The chapters by Paredez, to nobody's surprise by now, brought to my mind the first Queen of Tejano music. I was struck by the similarities between how Lydia Mendoza and Selena lived out their Tejana realities and constructed their Tejana images. They were both U.S. born “Latinas,” came from humble homes, continued to live near their families despite international fame, showed pride for their working class roots and audiences, and proudly displayed a much less compromised Latinidad (one not as influenced by Hollywood images of [white] beauty), albeit in different ways. These similarities speak a great deal about the continuity and resilience of Mexican American culture in Texas across generations, but Lydia Mendoza’s career differs from Selena’s in important ways. For Mendoza, there was no crossover tour, at least not linguistically, since she sang entirely in Spanish for the duration of her career. Part of this may lie in Mendoza’s identification as a “folk” singer rather than Selena’s “pop” style. Although Mendoza sang with norteño, conjunto, and orquestra groups that earned her rightful place as a Tejana star, as a solo artist she sang a repertoire representative of traditional Mexican folk and popular styles, including a number of rancheras written by iconic stars like Agustin Lara. Mendoza’s cultural “crossover,” that is, her incursion into singing for a non-Tejano or Mexican/Mexican American crowd, was precisely as a symbol of ethnic curiosity or political inclusion – she always symbolically represented the “other,” not the “U.S.” (pun on the word “us” intended) even when contracted to expound a message of political inclusion. For example, when she sang at Jimmy Carter’s inauguration in 1977, she did so as part of a “multicultural event” – marking her as a multicultural other while using her as a representative of the Mexican American community. Lydia´s uncompromising use of the Spanish language throughout her life in spoken word and became both as a symbol of uncompromising cultural pride and a barrier to incorporation into a mainstream, monolingual English-speaking, U.S. culture. Since Lydia sang only in Spanish, any performance to a non-Spanish-speaking crowd did not resonate with the heartfelt message of her lyrics, further solidifying her place as an aesthetic symbol for English-speaking audiences. In this manner, Mendoza resonated quite differently for different audiences.
I agree with Natasha that the fetishism of young dead stars is not dedicated to Latinas alone, although I believe Paredez makes a convincing case that the discourse and practices surrounding young, dead Latinas take on specific characteristics because of their placement as gendered, racialized, and politicized bodies. The most salient point that Paredez makes here, I believe, is the transformative power their death has on the symbolism attributed to them and the discourse around that symbolism. I find this in Lydia Mendoza as well, although differently because her career “died” long before her body did. In 1986, a stroke left her unable to sing and play, although she lived an active, healthy life for another two decades. In 1999, President Bill Clinton awarded her the National Medal of Arts, the highest award a U.S. artist can receive, and one not explicitly associated with any kind of ethnic, racial or folk category. The irony, of course, lies in that Lydia Mendoza joined this national honor roll a full 13 years after she could no longer sing… a symbolic death, if not a literal one. 
Another major point of contrast between Lydia Mendoza and Selena revolves around their displays of sexuality. They both sang in a male-dominated, misogynic genre, and they both had to come to terms with how they would present themselves as female singers in this field. Both women created their own costumes, so whatever message can be displayed by this small act of agency was constructed and built by them. Selena, we have seen, displayed a vibrant, voluptuous, sequined sexuality. In contrast to both Selena and other female singers of the mid-20th century, Lydia Mendoza sought diligently to subdue any overt reference to the sexual nature of her female body. 
To do this, she always photographed herself with frontal lighting rather than the soft-hued backlighting of the glamour photography typical of female artists in the 1940s and ‘50s. She also always photographed herself with her guitar prominently displayed between her body and the camera, in effect minimizing the gaze on her female body and forcing it to focus it on her guitar and the strong (challenging?) expression on her face. In images where her expression softens, she does not engage the viewer, instead looking off into the distance as if thinking far-off thoughts. Coupling this image with the vibrant power of her twelve-string guitar and her solid, resonant voice diverts the attention from her sexual body and back to her music. Her female body cannot be denied in her professional photos, womanly voice, or physical presence on stage, but the placement of the lighting and her guitar and the innate power in her music and voice do not waver as she transforms her image from a modest and serious young woman to a more matronly image through the course of her career. Kelley Merriam Castro
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