Coco: The Remix
In which Hector and Miguel discover remixes of Hector's songs (both covers and as sung by de la Cruz). Miguel likes them. Hector does not.
AN: These one-shots operate under the common fanon idea that Miguel has become a medium as a result of his adventures in the Land of the Dead.
Usually it was Imelda who tended to be greatly irritated by rapidly advancing technology that was well after her time. Particularly since, in the Land of the Dead, it took a very long time for modern technology to gain acceptance and general use among the denizens of the afterlife. Whether that was due to the stubbornness of the elders, or the fact that it was only appropriate that the city run on "dead" technology, Hector couldn't say. All he knew was that when it came to music, he was in agreement with his wife on the subject of modern tech. The simpler, the better. An acoustic guitar was much more preferable to the fancy gadgets needed to operate all those electric instruments. Not that Hector couldn't appreciate the efforts younger musicians put into their work, but digital sound studios and electric riffs just weren't for him.
And where Hector usually agreed with his great-great-grandson on just about everything, electronic music tech was one subject on which they differed.
Miguel had been gifted a brand new smartphone for his 14th birthday, and it was through the device that he first introduced Hector to the internet, with its overwhelming worlds of YouTube, Spotify, Pandora and more. As much as Hector enjoyed the unique opportunity to interact with his grandson, especially outside of Dia de los Muertos, he found himself having to frequently cut off an enthusiastic Miguel as the boy rapidly flipped through a variety of songs faster than the poor skeleton could hope to keep up.
"When is the Land of the Dead gonna build some cell towers, anyway?" Miguel asked one day, on his way back to the dead Rivera home after a mission. "You guys could really use cell phones at least."
"Ehh, who knows?" Hector said with a shrug. "We've always done just fine without that kind of thing, so it'll probably be a while before anyone decides we need all that stuff. I mean, a few of the younger generations—the ones who really shouldn't be here in the first place—have some of that stuff, since they died with it on them. But they don't really use it much here."
"That's because this place has no wifi."
"No what-fi?" Hector raised a brow ridge at the foreign word.
"No wifi," Miguel repeated, holding up his phone to show his ancestor. "See that symbol that kind of looks like waves coming off of a dot? If I were connected to wifi, it wouldn't be grayed out like that. When I tap on it, it says there's no wifi available here."
"But you use that phone thingy to play music all the time while you're here."
"Yeah, but that's because most of my songs are downloaded onto my phone."
"I see," Hector said, half-mumbling. The truth was he didn't see; Miguel had tried to explain the concept of "downloading" to Hector before, but it always went over the elder Rivera's head. Hector had resorted to simply nodding and pretending he understood.
"There's some wifi that bleeds in from the living world if you get close enough to the crossing point," Miguel explained. "It's not fast enough to stream media content, so that's why I always wait until we're in the living world to show you. It's too bad you guys don't have wifi here. I could totally Skype with all of you!"
"What's Sky—oh, never mind," Hector began, interrupting himself to wave off the notion. He was tired after helping Miguel with his mission, and didn't feel like getting into a technical discussion. Besides, he knew Miguel would try to explain the idea to him in due time. "We're almost home, chamaco. Let's grab a bite to eat, then get you back to your own home."
As always, Miguel was warmly greeted by his deceased relatives upon entering the compound of the Rivera hacienda. He lingered with Mama Coco, the only relative present whom he had known in life, giving her a quick rundown of the mission he'd just completed.
"At least the policia are starting to believe me now," Miguel said. "But I'm glad they don't make me do creepy stuff, like look at dead bodies. They said I'm too young for that. But Chief Gallego told me I have a gift for forensic science. He said I should look into making it a career."
Coco grimaced. "Oh, Miguelito, I don't know what I think about you spending your life around crime scenes. They get so disturbing."
"You're telling me," Miguel said. "I don't get to see much of the crime scene at all, and I'm happy about that. I'd rather stick to interviewing the victims. But my favorite cases are the ones that the living have almost forgotten, so I hope my next mission is one of them, and doesn't involve any murders, suicides or disappearances at all. Besides, I'd rather go into music and marketing. You should hear the jingle Manny and Benny helped me come up with for the zapateria's new radio commercial!"
Miguel grabbed Hector's guitar, which sat near the sofa, and began strumming a catchy rhythm on it. The tune itself was skillfully written by Miguel, and Hector easily started tapping a hand on his knee along with the beat. The lyrics, however, were obviously written from the perspective of a small child, and Miguel seemed to be attempting to imitate his young cousins' voices as he sang. When he finished, the Riveras applauded.
"Oh, such an adorable song!" Mama Coco exclaimed. "Que lindo! The twins helped you write that?"
"They sure did. They discovered rhyming in school recently, and are actually really good at coming up with little rhymes of their own. They were making up this little rhyme about the shoes we make, and I thought it would make a good jingle for the business. I had them help me pitch the idea to Abuelita, and she loved it. I had to help them finish writing the song, because some of their lyrics didn't make much sense at first. But we recorded it, and they both sing in the commercial. People in Santa Cecilia love it!"
Hector beamed with pride. He woke up every day thankful to have finally been accepted back into his family, and hearing that music had not only returned as well, but was now being utilized in furthering Imelda's vision, thrilled him to bits. Especially since he lacked any skill in making shoes and still often found himself wondering exactly where he fit in this family whose very identity revolved around shoes. It was good to see that Miguel wasn't dealing with the same struggles, but had found his niche. He used music in his job as a medium as well, and that was one area where Hector was always eager to help out.
"Miguel, it's nearly sunset," Mama Imelda pointed out. "I know you want to spend all night talking, mijo, but you need to get home."
Miguel nodded. "Si, Mama Imelda. Can I take an elote to go?" He nodded toward the kitchen counter, where Tia Victoria had just set out some trays of the corn-based treat.
"Si, claro," Imelda said with a nod. She then turned to her husband. "Make sure he sits down to a healthy supper when he gets home," she instructed.
Hector chuckled. "I think between Elena and Luisa, he won't have any choice in the matter. Come on, chamaco! We gotta get you back before your living family worries."
"M'coming!" Miguel mumbled over a mouthful of elote. He gulped down his bite, wiped his face on his sleeve, then turned to give Mama Coco a quick peck on the cheek. "See you on Wednesday, Mama Coco!"
"You be a good boy, now," Coco said in reply.
Miguel dashed out of the house, grabbing Hector's arm on the way by. "Come on, Papa Hector! I found a great new song on YouTube that I wanna show you when we get back to the land of life and wifi!"
"Esperas, chamaco!" Hector called, scrambling to catch up. "Wanna wait for the rest of me, por favor?"
Miguel paused mid-stride to discover that he had only Hector's arm. He grinned sheepishly as his grandfather caught up and took back the limb.
"You gotta stop doing that, kid," Hector said, trying and failing to be annoyed as he reattached his arm.
"Sorry, Papa Hector."
Once they'd crossed back to the living side, Miguel whipped out his phone and pulled up YouTube. He showed Hector several new songs he'd discovered. As Miguel scrolled through a list of suggested videos at the end of one song, Hector noticed something.
"Wait wait wait...'Un Poco Loco' is on YouTube?"
"Well, of course it is," Miguel said. "That's the thing about the internet; if something exists, that's where you'll find it. This looks like a remix, though. Let's check it out." He tapped on the video.
"A remix?" Hector questioned.
In response, the phone produced a sound vaguely similar to the tune of the song he'd written to win Imelda over 100 years earlier, but which had been modified heavily with...well, Hector didn't know what. He winced at the music—if he could even call it that—and gave a disgusted grimace. If he'd still had a tongue, he would've stuck it out.
Miguel, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the song thoroughly.
"Man, that's a good beat! I like this remix!"
"That's a remix?" Hector said, incredulous. "They completely ruined the song! It's not supposed to sound anything like that!"
"Well, that's the idea of a remix, Papa Hector," Miguel said defensively. "It's not supposed to sound like the original, except in lyrics and basic melody. The idea is to take the different sounds in the song and put a new spin on them with electronic music. Some remixes are really bad, but this one's pretty good."
"It's awful!"
"Aw, you're just not used to it."
"And I don't want to get used to it! I don't even want to know what they did to butcher 'Remember Me!' I thought de la Cruz's version was bad enough!"
"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"
"If anything, it's not harsh enough!" Hector slumped, crossed his arms and pouted.
Miguel rolled his eyes. "De la Cruz was playing a stolen song, and he took it to make himself famous. He didn't want to make a new piece of art out of it. He just wanted to make money. These guys just wanted to experiment; be creative, you know?"
"They can be creative with their own songs!"
"But if someone is doing fan art of your work, that's how you know your work is really inspirational. Besides, there's not really anything anyone can do about it. Mira, this song is from the last year, and fans are already doing remixes of it."
Miguel pulled up a newer song that Hector had previously heard. The remix on this one was even more upbeat than "Un Poco Loco," and while Hector wasn't attached to the song as it certainly wasn't his work, he still didn't like the remix.
"Why can't people be content to just play songs the way they were written?" he whined.
"Um, because if you do the same thing over and over again, it gets boring and old?"
"If my songs are so boring, how come they're still popular after nearly a century?"
"Because they keep getting remixed. Even if it's just in little ways, like changing the tempo and adding another instrument here and there, or playing it on an electric guitar instead of acoustic."
Hector opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. He honestly had no response to that.
Miguel sighed. "Papa Hector, I understand if you don't like the remixes of the songs you didn't want to make public. But you gotta understand that for the songs you did want to play for the world, the world is gonna take those songs and put their own spin on them. That's how people work. When something really grabs them...they wanna personalize it. They wanna make it their own."
"A good half of the songs that were stolen from me were never intended for the world," Hector pointed out. "What did they do to Coco's lullaby?"
"We can find out," Miguel replied. "There are two videos here that look like remixes."
Hector glared at the offending smartphone for a long moment, then, against his better judgment, said, "Fine. Let's hear how badly they ruined 'Remember Me.' So I can know how angry to be."
Miguel tapped on the first video. The remix in question was a cover performed as a duet, and had extra lyrics, in both Spanish and English. While it was more upbeat than Hector's song, it certainly wasn't the showy, bombastic insult de la Cruz's version had been. The beat was catchy, but the song was fairly quiet. Hector found himself drumming his fingers in spite of himself.
Once the song was finished, Miguel immediately pulled up the second. This one was a remix of the cover Miguel had recorded with Hector's permission. It was the one and only time Hector had agreed to allow the song to be published, and that he only did so that the world would know for a fact that de la Cruz's version was all wrong. The remix was much different than the previous ones Hector had listened to. It incorporated elements of other songs, yet remained soft, slow and gentle. It was relaxing, and the love Miguel had poured into it still shone through, enhanced, in a way, by the additions.
The song ended, and Miguel looked expectantly at Hector. "Well?" he asked. "What did you think?"
Hector pursed his lips—well, the bony projections that passed as artificial lips—and scowled. "It's...not as horrendously bad as I expected," he said finally. "Could've been way worse, I suppose. Still...I like the original better."
Miguel chuckled. "That's okay. So do I. But I still like remixes. If they're good."
"Well, you have your tastes, and I have mine," Hector conceded.
Miguel grinned. He let the argument drop, but smiled the rest of the way home. It was nice to win an argument about music against the man who had, indirectly, taught him about it in the first place.
Wednesday rolled around, and just as promised, Miguel made his way to the Rivera home in the Land of the Dead. As he approached the hacienda, he heard an odd cacophony of sounds coming from inside. He found his Mama Imelda right inside the gateway to the hacienda compound, glaring at him.
"Hola, Mama Imelda," he greeted apprehensively. "What's...going..."
"I trust you are responsible for this, Miguel?" Imelda bit, jabbing an accusatory finger at him.
"Responsible for what?"
"Your great-great-grandfather has been in there all morning with all manner of instruments, pots, pans, and any noise makers he can get his hands on. He said you gave him the idea! Ay, Santa Maria, he is giving everyone a headache!"
Miguel glanced around Imelda and into the compound, where Hector sat, trying to drum, strum his guitar, play an accordion and control a phonograph that appeared to have some crude microphone hooked up to it. Surrounding him were the pots and pans Imelda had mentioned, as well as a washboard, maracas, wind chimes and assorted knickknacks. The skeletal musician glanced up to see Miguel and grinned.
"Hola, chamaco! Come help your Papa Hector make this remix!"
Miguel buried his face in his hands and groaned. He didn't know how, but he had created a monster.