The advantage of having Hakuna in Madrid is that the rest of the cities get rid of brown. Unless they were like Boney M, of course, a brand under which several bands were hiding who played the same songs simultaneously on different stages. … Europe. But Hakuna, like Spain, there is only one. And as El Perich said, this is something that other countries have never been able to thank us enough for. I would have preferred Joaquín Sabina to sing Christmas carols, something more Spanish and more traditional, something similar to what he did Bob Dylan on this album, “Christmas in the heart”. And this has its merit because Dylan is of Jewish origin. But, as he himself emphasized, “Christmas carols belong to everyone and everyone can identify with them in their own way.” This, and no other, is the spirit that must be defended in the age of the trenches and postmodernity.
For things like that, I thought it was a good thing that Dylan won the Nobel Prize for Literature. He certainly deserved it and the decision not only did not downgrade the award, but rather expanded it. Among other things, it served to remind us that literature is not limited to the story and includes the essay, the poetry, the theater, the chronicle… and also the song when it constructs a verbal world, a free outlook and a recognizable voice. Of course, before the printing press existed, there was already sung and recited literature, say that of Homer or Shakespeare himself, who wrote to be recited. So Dylan, like so many others, returned the literary word to its oral, popular and generally uncomfortable origins. This is the case of Sabina, who, like Dylan, teaches us that songs can be written outside of the canons and incorporating poetic images, complex metaphors and personal narratives unusual in conventional pop. His lyrics are not limited to producing standard structures, but rather open their own moral and sentimental territory, recognizable from the first verse, where irony, defeat and late sorrow are integrated, told with grandeur in the use of language accessible to very few people. This freedom to write and this ability to do so by sublimating language is Sabina’s deepest heritage. And that matters much more than some want to admit, because he is no longer just a popular musician: with his retirement, a writer emerges who sings because, as a writer, he wants to touch everyone. And he did it.
Sabina’s legacy is unfathomable, not only in Spain but in America, that is, across the entire map of Spain. His apostolate in matters of beauty is unprecedented and, to give one example, only “De purísima y oro” tells the story of the post-war period better than the entire social narrative combined. I think it is indisputable that Sabina deserves the Princess of Asturias of Literature. And he deserves it now that he cuts his ponytail and puts an end to an enormous work which is already part of the collective heritage. As such, it must be recognized. Let them tell it to my neighbor Herrera, an old friend of Flaco and who, like all of us who aspire to write instead of editing, admires his pen as a prophet and penitent. Sabina’s importance cannot be quantified. But not only to teach us to write but, above all, to teach us to feel, to look at and to unite the lines that unite the two points of both gifts and faults. We mourn Robe and Jorge Martínez. Before we mourned Antonio, Aute and Krahe. Just in case, don’t leave it on deaf ears. Then it’s too late, princess.
About The Author
