A story of pirates, whores, castaways, and queers in Franco’s Sacromonte.
I want to introduce you to my Grenadian family—on one side and the other. I consider them my family, especially because of their infinite search for freedom.
They all lived in the same neighborhood, together and sometimes mixed up—a neighborhood that gave life and inspiration to Granada. Even today, I pay tribute to these streets and their unique people.
With love:
To my uncle Curro Albayzín—he’s not my blood uncle, but my uncle in soul. Same lives, different times, and the same hunger for freedom.
To my aunt Mar Cano—more my aunt by spirit than any biological aunt. I won’t say the magic words because my mom would get pissed off, but now I understand who they really were—those who slept on your sofa on Christmas Eve.
To uncle Augustino “Langostino”—thank you for wrapping me up in front of your fire, for your authenticity, and your cave at the foot of the Christ of the Gypsies.
To cousin Carlo Sitton—for all our rebellious childhood adventures and the doctor’s kisses.
To my cousins El Canijo de Jerez, Juanito Makandé, and Víctor Iniesta—who better than them to tell my story, the story of my family, the story of El Niño del Velero.
Love,
Vinila
About the Song:
“El Niño del Velero” was released by Vinila Von Bismark featuring El Canijo de Jerez, Juanito Makandé, and Víctor Iniesta — three artists closely tied to the modern flamenco-fusion scene in Andalusia.
The song is a tribute to a way of life in the Sacromonte of Granada: the freedom, marginality, survival, and the community spirit that flourished even during the oppression of Franco’s dictatorship.
It’s a melancholic but joyful story, full of images of the sea, memory, survival, and the rebellious souls who, like pirates and wanderers, kept their dignity and wildness alive against all odds.
It’s also a personal homage from Vinila to her own cultural and emotional roots in Granada.
Lyrics (English translation):
From Azul, the boy came in his sailboat
The day was gray and it didn’t bring anything good
But his smile gave me peace
The waves of the sea brought him to me
The wind blew for me
Longing for your kisses in my hair
Her smile I could not forget
It was brought to me by the waves of the sea
The sun painted her hair red
She showed me that the child was made of fire
She melted the colors on the ground
Giving free passage to the flight of memory
Sitting on the horizon, looking at you in front of the sea
Canticles of love, you carried in your walk
That in all the wild seas, you knew how to navigate
Dodging the whole world and teaching me to love
I am the girl of the sea
On the shores of the tropical coast
Oh, pitiful love, that was trapped in you
It stayed imprisoned, feeling forgotten
I am the girl of the sea
On the shores of the tropical coast
The sun painted her hair red
It showed me that the child was made of fire
I melted the colors on the ground
And he painted a path full of dreams
Leaving everyone naked and smiling at the whole storm
Video Transcription (Conversation format):
Someone: Curro!
Curro Albayzín: Yes? Who is it?
Someone: Where are you?
Curro Albayzín: Here I am… fucking. (laughs)
Curro Albayzín: There was a lot of discrimination everywhere, because you were blonde, because you were gypsy, because you were not gypsy, because you were queer. There was discrimination for everything you did.
It was the last throes of Franco. People were desperate to fuck, girls, boys, everyone.
Mar Cano: Who is your husband? El Agustino? Then you are La Agustina. I organized the parties, the best parties in the world, with my second husband.
Curro Albayzín: Sure, many people came here to Granada, not only ordinary North Americans, but with pockets full of dollars. Back then, 3 dollars could last you a week. And when someone said: “Ava Gardner is here!” we all went crazy.
For example, Charlton Heston, Gene Kelly…
Mar Cano: Some of my friends were “morally absent-minded”…
Curro Albayzín: You have style! (laughs)
Mar Cano: A pot of soup—good soup, puchero. Good cheese, and plenty of whisky.
Curro Albayzín: My aunt, La Chumina, was a prostitute. She was a single, independent woman. She never married or had children, so she focused more on living freely.
She slept with all the priests of the abbey.
Mar Cano: The perfect match: flamenco and prostitutes.
Curro Albayzín: Nothing could stop us, neither Franco nor the police. We didn’t care. We were desperate for freedom.
They even named a street after me in Almuñécar.
Vinila Von Bismark: They gave your name to a street, Curro?
Curro Albayzín: Yes, they did! (points) It makes me so happy because I looked out onto that street—and there was a prostitute right there! (laughs) And I thought, of course! Destiny. Where else would they name a street after me? Where the prostitutes and the queer people live!
Curro Albayzín: So much love for Lorca, and all it took was a pack of motherfuckers to kill him.
El Canijo de Jerez: The Granadan Kardashians! (laughs)
Enzo Augustino Sitton (reciting): They say paradise was in this valley, where Adam and Eve wandered looking for a flat to rent.
Since they couldn’t find anything affordable, they dug a cave in these mountains.
(Singing) What Adam said to Eve has come down to us: “If I have a cave with you, what do I care if it rains?”
Seeing them so happy, God said from heaven: “This is my eleventh commandment: these floors shall not be polished.”
Curro Albayzín: And Vinila, I think she’s a prostitute too. (laughs)