Audio diary from Guadalajara and Tequila

The music and moments from a wedding weekend in Mexico.

Guadalajara, by Becky H.

Dear Loopers,

I got to spend five beautiful days in Mexico for the wedding of one of my best friends and his love. We stayed in Guadalajara, roamed around Tequila and caught a party at one of the wildest clubs I’ve ever seen. Life is strong over there.

If you’re so interested, here is a little “audio” diary from the trip, basing some scenes on the music I heard around the country. 

Until next time,

Miguel

P.S. You know you can send me a message any time you want, right? Let’s talk music and what it means to us. Oh, and one more time, here’s the link for my slowly building 2023 playlist.

Adele (Ubers across Guadalajara)

I wish I asked one of our Uber drivers why they played so much Adele. She serenaded us from the airport to our hotel and through the city’s tense traffic. A couple of the drivers even had CDs or flash drives with her music and that of other English-speaking, melodramatic crooners (Lorde, Lionel Richie, Thom Yorke). I presume they are romantics at heart.

Violeta Parra and Carole King (Roxy and Roll records, Guadalajara)

Couldn’t keep myself from visiting at least one record store in Guadalajara. An employee at a thrift store pointed us to Roxy and Roll, a cluttered building in the city’s center. It had rows upon rows of records, CDs and books, all dusty and mostly uncategorized. I had my eyes on quite a few records, but with prices being as high as they are in the United States, I settled for two: a used Violeta Parra record in good condition and a Mexican pressing of Carole King’s Tapestry titled It’s Too Late.

Battle of the Bandas (Cantaritos El Güero, Jalisco)

Our daylong bus tour through Tequila culminated with a stop at Cantaritos El Güero, an expansive field of dirt filled with young people whose level of inebriation ranged from “loosey goosey” to “well beyond fucked.” I mean, they served cantaritos in clay pots large enough to plant a small palm tree. It was lit. The best part were the brass bands that roamed around the camp, bursting into energetic banda tunes and sparking giant dance parties and rave pits. We danced a little, but it was a greater joy just to watch.

Becky and I at Cantaritos El Güero.

“One More Time” by Daft Punk (Guadalajara-bound party bus #1)

I have to set the record straight here for my own reputation. When we boarded the bus from Cantaritos back to Guadalajara, I hopped on the aux intent on keeping the party rolling on wheels. “One More Time” did exactly that, mainly due to the lasers that beamed from the front of the bus. Then I fumbled the follow-up and was booed and jeered back to my seat. The groom compared me to Mussolini. Someone later put on a dubstep remix of the theme from “The Pink Panther.” It wasn’t me.

“Sticky” by Drake (wedding dance floor)

Lots of great reggaetón, house, rap and dubstep mixed in during a wedding dance party that stretched past midnight. I never got through Honestly, Nevermind when it came out last year, so I was taken aback by how good this sounded on the dance floor. I’ve listened to it a couple of times since then, but it hasn’t hit as hard as it did that night.

Mexican singalong (Guadalajara-bound party bus #2)

At half past midnight, we stumbled back to the bus headed for the hotel. The front half of the bus, where most of the Latinos sat, broke into a medley of mariachi songs mostly unknown to me. Their voices were glorious, incomprehensibly strong considering the hours of festivities that preceded. My half of the bus tried to compete with its own singalongs; they were embarrassingly hoarse and out of tune. I was so jealous of the group up front, of their bond to their country, their culture and one another.