Album Review: La Falta Como en el 30 Gano La Gente by Falta Y Resto
Released in 1988, La Falta Como en el 30 Gano La Gente is a hidden gem from Uruguay that effortlessly blends Folk, World, Country, and Latin influences. Backed by the Orfeo label, this album feels like a warm conversation with history—raw, heartfelt, and unpolished in all the right ways. It’s one of those records where you can almost hear the creak of wooden chairs and the clinking of glasses in the background.
Let’s talk tracks. The opening number, "Despedida 1988 (A Bartolome Hidalgo)", hits hard right out of the gate. This isn’t just some throwaway intro—it sets the tone for the entire record. You’re greeted with a mix of nostalgia and defiance, as if Falta Y Resto is saying goodbye to something but also daring you to listen closer. I remember it because it feels like an old friend recounting stories over a cup of yerba mate. There’s no grand production here, just honest lyrics and melodies that stick to your ribs.
Then there’s "Couplet 'El Poder'". Now, this track stands out—not because it tries too hard, but because it doesn’t try at all. It’s stripped-down storytelling at its finest, carried by simple instrumentation that lets the words breathe. Listening to it feels like sitting around a campfire, watching shadows dance while someone spins tales about power struggles and human nature. And honestly? That’s rare these days. Too many albums layer on unnecessary bells and whistles, but not this one.
The rest of the album follows suit, weaving between reflective moments ("Presentacion 1988") and playful yet biting commentary ("Couplet 'El Cuento Del Tio'"). Each song has its own personality, but they all share a common thread: authenticity. These aren’t songs made to climb charts; they’re crafted to resonate deeply with anyone who takes the time to listen.
Reflecting on La Falta Como en el 30 Gano La Gente, it strikes me how timeless it feels. Released over three decades ago, it still holds up today—not because it’s flawless, but because it’s real. It reminds us that music doesn’t need to be flashy or polished to leave a mark. Sometimes, it just needs to speak the truth—and boy, does this album do that.
Oh, and here’s the kicker: after listening to it, I couldn’t help but wonder… what would Bartolome Hidalgo think? Would he nod along approvingly, or would he grab his guitar and join in? Either way, I bet he’d agree—it’s good stuff.
