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A gateway on 26th Street proclaims BIENVENIDOS A LITTLE VILLAGE, welcoming people to a neighborhood known to residents as the “Mexico of the Midwest.” The greeting is aimed at the recent Mexican immigrants who largely make up this neighborhood. It’s here this population finds native comforts: Spanish-language signage, a corner grocer that stocks cactus paddles and prickly pears, and a cavernous club called Volkan (2501 S Kedzie Ave, 773-247-2400) that imports Mexico City nightlife north of the Rio Grande.
On Fridays and Saturdays, kids as young as 18 hit Volkan’s dance floor as reggaeton, merengue and Latino hip-hop groups and DJs perform. But Sunday nights showcase more traditional Mexican culture as touring norteño bands draw capacity crowds of vaqueros (cowboys) and the señoritas who love them. Western wear is the unofficial dress code for hombres, which makes for a spectacular parade of wide-brimmed hats, pearl-snap shirts and pointy-toed boots made from the hides of just about every animal imaginable, including the rare purple ostrich. While the men flaunt their duds, for the ladies the club is a place to exhibit the flesh: low-cut sparkle tops, vise-tight jeans, high heels and even higher skirts.
The norteño music at Volkan directly fuels alcohol consumption. Sometimes mistakenly called Mexican polka, norteño (Spanish for “northern”) is a jubilant genre propelled largely by the prominent oom-pah of the tuba and lively accordion and horn section. As evidenced by the floor packed with couples ranchera dancing (in which the goal is to press as closely as possible to your partner), it is happy, hip-shaking stuff. But behind the bouncing beat, the lyrical content of corridos (or narrative songs) tends toward heart-wrenching tales of lost love, lost lives and lost freedoms. “These are the drinking songs,” says manager George Mancilla. “It’s kind of like older American country music. They sing songs about feeling sad or depressed or blue, and everybody knows to head to the bar and drink a lot.” Not surprisingly, the most popular spirit is tequila. Scantily clad waitresses slink around the room holding trays of $5 shots of Don Julio, the fastest-moving brand. During the “drinking songs,” these trays empty faster than you can say the most common toast: “Arriba, abajo, al centro y pa’dentro,” which means “Up, down, center and inside.” As far as beer, the favorite here is Mexico-brewed Tecate. “It’s a taste of home,” Mancilla says, “and everyone loves a taste of home.”
