Album Review: The Spanish Waiter by Mike Hopkins
Mike Hopkins’ 2008 album The Spanish Waiter is a curious little gem that blends classical, folk, world, and country influences into something both familiar and refreshingly offbeat. Released under the "Not On Label" banner in Canada, this record doesn’t try too hard to fit neatly into any one genre or style—and maybe that’s its charm. It feels like flipping through an old photo album where each picture tells a slightly disjointed story but somehow still hangs together.
One standout track for me has got to be “Waltz for Erika.” (Or is it “Waltz For Erika”? The capitalization confusion adds to the quirky vibe.) This piece sticks with you because it's simple yet deeply evocative. You can almost imagine someone waltzing alone in their living room late at night, caught between nostalgia and melancholy. There’s no grand orchestration here—just a gentle melody that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It reminds me of those quiet moments when life slows down just enough for reflection.
Then there’s “Blonde from the Neck Up,” which makes not one but two appearances on the album. At first listen, I thought, “Wait, did he run out of ideas?” But after a few spins, I realized how clever it was to revisit the same tune with subtle variations. It’s playful without being gimmicky, kind of like hearing the same joke told two different ways—the second time lands even better than the first. Something about the jaunty rhythm and unexpected pauses keeps pulling me back. It’s the musical equivalent of a wink across the room.
Other tracks like “ABA” and “Descending” showcase Hopkins’ knack for crafting intricate patterns that feel more improvised than they probably are. Meanwhile, “Dirge” leans into darker territory, offering a somber counterpoint to some of the lighter fare. And yes, there’s even a song called “Goes Nowhere,” which ironically goes somewhere quite interesting if you let it unfold.
What strikes me most about The Spanish Waiter is how unpretentious it feels. Hopkins isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel; instead, he’s content to spin it in his own peculiar way. The production quality might lean toward lo-fi at times, but that only adds to the homemade warmth of the whole thing. It’s less like listening to a polished studio album and more like eavesdropping on someone tinkering away in their basement—except this guy happens to be really good at what he does.
In the end, The Spanish Waiter is the kind of album that sneaks up on you. You don’t realize how much it’s grown on you until weeks later, when you catch yourself humming “Waltz for Erika” while making coffee. And honestly? That’s kinda beautiful. Who knew a Canadian musician could make such a charming mess of classical conventions? Maybe next time, though, leave the duplicate titles at home, Mike.
