I have been asked several times when I play a song I wrote in 1974 titled Cantina Lady about the story behind the song.
Well, I guess the statute of limitations is probably up by now, so here’s how it went down.
It was a hot June night in the Mexican border town of Nogales, Mexico.
The red light district.
Canal Street to be exact.
Cheap Christmas lights strung across some run down “places of business.”
It looked like a TV set in a 1950’s western when you entered the saloon (cantina) doors: a disinterested slovenly bartender wiping down the greasy bar with his greasy towel; instead of the requisite old dude playing a piano, there was a very old dude playing guitar with a shot of whiskey staring him in the face.
He stared at the liquid as if was pure gold.
All the reasons that he should not succumb left as if they’d never been there in the first place.
Ah, the old familiar burn.
At one of the three small round cocktail tables sat two plus-sized girls with painted faces. As I walked up to the bar, the suddenly interested bartender stopped his cleaning, stood upright and announced, “Girls are upstairs.” His eyes indicated the top of the old wooden staircase.
“I want tequila.”
An old cowboy buddy of mine once told me never to ask for a brand of anything. If you want beer, cerveza covers it. Same with tequila or (my favorite) mezcal. He said that many make their own and most of it is twice as strong as the good stuff.
I was poured a good five-ounce pour of some bottle that I don’t even remember seeing a label on and soon, the girls joined me at my table.
I had this melody running through my head and I was ready to put chords and words to it, and for some reason, I was evidently destined to write the song in a Mexican whorehouse.
I bought several rounds of shots and combined with the free shots Ernesto was pouring, I was approaching blackout territory.
Not before I ended upstairs on a nasty mattress with three hardened working girls. I am sure I was in no shape to take care of even one of them, so I guess they needed a third person to take my wallet and leaving me truly fucked.
But, the good thing was that I remembered that I DID write the song down last night.
On the back of a rather large senorita.
In magic marker.
So now, I am faced with the task of finding this woman so I can finish my song.
Long story short, after searching several seedy places, I find the girl, still smelling of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke.
I guess I had forgotten that she made her living on her back, so when she took off her wrap, her back was one big charcoal-grey smear.
So I went home and wrote the song in my yard in Tucson, Arizona.
Stay well.
