Good morning, good afternoon, and heck, even evening to whoever and wherever you are when stumbling across this little review of mine. Hank Rivet here, reporting to you directly from Kansas City, Kansas. Taking a break from my column ‘Rivet’s Ramblings: Stories from the Heartland’ to review FINAL (Vol.2), the second final album from Enrique Iglesias — the man who possessed Mrs. Rivet!

First, let me set the scene. Our sweet, shuttered bungalow is surrounded by green grass and the smell of barbecue in the air. It’s late afternoon and Mrs. Rivet is inside incanting “Hero” as she tends tonight’s stew. Our silly old black cat Castor is perusin’ the yard, no doubt trying his luck again with the neighbor. Mrs. Rivet’s got the boy crazy for offal.

Now, I hear you gasp, “an ignorant old man such as yourself, who can barely string a sentence together in English, is never going to understand the Latin beauty and lyrical nuance of Enrique’s mostly Spanish album” — but flanked by my new dictionary, I’ve done my best to decode some of these titles and lyrics for the kind readers of Witchfork Music Magazine. 

Playing my promotional CD, sent by the wonderful folks at Sony Music Entertainment, from my very special hi-fi system (read on, and you’ll see why!), I find myself tapping my foot to the opening track “ASI ES LA VIDA”, meaning “That’s Life”, with María Becerra. As I sit there, romanticizing Mrs. Rivet and I’s passionate and loving marriage, she shrieks that she’ll cast a spell on my darned foot for moving around too much and dulling Enrique, and gee, she seems serious… 

Shifting gears to a brighter note, “Fría” with Yotuel makes me feel like taking a dip! Now Spring is on our doorstep, Mrs. Rivet and I would normally head to the Schlitterbahn Water Park, but since its closure, we’re a long way from any water. To curb her disappointment, I sent a letter to the good director Alejandro Pérez requesting a VHS, which I watched with Mrs. Rivet one evening. Entranced by the glare of the television set, Mrs. Rivet’s understanding was that the video had been recorded on the Astral Plane, while I thought it looked more like a Florida travel brochure.

And now, I think it’s important I shed a little light on how Enrique entered mine and Mrs. Rivet’s life. To the good readers of Witchfork Music Magazine, I ask that you indulge me. Pull up a chair and I’ll spin you a yarn straight from the heartland, of how Mrs. Rivet and I got wrapped up in this handsome young man’s web! 

At the Rivets’, there’s barely a moment where these charming sounds are not audible; the whispers of the sunflower field blowin’, or the western meadowlarks singin’. What I’m trying to say is our part of town is pretty quiet… But folks, Mrs. Rivet is something of a night owl. I’m giving away my age a little with this story, I’m no spring chicken as I’m sure the mathematically able will tell, but I’ll cast the line back to the night I was introduced to Enrique Iglesias’ magical music.

Mrs. Rivet had glided in from one of her nighttime capers. Ordinarily quiet, aside from her usual mutterings, these stirrings were more erratic than usual. I dismissed it as another episode of Mrs. Rivet’s nighttime yabber while I was still in my slumbrous stupor, before I was woken abruptly by a sudden jolt of clattering, feverish mutterings, manic screech preachings and all-manner of possessions of the vocal cords.

From my bed, I could hear Mrs. Rivet swirling around the fusty, cobwebbed boxes in the basement, clawing for my discarded hi-fi system (the very same I listen to today) — boxed away in the 90s! Mrs. Rivet always used to say Personal Computers and Music were nonsense, and unnecessary in a home chosen and protected by the stars. Acutely aware that my cadaver IBM model was rottin’ in the basement, my toes curled under my duvet at the sound of Mrs. Rivet’s yanking of the tangled audio system from the PC’s wiry clutches.

With thirty years of marriage under our belt at this time, I was accustomed to Mrs. Rivet’s late-night lunacy and renditions of “Baba Yaga” so thought nothing of it… Until I heard music… Music! 

I’d not heard something so rhythmic, so pure in all my days. Enrique stirred something in my body as I ascended out of my humble bed, his tenor piping up the stairs and stripping the haze of sleep away from me. Blinded by the fluorescent white light, I glanced at an open CD case for Escape by Enrique Iglesias, his lustrous dark eyes looking up at me. I was enchanted. 

Bewitched by the music, I stumble over to the sound of Track 1 and Mrs. Rivet’s cute cackle. It was the early hours of our wedding anniversary, November 8th, 2007. I was sure she’d forgotten, but I could sense a portal opened in her heart as she drew me into the yard and we danced under the stars to “Hero” (an activity she used to do without music, merely to the rhythm of her own clucking), illuminated by Venus and the waning crescent moon.

Sixteen and a half years later, Mrs. Rivet – like clockwork – dances to the rhythm of Enrique nightly. She mambos barefoot in the yard, reaching for something I cannot see and lit by her special family candles.

Anyway, gosh I do prattle on. I tell myself every day, “Hank, you’ve got to pay attention to what’s at hand”. I always find myself drifting from consciousness, but maybe I should get off my own back, it’s easy to get sidetracked in life.

Now, back to the review. FINAL (Vol.2) is like a Kansas weather forecast; one part high-octane tornadoes with tracks like “La Botella”, “Como Yo” and “Be Together”, and the other calm, sultry, just like an evening on the porch with Mrs. Rivet and Castor.

In the latter camp is “Space in my Heart” with Miranda Lambert. Shortly after receiving my promotional CD, on one of Mrs. Rivet’s nights off, we headed downtown to Offkey Karaoke Lounge. She’d bought me this charming hat, a classic military-grade distressed style, just like the one Enrique wears. Now, I’m a little shy getting on stage and normally I’d politely decline, but that night was different. I’d had my usual evening Piña Colada with a side of Mrs. Rivet’s Friday night caldron stew, and heck that drink gave an old man some confidence! Her skin glowed green under the stage’s spotlights while we harmonized, transporting me back to the moment we discovered him. Tipsy as a goose, military-grade cap jaunty, the rest gets a little hazy but I remember Mrs. Rivet and I set the bar alight with my favorite song from the album, “Love and Pain”.

So there you have it folks. As the sun sets over the prairies and Mrs. Rivet begins her nightly dance, it’s beautiful music like this that reminds me there’s magic in the detail. Through these ramblings of mine, I hope to share a bit of magic with you, the good readers of Witchfork Music Magazine, reminding us all of Enrique’s powers, hopefully not for the FINAL time.