Trip to Mexico rekindles interest in live music [Unscripted] (2024)

When planning a trip, I spend up to a year reading guidebooks, blogs and literature that is sometimes only tangentially related to the place. “Cannery Row” was a good read for our trip to Monterey, whereas “A Confederate General in Big Sur” added little.

When my brother invited me, my husband and sister to join him to celebrate his birthday in Mexico, I had only a few months to prepare. Reading guidebooks and brushing up on my Spanish was prioritized over reading Carlos Fuentes.

I researched bus schedules, water taxis, the best beaches and located the farmer’s market closest to our condo. I bought water bottles with filters to protect against bacteria and parasites. I ordered a wad of pesos from my bank. I was feeling pretty confident, though nervous, as our departure date approached.

Puerto Vallarta is a vibrant city with bars, galleries, hundreds of restaurants, great street food, beautiful beaches, hiking, snorkeling and nearby fishing villages to explore.

I got so caught up in planning our itinerary that I almost forgot that there would be live music on every corner. Music of every sort. From an old man playing a solo on a squeaky fiddle — encouraged by a young woman in an otherwise empty cafe — to really terrific, full-piece bands playing faithful covers of classic rock.

Yes, American music is everywhere in Puerto Vallarta. Are they catering to the tourists or do they like our melodies? I finally understand why soft rock is now being called yacht rock. It’s what’s being played on cruises and in resort areas.

All of the music was wonderful. Much of it was lounge versions of hits from the mid-20th century. The timing was almost always different: jazzier, sped up, slowed down. Add the different timing to the accents of the singers and it sometimes took a while to identify a song.

A middle-aged guy with a guitar, mic and amp, dressed all in black among the vendors on Isla Cuale was playing a very mutated, mellow version of Sinatra’s “That’s Life.” It was lovely.

“I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet — a pawn and a king.”

Our condo was located across from a park that held Zumba classes Monday through Friday each morning. A great way to wake up, although I contracted a Macarena earworm.

Our first night out we ate in a tiny, authentic Mexican cafe called Martini y Fuego, where we ordered entrees and received complimentary salads and a dessert to share, followed by shots of their own pear tequila. We were early, so the musician, a young man who set up in the doorway, began playing lovely acoustic guitar after we ordered. He played Cat Stevens in among some bossa nova and Jack Johnson. His accent was intriguing and with the smooth tequila, we were embraced in a perfect night.

One late night we heard the opening guitar riff to the Pixie’s “Where is My Mind,” and ran up the street to check it out. The band was doing perfect covers of ’90s grunge music, but also covered “Comfortably Numb,” a song we heard again by another band later in the week.

Margaritaville was only a few steps from our door, and we caught the same talented band twice here. Three stoic Mexicans playing great guitar with Mexican flute. “Stairway to Heaven” was remarkably accurate and tight.

We deemed the best bar to be Cuates y Cuetes, which translates to “buddies and binges,” for their location across from the Los Muertos pier and their excellent live music.

On a night that I was too tired to venture out late, my brother and sister saw a dynamic young band on their stage that had the crowd roaring.

We were pulled into a table at Cuates y Cuetes by a cover of the Carpenters’ “Close to You,” of all things! We stayed to hear this jazz band follow that up with “Georgia on My Mind,” a Charlie Parker number, Horace Silver’s “Song for My Father,” and James Brown’s “The Chicken.” It was stellar!

The band, Farali, consists of a trombonist, six-string bassist, guitarist and drummer and is fronted by a woman singer, who performed an unusual form of scat. She played a saxophone solo through her pursed lips, using her hand on occasion for tremelo. It sounds much better than that description!

We spent only one day Snoop Dogging-it on the beach in lounge chairs. A group next to us were playing loungy, instrumental Mexican music on their radio. I can’t say from this incidental listening whether that is the preferred music of the locals.

In an area of the beach without lounge chairs, Mariachi bands strolled through the crowds sometimes with an accordionist among the group, other times only guitarists — strictly men — no women among their ranks. Their music was traditional and they seemed to target the vacationing Mexican families.

At night the bars were thumping out dance music and cars drove by with loud basses blaring, much like downtown Lancaster.

We took a water taxi to the fishing village of Yelapa, where the locals played Mexican music on their radios. That answered my earlier question: The American music catered to the tourists.

A farmer’s market filled the park next door on our last morning, and we opened up the sliding doors to enjoy the music as we made breakfast, singing along to the Eagles’ “One of These Nights” among other songs.

On our last night after a late-night feast of poblano and coconut milk soup at Archie’s Wok, we passed a solo guitarist singing The Temptations’ “My Girl.” With the guitarist at our backs, heading to our condo, my brother and sister and I started singing along in harmony. What a pleasant surprise to have enjoyed so much music on this getaway!

Diana Abreu is a page designer at LNP | LancasterOnline. “Unscripted” is a weekly entertainment column produced by a rotating team of writers.