Liquor, Vice, and Sin
How To Paint a Musical Picture of a Decadent Night Out
This week we’re going to talk about the new podcast, Tales From the Homestead.
It’s Inception’esque to write an article about a podcast episode that’s about a song on the new album. But stick with me, and you’ll learn a lot about the creative process behind the album.
As someone who’s done a fair amount of drinking throughout the years, I could relate to the imagery inside the first song off the latest Carnivaleros album.
It’s called Liquor, Vice, and Sin.
In the song, Gary paints a vivid image of the fuzzy feeling of a 3 am haze. The lyrics remind me of my time in Madrid, studying audio engineering by day, improving my drunken Spanish at night.
Every time we went out, we would start at a corner bar that sold cheap beer in tiny glasses. This was before Yelp and Tripadvisor. There was no way to look up the ratings of bars on the internet before deciding where to go.
Instead, we had a unique approach to finding the best bars.
We looked at the floors. The dirtier the floors, the more popular the bar.
So if a bar had napkins strewn around the floor and you could feel the nut shells crunching under your shoe as you walked inside, you knew you had found a good one.
The beers would turn into cocktails and the bars would transform into clubs as we partied our way throughout the neighborhoods of Madrid. Once we’ve had enough, we’d find our way home through the windy streets, often so late that nobody was out except the street cleaners spooling away the decadence of the past few hours. As Gary sings in Liquor, Vice and Sin, “the sidewalks were a glistening, not a taxi found in sight.”
For me, even if there were taxis around, I was too poor to afford one. The economic crash of 2008 had hit Iceland the hardest, almost wiping out the value of my currency in the process. Compared to the Euro, the Icelandic Krona was worthless. Everything was twice as expensive as it was the year before.
So, because I prioritized drinking over transportation, the only options to get home were walking, or the Buhos. The Buhos (owls in Spanish), were the night buses that ferried the drinkers home every night. They felt exactly what you think a drunk bus would feel like. Loud. Packed with drunks playing obnoxious Reggaeton through the speakers of their phones. The faint smell of vomit clouded with the stench of sweat.
The euphoric feeling of a great night out replaced with the claustrophobic comedown of a drunk tank on wheels.
Although Gary may be channeling a completely different memory through his lyrics, I think the experience is universal.
It was early in the morning all the bars were shut up tight
Sidewalks were a glistening, not a taxi found in sight
Dog barking at a lamppost but nobody was there
Old man propped up in the alley with a thousand yard stare
One more night to roll the dice and gamble for the win
One more night in paradise of liquor, vice, and sinThe wailing of the trains as they thunder thru the night
Devil kicking up the dust under a dimly lit street light
A broom was slowly being pushed from sidewalk to the street
A distant siren chases ghosts of folks you’ll never meet
One lone man was dragging rubber barrels to the bin
Eight grinning cats jumped out as the bottles tumbled in
One more night to roll the dice and gamble for the win
One more night in paradise of liquor, vice, and sinWake up in the morning and wonder where you are
There’s a stranger next to you and a beat up old guitar
Burnt out candles by the bed some soggy cigarettes
A couple empty bottles several classic rock cassettes
It seems like I’ve been here about a hundred times before
As I slowly find my clothes and make my way towards the door
One more night to roll the dice and gamble for the win
One more night in paradise of liquor, vice, and sin
One more night in paradise of liquor, vice, and sin
You may have a drinking story you always tell. You may also have a drinking story you’re too embarrassed to ever utter out loud. Or you may have never had a drink in your life.
So whether you want to compare your story, smirk in knowing silence, or shake your disapproving head, take a listen to the first episode of Tales From the Homestead here:
