The Spanish branch of the tour of our most international artist comes to an end. A scarce month in which rivers of ink have flowed for each concert that Rosalia offered throughout the country, with its motomamis, its dancers, its screens and the absence of live musicians. The latter, a birth that some have wanted to claim to feel more authentic in her melomania, but that should not be taken seriously.
It doesn’t happen so often that we Spaniards have the opportunity to see a compatriot at the peak of her talent, her talent being a peak of world talent. That is why Rosalía is sought for meanings and transcendences beyond music, often overshadowing herself, as if taking her for granted.
Undoubtedly, every cultural expression is a reflection of its time and circumstances. But the strongest thing about Rosalía is not what she represents, but what she is. If you allow me my opinion as a musician, Rosalía is more like an alien than a social movement. It is an unheard of thing.
I think that this celebration of his talent is almost unanimous among all people in the musical world. His is so obvious that he jumps out at the second, overshadowing any other consideration. Rosalía’s onion has so many layers that exploring what is outside of it is tiresome and a bit of a waste of time. And it has always been that way.
At the beginning of 2018 I spent a few days in Miami with my family. My friend Daniel Ferrandis had taught me The Angels (2017), the first album by a flamenco singer named Rosalía with a prodigious voice and texts that ranged from Saint John of the Cross a Will Oldham. She just so happened that, coinciding with our stay, she was going to perform in a theater in Little Havana. I convinced my mother to go see her.
The situation was curious. The public was made up almost 100% by Cuban retirees, a respectable spirited, but also with a certain tendency to murmur. Come on, they were not silent. In addition, Rosalía was not the only number of the night. Before her, two other flamenco artists stepped onto the stage with her repertoire of clapping and dancing. They were received with a certain indifference.
When our Rosa went upstairs and let out the first complaint, there was a deathly silence. She was hardly accompanied by Raul Refree to the guitar No choreography, no tricks, no screens, no flashes. Any. The sheer nudity. Within five minutes, half the stalls were crying. I looked at my mother out of the corner of my eye because I was a little embarrassed to cry too, so I summoned all my strength and endured exactly one more song. Then open floodgates.
After the concert we spent some time with her. I found the videos of that night and I can be seen gesturing nervously and not stopping smiling. She sweet and charming. For those who say that her innocence is faked, I answer that in person it is quite evident that she has it as standard. I asked her about her next projects and she told me that she was finishing an album. That cataclysm was later known as The bad want (2018).
When I listen to Rosalía today I still hear exactly the same as that day. To her obvious talents as a singer she has added those of a songwriter, producer, dancer and more. She now she lives in a shiny bubble of success and front rows, of Raww Alexanderof kardashians. He is a world figure, with all that that implies.
However, his music gives me that old feeling. That of the pleasure of seeing someone with an immense capacity develop it to its maximum exponent. That’s what Rosalia means. The pure joy of music, of art, of being alive. The deep and moving mystery of the human voice, which appeals to us in a way that we fail to understand. The rest also exists, of course. But it’s just an accessory.
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