El Último de la Fila, a surreal band within anyone’s reach, antiheroes glorified by a legion of followers, has broken their unfulfilled promise of not playing together again, and they did it in front of 56,000 people like any Stones just for the pleasure of playing again, just like a couple of years ago when they disobeyed themselves by releasing Desbarajuste piramidal for the mere pleasure of recording again.
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That’s what happens when you take something as playful as music as a joke, and as a bachelor party joke sounded the mariachi band that appeared by surprise an hour before the performance, to entertain with rancheras the waiting audience, who had been dreaming for 30 years of seeing their life companions on stage again.
The protagonists dedicated the night to Llach, Sisa Riba and Quim Monzó, “who feels the commotion from home”
A crowd of old rockers answered the call – veterans, although not as old as the protagonists aged 70 and 68 – gathered in a massive stadium, a unique event in the career of El Último, who intend that no one misses seeing them play again the songs that long ago became the soundtrack of popular parties, car trips, Sunday workouts, or any moments of melancholy.
Manolo, wearing a blazer, scarf, and sunglasses, and Quimi, jeans, rolled-up shirt, and also sunglasses, blew in unison and the ship sailed down the path of the past with Huesos, the same song from Los burros with which they started their last concert before breaking up. Beside them, some of the musicians who have accompanied them from the beginning until that farewell in 1996.
There was Ángel Celada on drums, a regular at Quimi’s concerts, or Juan Manuel García on keyboards, while Manolo brought Pedro Javier González on Spanish guitar, or Antonio Fidel on bass, a companion since the times of Los Burros, and Sara García, the youngest in the group – and apparently Manolo’s own daughter – on keyboards and guitar.
Seven musicians and two backing vocalists accompanied the duo to review the career of El Último, who performed under a huge illuminated fish to ward off the rain that fell intermittently during Sunday afternoon and evening, which amounted to just a few drops. Another joke, like the space invader video game (Martian octopuses, in this case) that appeared on the giant screens to lighten the well-worn nostalgia that has filled stadiums for years.
“¡Bona nit, amics i veins de Barcelona!” greeted Manolo, asking for a big “Hello!” like the one heard at the Olympic Games opening, an event as Barcelonan as Querida Milagros, the first of the songs that got the audience singing while the vocalist approached the edge of the stage to, in solidarity with those present, get wet under the gift that the God of rain offered last night in return, that “where there is moisture there is joy,” Manolo reminded.
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“Venc Opel Corsa,” could be read on the stage, and the screens showed images of chickens roasting on a spit. A more than illogical accompaniment for Mi patria en los zapatos. “The most important factor in this equation is you,” greeted Quimi Portet, thanking the audience for paying so much attention to Manolo when, decades ago, he asked his small audiences to grow and multiply.
And so they have, adding the authors of Aviones plateados to the increasingly numerous club of artists capable of filling large stadiums, with the added factor in their case of using only music, which sounded good, and knowing how to be on stage in good shape, those who have never stopped playing.
The night went from less to more, and although the attendees did not jump wildly from start to finish as usually happens when Springsteen takes the stage, it does not mean there was no connection, only that it came from lower down, perhaps more Catalan. From the applause that the concert dedication to Llach, Sisa, Ia & Batiste and Pau Riba drew (Quim also greeted another Quim, Monzó, “who feels the commotion we make from home”) before the soft rock of La piedra redonda and Mar antiguo sounded, with a sea of lights in the Olímpic that accompanied images of the early years of Manolo and Quimi.
Fish and watering cans floated over the lunar surface while the slow Disneylandia played, which Manolo sang lying on his back on a wheeled sofa, thrown without hesitation over the edge of the stage halfway through the concert, which lasted just over two hours. It was then when the rain intensified again in time with a second part in which the band gave it their all.
Wrapped in a bathrobe and complaining that “The God of rain doesn’t give us a damn,” Manolo fired silver bullets: Cuando el mar te tenga, El que canta su mal espanta, Lápiz y tinta or an euphoric Lejos de las leyes de los hombres, with the audience in the stands standing up, this time yes, competing with the boss. Also Sara, “some say I named this song after my daughter,” Manolo commented with some mystery, and on the screen read “Collective catharsis.”
The encores were cathartic, where Ya no danzo al son de los tambores and Como un burro amarrado a la puerta del baile completed the journey that culminated, as it could not be otherwise, in Insurrección colectiva, the final point to the happy return of Manolo and Quimi, who with this tour condemn themselves to the harassment of those who will not be satisfied and will ask that this concert not be the last.
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