Back in ’94 David Hidalgo and Louie Pérez met and discovered that they both liked weird fucking music. Well, weird fucking music for the time. See, now of days no one would even blink if someone listened to Ry Cooder or Randy Newman. But, back in the smartphoneless 1990s, in the days when “underground” and “alternative” music wasn’t a genre but a state of mind, these two were incredibly fucking lame. Don’t worry though, those that made fun of these two probably ended up with chronic bad problems, listening to garbage music, and got served a hot plate of “Karma-Bitch” when these two got nominated into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2015. As the haters ended crying in the shower and infested with an exotic type of IBS, David and Louie got their fame with their other band Los Lobos. But before they were Los Lobos, they made demo recordings on a reel to reel and called themselves The Latin Playboys. Now that’s fucking underground.
Do you know those thick messy beats that Tom Waits drops? Those deep and dirty motherfuckers that make you go, “Fuuuuck, that’s the nastay she-eet!” Well, The Latin Playboys do the same. David Hidalgo, lead singer and writer for The Latin Playboys, even plays the fucking accordion on a bunch of Tom’s shit. Ya, motherfucker plays for Papa Waits, the king rasp in a dirty glass, the crooner with the fucking stones. David also plays the violin, a 6-string banjo, a cello, a requinto jarocho, drums, and guitar. His songs have been covered by the likes of Waylon Jennings, Bonnie Raitt, and Jerry Garcia. His DNA is all over tons of amazing fucking music but, like spotting blood and cum stains in a motel, you can only see David’s influence if you’re really looking for it and only under a particular kind of light.
This album is timeless. Lots of it sounds like it was recorded fucking yesterday. But the ’90s were a notorious decade for rewarding the terrible and disregarding the talented. The Latin Playboys wrote what they wanted and used authentic fucking equipment to make this record. Wanna spot an ’80s tune? Listen for that blaring fucking keyboard. But when someone shows up bedazzled in acoustic that shit works like a white t-shirt. It’s fucking timeless. By not giving a fuck these guys avoided playing the pop shit that was so prevalent in the mid ’90s. They made music that they liked and got nothing for it. Sure, these motherfuckers are pretty fucking legit now of days but they’re still relatively unknown. But they don’t make music for money, fame, tweets, or recognition. This music was, and always will be, for the fucking people. And for those of you that skip over listening to this, don’t be surprised if the next time you’re in a restaurant the waiter drops a foul smelling plate in front of you. When you ask what it is, the only response will be, “That’s piping fresh Karma, bitch.” Good luck with the IBS, I hear karma-bitch is a motherfucker to digest.