in turn is was vero, Malaga is important meritava aspettative, and you Risposte dei miei amici unanimously implacabile Furono a getto d'acqua sul mio gelato lanciato enthusiasm città è brutta, modern charm senza , niente to do with the other Andalusian capital, Seville, Cordoba, Granaba, Cadiz, the better the charm of the little Mudejar then Ronda, Marbella or glamorous, but do not go to Malaga. Obviously, I did not believe any of them. It could not be a place so sad. I felt it. My Malaga raisin ice cream knew, of whispered sweet "in that old house from the patio, the atmosphere of Chinarro Sr., beaches and pescaìtos fritos. So Tired to turn around, while I was calle Zurbano back and forth four times a day, and to confine to immaginare, per Dirl with her parole di Cristina, " the infinite strip bars and beach, boats steaming skewers and paella always freshly made, fried fish and dogs rested is El Palo," arrivasse Pasqua che aspettai e che arrivasse Laura, and finally, with the Sahara, the flax Camicia di spirito e il mio miglior colonialist Salii high velocità sul treno ad (che anche per me è più che l'aereo "insufferable") , in picchiata paese verso il sud of, arso di scoprire curiosità dalla ragione chi AVEVA is i miei amici or Fred Bongusto.
Incense dissolves and the sea approaches, and the smell is left overwhelmed by anchovies on grilled toasts that obtained in an abandoned wooden boat on the beach. The old decaying structure of baños del Carmen, with its columns now only decorative spike on the rocks, welcomes us with a beer on the table in red plastic to rest, after walking for hours along the sea, through the neighborhoods of Palo and Pedregalejo their humble colored houses with a plan close to the sea "as Italy sixties", the fish restaurants with waiters vintage men chiringuitos with deck chairs, dogs without leashes, people relaxed, with shirt pants, belly and short hair slicked. We drink a manzanilla with Piglet, the symbol of the city bodega, fainting in creamy salmorejo, a symbol of quality of life without equal. We stopped to buy pistachios, raisins and olives into the huge grocery store without an old age, he and groceries, and olives the fish one by one in a plastic barattolone full of brine, and are very good, fleshy, like a kiss after a race. Exhausted, we arrived at the end of the walk was over as if the world dies the beach in front of a wall, a bar with its peeling walls extends to the water tables, a drink you at all hours, a boat passing on the horizon, the sunlight reflecting off the water and lying on the bench, a couple of hours asleep, I look to escape from under the book by Ray Lorimer, and your neck, to put it with Chinarro Sr., is the mirror of the fairies.
Yeah, Sr. Chinarro. I was convinced that Antonio Luque lived in Seville, where he was born and where he recorded all his records until the recent turn of pop de El fuego amigo , and instead a couple of months before losing to Malaga I'm lucky to know the Circulo de Bellas Artes, the Gran Via madrileña glorious building, during a concert Darren Hayman, the legendary Jesús Llorente, with its unmistakable appearance (more on that hipster nerd) shaving-glasses, plaid shirt. Llorente has for me the stigmata the saint and the faith of the missionary because it was he, in 1993, to fall in love so much of Sr. Chinarro who decided to found a tiny label, Acuarela , only to publish his first obscure, cryptic, beautiful work. Today Acuarela is a musical reality affirmed and Sr. Chinarro refuge record has changed, but Jesus and Antonio continue to be friends, and when I approach the first to ask the second, he tells me who called in the afternoon to tell him that his new apartment in Malaga, a few steps from the sea, is so small that when the neighbors Cut the onions to him crying.
New Sr. Chinarro label, Mushroom pillow , has recently re-released all their old records, Antonio Luque those who no longer wants to sing, because, as explained during the program Mapa beautiful sound (when in Italy something?) while he cut hair in peluquera Pepe (the purest in Malaga), "when a director makes a movie at the cinema you go to see just that, and not a collage with his older movies, and I wish it were that even at my concerts, I play only the new record. "buy, listen and read the texts is not only a pleasure, but a real moral imperative. It 'Sr. Chinarro that you do not listen, or at least not only that, Sr. Chinarro because you , Malaga, Rome or wherever, why is nothing but a way of life. He is wrong also a famous journalist and writer, normally lit, which had no little weight in my literary education, when I wrote " resize it: Sr. Chinarro mind helping me, but I do not think like you do the new Bach-Wagner-Puccini-Beethoveen ." The point is not that is, the point is naturally the inevitable losses in its mysterious phrases, elliptical, seemingly unrelated, covertly ironic, bitter, poetic, imaginative, and redundant references popular costumbrista words magic buying new meanings, related by the disenchantment of the memories and the passing daily.
Moreover, Luque worked in a factory for snacks, was a painting, with its sullen expression, his manners clumsy, and it was unbearable to accept to live a second life an artist in the shadow of reality, or vice versa, with the employees to blame who recognize and confess fans. The discs come so hard, difficult and lonely in the first years of this decade, La primera obra envasada to vacío , ventrilocuo El mismo de yes and Cobre cuanto antes , which displace and disappoint the critics after the small successes of the previous albums ( El por qué de mis peinados and Nosèquè noseècuàntos ) waiver because Luque dell'acordeòn colors, keyboards, melodies of his Belmonte and female choirs, to return to do it all alone, filling the guitar melodies rough stony, bare essentials, which you and chase dissipate like the smoke of candles on the move, as the smell of incense in the aisles of Manquita , the Cathedral of Malaga, such as horses in the rain, and adorned with his prose elusive. Those are hard to start, because they are the most sincere. Disintegrates the concept of the song (as well as in his recent literary debut, with two stories Socorro , Antonio Luque ha ha fato what you Regole della stesso with narrative), only frasi che sono senza susseguono if a logical, if susseguono brani senza che a ritornello, dischi senza che if a singolo susseguono radio.
E 'interiors Percorso conosco che l'ironia (" misses will not know the answer / Prussia is a territory or a beacon of free taxis? "), l'amore (" on the trampoline to the pool, June from left, your neck is the mirror of the fairy "), nostalgia (" have no idea of \u200b\u200bthe wind blowing "), l'assurdo (" Sundays in the field, paella passed to the other side of forest drama / I did nothing, I keep llena el coche de Latas de Fanta machacadas "), the daily visions, that make sense or not (an oil-stained clothes, a la plancha chipirones, dogs that are lost in parks or parking lots of Burger King, houses buried by vegetation, lost the final songs, pineapple falling on the beach ..) and is transformed, sublimated into a universal language which, once it is recognized as their own, you can not go back. And then I have the Chinarro Sr., as are Aki Kaurismaki, as are Robert Rauschenberg, because their works are my way of dealing with life and my life is in their works, and this I Did I Antonio Luque told, in the bathroom of a club minimalist Pamplona, \u200b\u200bafter a concert, but who knows if the will understand, while washing his hands, and gave me a sheet with the text of a new song.
