Album Review: Sala De Señoras Que Hablan Y Beben Cócteles by Plan Marsella
Man, if you’re into that raw, unfiltered indie pop vibe, Sala De Señoras Que Hablan Y Beben Cócteles is gonna slap you in the face and make you feel alive again. This 2010 gem from Spain ain’t no polished studio masterpiece—it’s gritty, it’s real, and it’s got this weird charm that sticks to your brain like gum on a hot summer day. Pedro Cantudo recorded this sucker, and let me tell ya, he didn’t overthink it. That’s what makes it work.
Let’s talk tracks. First up, “Ayer.” Holy crap, this one hits different. It’s like someone bottled all the regret and nostalgia of a wasted weekend and poured it straight into your ears. The vocals? They’re kinda shaky but in the best way possible—like they’re not tryin’ too hard to impress anyone. And those guitar riffs? Simple yet sharp enough to cut through the noise. You’ll remember this track because it feels personal, like eavesdropping on someone else’s heartbreak at 3 AM.
Then there’s “Mi Primera Vez.” Oh man, this tune sneaks up on ya. At first, it’s just another breezy indie pop song, but then BAM—you realize how clever the lyrics are. It’s not just about losing your virginity or some cliché crap; it’s deeper than that. It’s about new beginnings and screw-ups and figuring life out as you go. The melody loops around your head for hours after listening, trust me. Not annoyingly catchy, though—more like comforting, like an old friend who gets where you’re coming from.
The whole album has this laid-back energy, almost like you stumbled into a dimly lit bar in Madrid where everyone’s half-drunk and telling stories they’ll forget tomorrow. Tracks like “Creciendo” and “Separados Por Un Vagón” keep the mood consistent without ever feeling repetitive. There’s no big-budget label pushing this thing—it’s DIY as hell, released under Not On Label, which honestly adds to its authenticity.
Here’s the kicker: Sala De Señoras Que Hablan Y Beben Cócteles isn’t perfect. Some parts sound rough, some transitions feel awkward—but that’s exactly why it works. In a world full of overproduced garbage, Plan Marsella reminds us that music doesn’t have to be flawless to hit home.
And hey, here’s something random to chew on: listening to this album feels like finding an old Polaroid photo in a thrift store. You don’t know who these people are, but their moment somehow becomes yours too. Weird, right? But that’s art for ya.
