Monday, July 31, 2006

The Only One I know, by the Charlatans


It was in 1995 that I organized my first britpop party in Mexico City. The independent party scene was completely taken over by illegal raves where mainly trance was played, and we decided to include The Smiths' famous battle cry, "hang the dj", in the flyer. It was a three-story building, and we put a sound system in each of the floors. Even some famous trance dj's from the local scene showed up to see what it was all about. By the time the Happy Mondays followed The Charlatans in my friend Demian's dj set, the main floor was filled with beautiful Mexican anglophiles -and a bunch of crazy expats- dancing with a previously-repressed nostalgia for a Madchester they have never experienced. I will always remember all the jumping and all the yelling and the smiles in everyone's faces and the yellow happy faces smiling in the tee shirts of all those vintage-Adidas-tracksuit-wearing John Squire look-alikes. It was a form of happy melancholia, a sad joy that expressed itself in dancing and hugging and the speakers blasting as if there were no tomorrow.

Back in 1995 I was 20, and I had never been to England but I had spent at least three years of my life reading NME's and Melody Makers and fantasizing about a scene that we would never witness but that defined our aesthetic itinerary and our sentimental education. By the time we were spinning it the track was already five years old, but it still sounded as if it had never been played before. Its power was delicate but ferocious, like fire. That year, some months later, they would release their collaboration with the Chemical Brothers, and the whole big beat thing would begin ruling the dancefloors of this side of the pond as well, even if in ridiculously small underground parties.

This was the sound of love and hope and possible futures and the pain of living. If you had asked me back then what it all meant, I would have said this was the music that defined the way I wanted my life to be like. This was me, this was my music, a sound that spoke to me like no other had before:


Everyone has been burned before, everybody knows the pain



4 comments:

mike said...

Entiendo perfectamente lo que quieres decir. Esa también es mi música. Sabes, yo debí haber nacido 10 años antes. El viernes pasado fui a una fiesta, me había pasado la tarde entera haciendo una playlist digna de una buena fiesta, puse a los Mondays, a Front 242, a New Order, etc... ya te imaginarás, y efectivamente pude adueñarme del stereo como hora y media, hasta que me dijeron -mike, YA podemos desconectar tu ipod? es que queremos oir otra cosa- Y terminaron poniendo Raeggeton y esas mierdas... Me siento como un marginado. Y la brecha generacional cada vez se vá haciendo mas grande. Me siento desfasado. El soundtrack de mi vida rara vez es colectivo, las canciones que están marcando mi juventud no son las que están marcando a mi generación. No es que me moleste, pero se siente raro....

mike said...

...por eso amo este Blog...

Ernesto said...

Todos en gran medida sentimos que nacimos en la época equivada, Mike. Dando el curso sobre rock y literatura todo el tiempo pensaba, ¿por qué nací en los setenta y no fui adolescente en los setenta?

Gracias por tus comentarios; es bueno saber que te gusta este blog.

Manolo said...

Lo que daría por ver a led Zeppelin completo