Bring Back the Rancheras

Why Background Music Matters More Than You Think

In a city as culturally rich as Los Angeles, the slow removal of identity in public spaces—especially in something as seemingly trivial as a store’s music playlist—is more than a design choice. It’s a quiet cultural shift with loud consequences. I explore how the loss of culturally specific music in supermarkets and small businesses reflects a broader trend of cultural flattening, one that sacrifices authenticity for mass appeal. The music may change, but what’s really disappearing is the soul of the space—and with it, the comfort, memory, and meaning that music brings to our everyday lives.

Southern California is a mosaic of global cultures—a city like Los Angeles is where you can taste the world within a few blocks. Step into an Asian market and hear the warm hum of pop or traditional tunes—it’s not just background noise, it’s cultural essence. It’s humanity vibrating through the aisles, sung in unfamiliar words but familiar feelings. Visit MOULIN in Newport Beach, a charming French café, and you’re greeted with actual French employees, buttery pastries, and yes—music that gently whisks you to a lavender field in Provence. It’s not performative; it’s immersive. And that makes all the difference.

Go to Dick Church’s in Costa Mesa and you’ll find something similar. The music—classic American, a little country, maybe some jazz—sets the tone for a hearty homestyle breakfast. The kind that makes you nostalgic for Aunt Meg from Twister, frying steak and eggs in a farmhouse kitchen. (R.I.P. Bill Paxton and Philip Seymour Hoffman—you are missed.)

In an Indian restaurant, hearing classical ragas or Bollywood hits means the garlic naan will definitely be fire. At Father Nature in Pasadena, where I grab a lavash wrap, the Mediterranean soundtrack adds a layer of beauty that spans from Armenia to France. Culture, especially around food, finds its greatest companion in music.

And not all of us have the luxury to travel the world. So when we enter a restaurant or shop owned by someone from another country, the music they play becomes a window—a fleeting but powerful glimpse into another way of life. No passport required. You don’t need to understand the lyrics to understand the soul.

But lately, something’s been happening. Slowly, quietly, the soul is being silenced.

Corporate stores are starting to strip the cultural DNA from these spaces. Packaging changes. Foreign languages are replaced by English. And most heartbreaking of all—the music changes. Take Vallarta, my beloved local Mexican supermarket. It used to feel like walking into the warmth of an abuela’s hug: familiar music, familiar smells, and the sounds of home. Now? It’s lost in the fog of corporate rebranding. More organized? Sure. Efficient? Fine. But sterile. Generic. And tragically, silent in the ways that matter.

I get it—they want to expand. Compete with Costco, Amazon, and Stater Bros. But in doing so, they’re losing what made them special in the first place: identity. The soul of a store is in its sensory details. The way it smells, the way it sounds, the people behind the counter who smile because you speak the same language—not just literally, but culturally.

Food without culture is just calories. And music without meaning is just noise. So why erase that for the sake of “mainstream appeal”? Why assume that comfort only comes from conformity?

Music carries memory. In every culture, across every continent, food and music are paired like old friends. In America, we do it too. Whether it’s a Fourth of July BBQ, Christmas dinner, or Sunday brunch, music completes the mood. And I’ll admit—though I’m not religious and personally can’t stand most Christmas music—there’s something about Carrie Underwood’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” that softens me up during the holidays. (Pro tip: the best track is “Let There Be Peace.”)

America was built by immigrants—people who brought their languages, recipes, music, and stories. And yet, the dominant narrative tells us to blend in, speak English, and let go of the "foreign" in favor of the familiar. But what is America if not a collection of the world’s best parts stitched together in glorious contradiction?

Yes, I’m ranting about a grocery store playlist. But don’t dismiss it. It’s never just the music. These subtle erasures are the beginning of full-blown homogenization. It’s the cultural equivalent of painting over a mural with beige.

I’m not uncomfortable in other people’s spaces. I don’t mind being the only Mexican in the room. I love hearing languages I don’t understand. I trust restaurants where the food matches the faces in the kitchen, where the music feels like a hometown I’ve never visited but instantly recognize.

So here’s what I really want to say:

Dear Corporate America—please, with all due respect, take your bland, beige playlists and kindly shove them back into your focus group folders. Bring back the Rancheras. Bring back the Románticos. Bring back the sabor.

Because some of us still find joy in the music of our mothers. Some of us remember where we come from. And some of us—a lot of us—aren’t afraid to celebrate it out loud.

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Author’s Note:

This essay was written by me and reflects my personal thoughts, experiences, and voice. I used ChatGPT as a tool to help refine grammar, clarify structure, and elevate tone without altering the original intent or emotional depth of the piece. The core message, anecdotes, and perspective are entirely my own. ChatGPT assisted in editing much like an editorial mentor—suggesting improvements while respecting authorship.

*Photo was generated by ChatGPT