It 'hard to get away from 1999, the last album of Catalan Love of Lesbian , which more than one disk is actually a short novel of formation, the very literary guide-of-a key year in the post-adolescent love story between two boys from Barcelona. It 'hard to come off because it is a hard driving, nostalgic, exciting, as exciting is the voice of Santi Balmes, singer and songwriter, who with his words as if we show the solid wall of Polaroids of his room a decade ago. It 'hard to come off because everyone has experienced its 1999, and then to hear some stories of screams, concerts, fringes, records, family issues, gaps and Rotte finestre vengono in mente altre storie, vissute questa volte che but 'non hanno avuto nemmeno della Consolazione in a disk memory così bello. In un'intervista to domanda banale ("How autobiographical is the record?"), Balmes risponde da campione: I would say that 70 percent is autobiographical and the rest is fantasy, as I would have liked things were at one time right? . It ragione: per quanto può essere felici if in a moment certo storico, non si perde mai di poterlo the consapevolezza di essere ancora più, e allora anche il passato, soprattutto in a disco è remember looking in part for what it was and in part to what might have been.
Santi Balmes The past of the universe opens with the image of an eternal return impacting on the crime scene sentimental. Alli whence solìamos grita is the return, ten years later, the benches above the industrial port of Barcelona, \u200b\u200bBalmes was going to cry with his girlfriend when they felt uneasy. Those cries are still felt, as well as those benches again retain all the verses of Heroes , who had recorded the dark and without thinking, "with a Chaval de las Faltas." Twelve and twelve songs polaroid later, the disc closes with 2009. Voy a break Las Ventanas, which is the realization that as time passed, it is useless to try to forget, because so much has not changed anything, it is still early to give up, because, as says a friend of mine from Pamplona, \u200b\u200bmelancholy is the happiness of being sad, and above all, compared to those years, we have never grown up, and we have not balanced (and hopefully, we will not ever). The last image is then the pair with the first appearance: they are no longer cries that cut the air, but stones that break windows, glass raining down, remember that back: "Voy a break Las Ventanas
para que lluevan Cristales,
Fri break at Las Ventanas,
Ven a grita como antes,
Ven a break Las Ventanas
y hacer a chaos of art,
voy a break tus Ventanas
enter como el y voy a aire .. "
Ten years ago there were very specific windows that I wanted to break, to be able to enter as the air. Bedrooms clearly defined, with the carpet on the floor and vocabularies of greek and latin on the shelves. Worlds of freckles to explore. Without the visual force in the disk of Lesbian Love, I described my 1999 (that year!) in a book that could be called-will not be offended-Cortazar's "fantastic realism", because it tells a true story that actually never existed, or rather, perhaps a fictional story that in reality, for me, yes that had existed. What then, when someone tells a story, especially if their story is really so important to know if it really happened? There are always things that you can not tell, and others that it is better to add. The same Santi Balmes, responding to a completely different question, offers a reading on this Sincerità della issue. Siccome ha scritto i primi tre dischi in inglese e gli ultimi tre in inglese (the scelta di cantare Rinnegan in un'altra lingua che nessun errore eat a gruppo dovrebbe commettere) has ruolo che gli chiedono per lui il Catalan, di fatto la sua lingua vera mother
" Catalan is our mother tongue, is what we speak in the van. I learned to speak Castilian five years. The problem that I have with Catalan, it should perhaps be overcome, is that because my home language, I get more serious. With your mother did not talk about what you did Anoche ... I change the mucho cuando hablo en configuración psíquica a u otra lengua, es pasada a .
There are languages \u200b\u200bin which it is easier to talk about themselves, because they are not our language. There are stories in which it is easier to identify, why do not they talk about us. There are memories in which it is easier to recognize because they are not ours, but the ones we wanted to live. I told a friend that the girl which ten years ago I wanted to cry she got married last week. I told him that, then, last week has finally ended an era. That era began in 1999, which was to be the last year in the world and now I understand-but-for me, as for Santi Balmes, it was just the last year of a certain world, and now nothing remains except the certainty of having lived. Better so, if tomorrow come back, I would not know how to live it.
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