Catrin De La Bolsa Seca by Fidel Funes: A Latin Gem That Still Hits Different
Alright, let’s talk about Catrin De La Bolsa Seca, the 1991 album from Fidel Funes. This one’s a slice of old-school Mexican magic, straight outta Discos y Cintas Pompeyo, S.A. de C.V. If you’re into Latin vibes with that raw, unfiltered feel, this is your jam. And yeah, it might not be perfect—but isn’t that what makes it so good?
First off, I gotta shout out "Juguito De Sandia." Man, this track sticks to your brain like watermelon juice on a summer day (pun totally intended). It’s playful, it’s lively, and it’s got this groove that feels like dancing barefoot in the backyard. The rhythm? Super catchy. Like, you’ll catch yourself humming it while brushing your teeth or waiting for the bus. There’s something about how Fidel pulls it all together—the horns, the percussion, the whole shebang—that just screams fiesta but also kinda whispers nostalgia. You know those songs that make you wanna call up your abuela and ask her about her teenage years? Yeah, this is one of them.
Then there’s the title track, “Catrin De La Bolsa Seca.” Oh man, this one hits different. It’s got swagger. Picture a sharply dressed catrin strutting down the street, owning every step, hat tilted just right. That’s what this song feels like. The melody has this sneaky smoothness to it, and the lyrics? They paint pictures. You can almost see the dusty streets of Mexico in the early ‘90s, hear the chatter of vendors, smell the tacos al pastor wafting through the air. It’s storytelling at its finest, and honestly, it’s hard not to replay it over and over again.
Now, here’s the thing: this album isn’t trying too hard to impress anyone. It doesn’t have the glossy production of today’s hits, and thank God for that. What it does have is soul—real, honest-to-goodness soul. Listening to it feels like flipping through an old photo album, where each track is a faded Polaroid capturing a moment in time.
But hey, here’s a curveball thought: if someone told me Fidel Funes wrote these songs as letters to his future self, I’d believe it. There’s this weird sense of timelessness to them, like they exist outside of 1991 yet are completely rooted in it. Weird, right? Anyway, go listen to this album—it’s worth it. Just don’t blame me when you start craving sandía after.
