Whence Conquistadors

--From the New Rochelle Raconteur April 18, 2002--

        The rise of performance master and musical guru, P. Conifer MacIntosh has led many of us, not including me, to abandon all hope for a reunion of the once-popular song stylists, New Rochelle Conquistadors. Perhaps the world dictates where individuals go through biorhythms and control who they collaborate with via the weather. I attribute Mr. MacIntosh's lack of cooperation on his enormous talent and excessive hubris that should make us all proud. The rest of the Conquistadors wait in the wings, humming their harmony parts and dry-cleaning their chalecos.

        The true victims are the fans. This became most apparent during a concert in the latter part of the twentieth century. A highlight of the Conquistadors' shows has always been a twenty-five minute clogging section accompanied by only a pan flute and an occasional tambor. On this gruesome night one of the Conquistadors, who asked not to be named, clogged so aggressively that a portion of his heel shattered, blinding several observers in the front row. Rather than halting the show, the other Conquistadors clogged even harder to maintain their masculine sound. Soon, all of their poorly-crafted heels were decimated by the stomping, leaving three rows of sightless Conquistador fanatics.

        Perhaps Mr. McIntosh has outgrown the Conquistadors. Some say he has referred to all Spanish music as "salsa-fied dreck." He was once overheard denouncing all clog dancing "Spanish, Irish, or otherwise." Could this be self-loathing at the rise of a genre brought about by his own genius or an extended period of mourning for the dozens of punctured eyeballs from that fateful night? Either way, Mr. McIntosh refuses to budge. Until then, the New Rochelle Conquistadors remain a relic of the past that many of us, except for me, hope to see resurrected, buffed, and placed on the mantle of great, shiny music.