Barcelona, Rain or Shine: Taking the Music to Spain 🇪🇸🎸
An overseas adventure, a few unexpected plot twists, and some reminders that music really does speak a universal language.
There are easier ways to begin a week in Barcelona than flying overnight from Boston (without inflight entertainment), getting stuck in a two-hour customs line, and arriving just in time for a torrential downpour. But where's the fun in that?
I came to Barcelona hoping to explore a new city, meet some local musicians, find a few stages to play, and see what might happen when I brought my songs halfway around the world. I got all of that—and then some. There were rainy streets, a questionable umbrella purchase, a couple of humbling musical moments, some incredible architecture and art, and a handful of encounters that reminded me exactly why I keep doing this.
In other words, Barcelona gave me a story.
First Stop: The Stage (What Could Possibly Go Wrong?)
After finally escaping the airport, I made my way to Poblenou, a wonderful neighborhood with my Airbnb just a block from the Mediterranean Sea. I even discovered the Hola Barcelona transit pass, which made getting around the city ridiculously easy. Trains, buses, and limitless ways to get myself lost in the right direction. Perfect.
After settling in and squeezing in some work for my day job, I headed out Friday night to Craft Barcelona—a club I exchanged emails with but a gig was left ambiguous was hosting an open mic. I was running on fumes after an overnight flight and very little sleep, but apparently the best way to recover from international travel I could come up with was to get onstage in a foreign country.
Naturally.
The club was lively, the crowd was enthusiastic, and a cover band had the room singing along to American favorites. After they finished, I signed up to play three songs with the house musicians. And cover songs seemed like the direction to go.
Here’s where things got interesting.
I’d planned to open with my own slow-build arrangement of The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside,” which starts out quietly before kicking into gear. Unfortunately, my musical instructions and the musicians’ understanding of English weren’t quite in sync. My carefully constructed intro became an extended exercise in wondering whether any of us actually even knew how the song went.
The audience seemed equally puzzled.
Eventually, I abandoned the plan, counted off a faster tempo, and we found our way to a strong finish. I followed with Radiohead’s “High and Dry” and The Cure’s “Friday I’m in Love,” and while the crowd sang along with both, I still managed to confuse the band.
I walked away feeling a little deflated. I’d taken a swing, and it hadn’t quite landed the way I’d imagined.
The club owner was encouraging, though, and expressed interest in potentially booking me in the future. A week after returning home, I even sent him a link to the video of me and the displayers playing our version of “Mr. Brightside” in LA. His response? “Hey! Really excellent version, indeed!”
I’ll take it. Sometimes the encore comes by email.
A Rainy Night, a Dead Umbrella, and Five Euros of Encouragement
Saturday brought more rain. And more rain. And then, just in case Barcelona thought we hadn’t gotten the message, some additional rain.
I spent the day catching up on work and practicing my Spanish before deciding to give Craft Barcelona another shot that evening. I was ready for a comeback.
On the way to the Metro, my little umbrella finally fell apart. I ducked into a nearby market and bought the last umbrella they had. It wasn’t fancy, but it was about to become one of the MVPs of this trip.
I headed back toward the city center, only to discover that Craft Barcelona was closed. So were plenty of other businesses. I found somewhere to eat, settled in for a late Spanish-style dinner, and eventually checked my phone.
Oops.
My family had been frantically messaging me because hurricane warnings were being broadcast about Barcelona. They were worried sick, and I was apparently wandering around a deserted-looking city, blissfully unaware that I was supposed to be concerned.
To be fair, where I was, the rain was steady but the wind was minimal, and people were still walking around. I wasn’t particularly worried. I even took a selfie beneath my brand-new umbrella on a nearly empty street, looking entirely too pleased with myself.
Family reassured? Check. Dinner acquired? Check. A dry walk home? Well...
But the weekend’s real turning point was still ahead.
Sunday morning finally brought sunshine, and before meeting up with Emma, who was joining me after a week of training in Lleida, I took my guitar down to the beach boardwalk.
No microphone. No amplification. Just me, my guitar, and the Mediterranean.
There weren’t huge crowds out that early, but a few people waved and gave me thumbs-up as they passed. Then a young woman came over from the beach, where she’d been playing with a child, and dropped a five-euro note into my guitar case. She told me she loved my voice—and especially the song I’d just played by The Smiths.
Following this, a runner stopped to cheer me on while I played “Black and Gold” by Sam Sparro. He was clapping, encouraging me, and clearly having a great time. So I decided to try something I’d been hoping to do on this trip: play a Spanish song I’d learned just a few days before leaving.
I launched into “A Fuego Lento” by Rosana Arbelo, a song I’d loved for years.
And suddenly, there it was.
The runner knew the song. Not only did he recognize it, but he sang along with me and recorded a selfie video of us performing it together. He followed me on Instagram right there, and we’ve stayed connected ever since.
Think about that for a moment. I’d traveled thousands of miles to play music in a city where I knew almost nobody. A few days earlier, I’d walked away from an open mic questioning my performance. Now I was standing beside the sea, singing a Spanish song with a complete stranger who knew every word.
No booking agent. No elaborate setup. No plan. Just music.
That little encounter did more for my confidence than I could have anticipated. It reminded me that I don’t need every performance to go perfectly. Sometimes I just need to keep showing up.
And yes, I eventually had to pack up and run to meet Emma. Even magical musical moments have bus schedules.
Monday Night Redemption: Big Bang Bar
After a few days of rain-delayed sightseeing, Emma and I began exploring Barcelona together. We made the best of a visit to the Big Fun Museum, a collection of photo-friendly rooms where gravity apparently takes the day off. We posed in upside-down rooms, played with perspective, and generally embraced the ridiculousness of it all. The sun came out late in the day, so we strolled about and did a little shopping in the vicinity.
Then Monday evening arrived, and it was time to play again.
I’d heard about the open mic at Big Bang Bar, and this turned out to be a very different experience from Craft Barcelona. It was an intimate listening room with a smaller crowd and a host who made everyone feel welcome.
After a few performers, I was invited up for my three songs.
This time, I started with an original: “peace.”
The audience responded warmly, and someone even shouted that I should share the song’s message with “the big orange dummy.” I’ll let you figure out who he was talking about.
I’d introduced myself in Spanish and mentioned that I was from the United States, followed by an apology. That got a laugh, too. Apparently, I can be funny in multiple languages.
Next came “A Fuego Lento.”
The room came alive. People were singing, dancing, cheering, and connecting with a song that had brought me so much joy on the beach the day before. This time, I wasn’t just hoping the audience would come along for the ride. They were right there with me. The house drummer even jumped up on stage to accompany me on cajon midway through the song.
I closed my initial set with “change,” and the response was encouraging enough that the host invited me to stay for another round.
I gladly accepted.
For my return appearance, I played “High and Dry” and took another shot at “Mr. Brightside”—my way, of course. The house drummer joined me and both went over beautifully.
Afterward, I connected with more people, picked up a few new Instagram followers, and had a great conversation with the club’s booking agent, who told me I was welcome to play there anytime.
I even got a fun selfie with the host.
Walking out of Big Bang Bar, I felt something I hadn’t quite managed to recapture at Craft Barcelona: that wonderful sense of being exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Not because everything had gone perfectly. Because I’d stuck with it, taken another chance, and found my people.
Art, Architecture, and the Occasional Break in the Clouds
Of course, Barcelona isn’t just about the music. Emma and I had a city to explore, and despite the weather’s apparent personal vendetta against our itinerary, we managed to see some remarkable things.
We spent three hours at the Picasso Museum, which was a fascinating journey through his early work and artistic evolution. I was particularly struck by his ability as a realist painter at just 14 years old. It’s one thing to know someone became a revolutionary artist; it’s another to see the extraordinary skill they possessed before they revolutionized anything.
We also visited Park Güell, Antoni Gaudí’s extraordinary playground of architecture, mosaics, and organic forms. The columns resembling palm trees were particularly beautiful, and every corner seemed to reveal another imaginative detail. The sun even made a perfectly timed appearance as our guided tour ended, giving us an excuse to linger and explore a little more.
On another rainy day, we headed to MOCO Museum, which was packed with contemporary art (my favorite), including a fascinating Banksy exhibition. I was also delighted by the work of Robbie Williams—the British performer, yes, but also a clever and compelling visual artist. His pieces mixed humor with some surprisingly poignant observations.
And then there was the Sagrada Família.
We’d missed the window for tickets inside, so we contented ourselves with exploring the exterior. Even from the outside, the scale, detail, and sheer imagination of Gaudí’s masterpiece were astonishing. You can understand why people travel from all over the world to see it.
There were neighborhood walks, beach strolls, tapas dinners, and plenty of photographs along the way. We even found time for some excellent graffiti appreciation near our flat. And because apparently I can’t resist turning any available surface into an opportunity for reckless curiosity, I climbed a rope pyramid on the beach. Easy? Yes. Impressive-looking in the photos? Not really.
Barcelona, you contain multitudes.
Hasta Luego, Barcelona
By Wednesday evening, we’d settled into the rhythm of our neighborhood. We enjoyed one final tapas dinner, chatted in Spanish with the restaurant host, and took our time walking past the colorful street art that had become part of our daily scenery.
Thursday morning finally delivered another beautiful, sunny day. Naturally.
We packed up, grabbed brunch at our favorite nearby café, and headed to the airport for our flight back to Boston. There were still things we’d hoped to see, and the weather had certainly thrown a few wrenches into the plans. But we left with something better than a completed sightseeing checklist.
We’d experienced a beautiful city, made memories together, practiced our Spanish, discovered some wonderful places, and connected with people we'd never have met otherwise.
And I’d played music.
I came to Barcelona hoping to find a few stages and make some connections for future visits. I left having performed at two very different clubs, found a welcoming musical home at them both, met a stranger who sang a beloved Spanish song with me beside the Mediterranean, and reminded myself that a rough night never has to be the final word.
There is something special about taking your music somewhere new. You can’t assume people will know your songs, understand your arrangements, or even speak your language. You have to listen, adapt, take chances, and trust that somewhere along the way, a connection will happen.
Sometimes it happens onstage. Sometimes it happens on a beach. Sometimes it happens after a performance that didn’t go according to plan.
And sometimes it comes with a five-euro tip and a selfie video.
I’m incredibly grateful that this trip happened at all, that I got to share my music in Barcelona, and that I came home with new connections and fresh inspiration. I’d love to return, explore more of the city, and see what else might happen when the displayers and I bring our music back across the Atlantic.
Until then, Barcelona, gracias por todo. You gave me plenty of rain, a slightly questionable umbrella, some unforgettable music moments, and a whole lot of reasons to smile.
We’ll be back. And next time, we’ll pack a better umbrella. 🇪🇸🎸
peace. - damian 😎❤️
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