, which is kind of strange given our desert heat. I realize that someone fucked up with the concert timing and people were still on their way to the venue probably because they think the show hasn’t started, and also because we’re latinxs and sometimes our sense of time exists in an alternate universe.

After my initial tantrum about the timing snafu and calculating how many songs I had missed, the music soothes me and takes me into a trance.

A few years ago I was in a similar astral state when I saw Little Jesus open for Bomba Estereo at The Fonda in L.A. They were all wearing white and people went bananas for their music.

This show is the shit! I’m feeling it; I’m dancing, singing, and enjoying the company of Phoenikerxs hungry for more acts like these (a new friend mentions Reyno, which I’m also a fan of and Costera).

La Magia, La Luna, and Trágame Tierra from their latest album Río Salvaje are part of the playlist. El chuycito puso las canciones and we were la magia.

Azul takes me by the hand to a more profound state, similar to what some Vampire Weekend jams induce me to. Something about those melodies and harmonies makes my inner child burst through my pores and yell “uuuu azul, azul, azul, se siente, se siente, se siente todo.” I’m singing even in between songs as if all of it was one celestial song composed to lose track of your miseries.

Pesadilla and Berlín are also played, I’m losing my shit and begin to fear that my energy Ievels could dwindle and become phlegmatic by the time Caloncho takes the stage. I underestimate my puro pinshi pari source of power. Note to self: never doubt your inner desmadroso.

Little Jesus gives us a good zarandeada, and after they’re done, I’m wandering around, asking people if they liked the set. I meet some interesting Phoenikera characters, and I even saw Karen O’ from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs making out with Marco Antonio Solis. N O J O K E.

A promoter, who always tells me that acts like these never make it in La Phoenikera because they’re unknown, was there standing in a corner, dripping hater juice, avoiding my satisfied glance. I yelled ‘I told you so’ from across the room, I’m known for getting high of off saying that to people, especially when I’m dreaming.

Caloncho is next, and the place is already packed except for the bleachers, which have a few people sitting. They must have confused this show for one at the MIM.

This dude’s tunes transports me to my pacheco ruts in San Carlos, Punta Chueca or any beachy place. His tropi-pop songs are like an eternal summer that warms up my Andean soul.

He played favorites from Fruta like Palmar, Chupetazos, Derroche and La Chora. Now, the aforementioned songs are baby-making anthems no doubt. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure a few are spontaneously getting preggers right now.

La Chora is a stoner hymn in my view, and thankfully I had a vape pen pa’ no romper la costumbre while I was screaming “la chora del gallo.”

Now we’re getting rolas like Bálsamo, Fotosíntesis, and Diario, which really attest to the showmanship and the evolution of this Sonoran crooner. Favorite summer band, check!

I can’t with my dream-life right now, Caloncho’s rendition of Day-O makes my heart trip on its beat, all of a sudden everyone in the venue (including the furries and Wynona), do the Beetlejuice bit. “Work all night on a drink a’rum, daylight come and we wan’ go home.”

This dream-like state lasts fewer blinks than than I expected. I know dreams are always fleeting, but I don’t want to wake up and face reality. I have to wake up to a reality in which acts like these typically don’t reach La Phoenikera or are trumped by nostalgia-rock and a lack of imagination.

Or maybe not. Wait, am I dreaming?

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