The post-Carnaval wind down has meant less fiesta, less picó, and less música. Since March, I've rarely been at public events or spaces where music is played. My neighbor no longer puts me on to his music because he no longer puts on music. The most significant celebration after Carnaval was the week of Semana Santa. Yet, whereas the vibes of Carnaval were unsanctimonious, Semana Santa's were reverent and solemn. There weren’t picós in the plaza on Good Friday.
Moreover, I’ve been focused on my work. Most of my energy has gone into school, English and ICFES tutoring sessions, and community English classes. Despite these changes, I've still met some songs I'd like to introduce you to.
"Flaca" by Andrés Calamaro
He said he felt like he was in an American movie. I agreed. Despite being located in Barranquilla, the pub’s dimmed lighting, hardwood floors, tap beer, and vintage posters gave it an air of authenticity. I like this song, he said. I told him to type it into my Spotify. I would have forgotten the name otherwise.
He invited me to a history seminar at Universidad del Norte on censorship, capitalism and space in Bogotá, and conclusions on the Guerra de los Mil Dias. Afterwards, I invited him to go out. We were at that pub because he told me he likes the Velvet Underground. The choices are limited to rock, pop, and songs that are singable, but by scanning a QR code, BBC Barranquilla’s music is chosen by its patrons. It’s one of the few public spaces where The Beatles, Queen, or Daft Punk might be heard. That evening, someone had chosen to play “Flaca.”
In this case, the lyrics and the music match. I heard love but felt pain. Referring to her as Flaca, meaning skinny, but also used as a term of endearment, Andrés Calamaro begins by asking her to not stab him so deeply in the back. He reflects on lasting love, better times, conflicting demands, and revenge. He’s hurt, but he sings about her infidelity with fortitude. It’s a theme people have drunk about too many times. Sadly, that night, many were singing about Flaca.
Similar songs:
“Loco” by Andrés Calamaro
“Persiana Americana” by Soda Stereo
“Lobo-hombre en París” by La Unión
"Se Vale Too" by This is Mailo, Tavo the producer, LOSDELAPIÑA
When I go to the gym, I listen to podcasts or songs that help me get through a workout. Usually, I only remove my AirPods, which cancel out the noise from the speaker, to greet people or have a quick conversation. But, when people start dancing in the gym, I pause to listen.
Nobody pairs up. Nobody dances for more than 5 seconds. In fact, not everyone dances. But, for those who do, it's a little shuffle in between sets, a stutter step while cooling off in front of a fan, a quick swing while they catch their breath. It's a glimpse of what they’d do if they were in a discoteca.
Most of that music is reggaéton. It is perreo music. It is shake-dat-ass music. It is whatever you would do if you heard Waka Flocka's “No Hands.”
Not quite reggaéton, “Se Vale Too” serves a similar purpose. It debuted last year in Cartagena, which has a strong cultural influence on Luruaco, my site. If you ask a Luruaquero, it's champeta. If you ask Tavo the producer, it's rancha, a mix of “diferentes sonidos y ritmos caribeños.” Regardless of what it is, or what we say it is, it's undeniable.
Similar songs:
“Bing Bong” by Yailin la Más Viral
“HAY LUPITA” by Lomiiel
“Y Que Fue?” by Don Miguelo
“Tumba Cuchara” by Juan Carlos Coronel and “Fandango Viejo” by Super Banda la Original de Manguelito
My motto in Colombia has been to say yes to everything. Sometimes I regret it, like when I accepted a tinto and ended up with food poisoning. Or when I agreed to eat cow eye and the meat was tougher than I anticipated, so I couldn't just swallow it and ended up chewing it for the longest bite of my life.
However, it has mostly led to great experiences.
Gregarious, I thought. They're merely joking.
The teachers at the colegio asked if I was going to dance with them during Carnaval. I said, claro, obviously. That's what people do during Carnaval. We’ll see one another in Barranquilla or in town, and we’ll dance. I said yes, but I hadn’t realized I was accepting an invitation.
The teachers had organized a comparsa, a dance group, for a parade in Sabanalarga, Atlántico. They added me to the Carnaval 2025 group chat. A list with pairs was sent out, the cost of the wardrobe was being negotiated, rehearsals were set up, and I had read all of this after the deadline to back out.
Our main choreography was set to “Fandango Viejo” and our break between sets was marked by “Tumba Cuchara.” We had three weeks to prepare our choreography, and for those three weeks, I heard “Fandango Viejo” on loop. I attended every rehearsal. I got tips from students who stayed after school, and I practiced at home.
I peaked the night of the Carnaval Educativo. The first streets had light crowds, perfect for practicing the first few sets. We were the 41st comparsa out of 52. As the night went on, our choreography morphed into improvised crowd entertainment.
We had never rehearsed “Tumba Cuchara,” but it became the primary song that we danced to. I followed along until I felt confident enough to entertain the crowd independently. Waving my sombrero vueltiao, I received smiles, laughter, cheers, what's your name, where are you from, and where are you going after this?
Any pena that I had about dancing properly vanished. I was only looking for the next face to make happy. I just kept dancing. I didn't think about it ending. I would've kept going all night.
I haven't listened to these songs outside of Carnaval. I doubt they're in anyone's regular rotation. They're not in mine. Still, I yearn to feel them the way I did that night.
More Carnaval Music:
“Checarnaval” by Checo Acosta
“Niña Mode” by Pedro Ramaya Beltran
“El Pescador” by Totó la Momposina