Courtesy of NPR.

Does a memory ever come back to you so faintly and broken into such undecipherable pieces that it becomes hard to tell if it was a dream or an actual occurrence? I have this very faint memory (or dream) that I am in a restaurant with Spanish-style chairs, carved out of honey wood and long embroidered mantels draped over tables. Warm hues of red and maroon cover the room except for a blue and neon jukebox in the corner. I am seven-years-old, I think, and I drop two coins inside the jukebox slot, flipping through its pages to play Paquita la del Barrio.

In a small town in Veracruz, Mexico in 1947, Francisca Viveros Barradas – known as Paquita la del Barrio – was born. The small town was five hours from the city, the place she dreamed to live one day. She credits her musical foundation to her lonely horse rides throughout her town where she felt the most liberated to sing about life five hours away from the heart of her country. Upon finishing junior high, Francisca decided to move to the capital to build a new life and leave her two children behind with her mother. After a tumultuous journey, Paquita saved up enough money to record her own album with a song that she later performed on a local popular TV show, spiking her sales and success.

In the beginning of her career, Paquita‰’s music was highly influenced by the sudden death of her newborn twins followed by the death of her mother who was her children‰’s caretaker. It was at this stage in her life that Paquita focused on the lyrics and meaning of her music, which now carried a melancholic tone to it. Not in a sad, “feel bad for me‰” kind of way, but in a way that proclaims sadness as a real feeling that must be acknowledged and dealt with. 

A transitory moment in her life was when she discovered that her husband had been having an affair with a woman for 15 out of their 25 years together. His scheming ways earned him the nickname “in̼til,” a reoccurring word in her songs about cheating men and escapades.

In that dream (or reality), I played “Rata de dos Patas‰” by Paquita on the blue, neon jukebox. The title of the song compares someone to a rat with two legs, repeatedly making animal references to their way of behavior, but eventually admitting that even a damned insect is small compared to this animal of a person. That person is merely a rat disguised as a person. To further prove my point of how condemning and empowering her songs are, her top Spotify songs are titled “Coward,‰” “Three Times I Cheated You,” “Blank Check‰” and “Tell Her I Say Hello.‰” Her unapologetic tone mixed with a banda ensemble adds the perfect flavor.

I‰’m not sure why I was so young when I fell in love with this song when my biggest heartbreak was that my dog would only lick my friend‰’s face but not mine. Regardless, I‰’m sure we all know someone we‰’ve called an animal before. And if you‰’re not ashamed to admit your heartbreak or any other sadness, Paquita will be there for you.