The Soundtrack to Eating: C. Tangana’s Unifying “Sobremesa” in His Tiny Desk Home Concert

Spanish rapper C. Tangana’s Tiny Desk Home Concert effortlessly evokes the Hispanic concept of the “sobremesa,” symbolizing the unity and familiarity embedded in the aftermath of a shared meal.

Written by Valeria Mota

Photo courtesy of NPR

The Hispanic concept of “sobremesa” might sound unfamiliar, but it has undoubtedly been practiced by everyone at some point in their lives. The phrase, which directly translates to “upon the table,” refers to the activity after a meal where deep, relaxing conversations are shared well after dessert has been served and plates have been scraped dry. It’s a wholesome moment that exhibits the bond created by sharing a meal — the people gathered have been united by food and remain united after the dining is over, strengthening a connection cooked straight on the dinner table. 

The “sobremesa” is a global phenomenon, and Spanish rapper C. Tangana, also known as Antón Álvarez Alfaro, took advantage of its natural ubiquity in a time when breaking bread with a group of friends was impossible: the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Alfaro’s third album, El Madrileño, was released 13 months into the pandemic. The rapper deviated from his former album’s trap-heavy sounds and explored love, betrayal, and self-worth by fusing classic Spanish guitars with modern synth production, taking over the Spanish charts and global fans’ hearts in the process. For the album’s first live performance, Alfaro was invited to perform a Tiny Desk Concert for NPR — but because of COVID-19 restrictions, it had to be a home concert. While this challenge would have limited some artists, C. Tangana took this in stride by entangling the album’s Spanish influence with the concept of the “sobremesa,” enhancing his performance’s vulnerability as well as reinforcing the intimacy of sharing food with your loved ones.

The home performance is set up with an elaborate dinner table with dispersed tea cups, grapes, bread, and small treats, along with a couple of bottles of alcohol in the center of the table. Alfaro sits at the head of the table, with backup singers as well as some of El Madrileño’s featured artists — Antonio Carmona, Kiko Veneno, and La Húngara — surround him. Alfaro’s mother and aunt also stand in the background, mixed among the instrumentalists. The performance officially begins when the ensemble starts to clap a flamenco rhythm, their synchronicity making everyone at the table smile. Alfaro’s long-time collaborator, Alizzz, sings into a vocoder for the introduction to the set’s first song, the impassioned “Me Maten.” Though Alizzz’s synthesized vocals juxtapose the acoustic instruments in the set, the producer is still part of the musical “sobremesa.”

The track “Me Maten” sets the tone for the rest of the performance’s warm ambience as Alfaro sings about remaining loyal to those who have supported him on his journey to fame. As he and Carmona harmonize, Alfaro passionately declares that they can kill him if they don’t let everyone he loves come in with him: “Me maten si no pueden entrar / Yo sin esta gente / ¿pa’ que cojones quiero pasar?” (“They can kill me if they can’t come in / Without these people / why the fuck would I want to go in?”). The song symbolizes the unity of the formed “sobremesa”, with the lyrics strengthening the bond between the members of the table. 

The performers’ camaraderie continues with the set’s second song, “Los Tontos.” While “Me Maten” establishes the foundations of the “sobremesa,” “Los Tontos” introduces the intimacy included in this post-meal activity. The song kicks off with Kiko Veneno raspily singing the song’s chorus, as Alfaro continues to sing about being frustrated at his lover’s mistreatment. “Porque te advierto que me he cansado,” he declares, “hasta los tontos tenemos tope” (“Because I’m warning you that I’m tired / Even us fools have limits”). The tune may not directly contain themes of solidarity, but Alfaro and the performers’ enthusiastic execution contribute to the set’s cozy atmosphere. The concept of the “sobremesa” offers the perfect opportunity for this emotional yet fun part of the Tiny Desk concert, evoking the all-too familiar image of rehashing your romantic confusion at a restaurant while your close friends offer a supportive ear.

As the backing performers celebrate the completion of “Los Tontos,” the Spanish rapper proceeds to stand up from the table and walks to the other side of the room to sing El Madrileño’s most popular track, “Demasiadas Mujeres.” The deceptively vulnerable tune starts with live, anthemic snare drums and a suave string section. Alfaro recounts his experiences with multiple women, and while it may strike the listener as boasting, the lyrics carry an undercurrent of sadness: “No me puedo olvidar… De la que que se fue con mis gana' de amar, mis gana' de vivir / No la' he vuelto a encontrar / Demasiada’ mujere’” (“I can’t forget… Of the one who left with my will to love, my will to live / I haven’t found her again / Too many women”). The Tiny Desk rendition lacks the studio version’s echo, highlighting the pain behind Alfaro’s seemingly pompous lyrics. Without the support of his dinner companions, Alfaro feels the need to mask his failed romantic encounters behind a jaunty beat and conceited lyrics, contrasting the comfort of the “sobremesa” with Alfaro's isolating version of “Demasiadas Mujeres.”

Photo courtesy of NPR

Alfaro walks back to the table to conclude the Tiny Desk with “Tú Me Dejaste De Querer.” The performers first greet collaborator Niño del Elche, who arrived to perform the last track, emphasizing the welcoming environment of the “sobremesa.” While “Demasiadas Mujeres” does have its vulnerable moments, “Tú Me Dejaste De Querer” is more explicitly emotional — now that Alfaro is accompanied by the familiarity of the “sobremesa,” he can voice his insecurities more openly. The flamenco-influenced tune closed out the set with heightened warmth as La Húngara belted out the song’s chorus and the guitarists intricately plucked their strings.

The 15-minute concert ends with the ensemble each grabbing a liquid digestive, and Alfaro leading an enthusiastic “Salud!” (“Cheers!”) as the video fades to black. In the isolated environment of the COVID-19 pandemic, the musician expertly recreated the “sobremesa” that the quarantined world desperately craved, bringing the warmth of a home cooked meal through the viewer’s screens. El Madrileño and its subsequent Tiny Desk concert is just shy of turning five years old, but the performance still resonates with viewers for its natural instrumentation and intimate setting. The implementation of the “sobremesa” was no accident; Alfaro followed the concert by releasing the deluxe album of El Madrileño called El Madrileño (La Sobremesa). C. Tangana’s third album and Tiny Desk Home Concert both live on as a comforting reminder of the unifying nature of food — no one ate anything at the performance’s dining table, but no one would have been at the table were it not for the food.