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One afternoon, a record executive from Mexico City arrived. He was looking for “lost masters” for a centennial box set. Tomás refused to sell. The executive offered $10,000. Tomás laughed. He offered $50,000. Tomás stood up, walked to his ancient tape deck, and removed the cassette.
The last song on side B was the gem. A son no one had ever heard. It had no title, only a scratched-in lyric: “El Caballo de Nadie.”
Tears rolled down the executive’s cheeks.
One afternoon, a record executive from Mexico City arrived. He was looking for “lost masters” for a centennial box set. Tomás refused to sell. The executive offered $10,000. Tomás laughed. He offered $50,000. Tomás stood up, walked to his ancient tape deck, and removed the cassette.
The last song on side B was the gem. A son no one had ever heard. It had no title, only a scratched-in lyric: “El Caballo de Nadie.”
Tears rolled down the executive’s cheeks.
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