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For many years he had nothing, which is why he later wanted everything. Alberto Aguilera Valadez was abandoned by his mother, and at the age of five he was placed in an orphanage, ran away and began selling donkeys, suffered abuse and mistreatment, slept on the street, and even served time in prison. Along the way, Alberto Aguilera became Juan Gabriel, wrote 1,800 songs, sold more than 150 million records, had six children, dozens of homes, filled Hollywood Bowl and the Palace of Fine Arts, approached politicians, fought the Treasury Department and even Televisa. But above all, his transformation and revenge (as much as it was poetic as it was epic) transcended Mexican prejudices of class, race, and gender that seemed unbreakable in popular culture. In the land of bullying and brawling male cattlemen, he triumphed by shaking his hips in his embroidered jackets. Everyone loves Juan Gabriel very much.
Certainly the high point of his career, and the ultimate transgression, was the concert at the Palace of Fine Arts in the capital. On May 12, 1990, on the lofty stage of the Mexican venue hitherto reserved only for high culture, Juan Gabriel appeared in a tight black baroque suit with shiny and gold nails: “It is the happiest moment of my life.” The director of the Orchestra of Fine Arts refused to cooperate in the concert and the rudest critics of the time were tearing off their clothes. “Juan Gabriel desecrates the fine arts,” newspaper headlines said.
The King of Palenques, the vulgar and effeminate folk idol, in the hallowed house of opera, alongside the greatest orchestra in the country. This is how Carlos Monsivais put it in his memoirs the next day: “The explosion of homophobia joins the defenders of good music, that shield of manly faith, the seal of bigotry as an aura of integrity. Homophobia is embraced by brave columnists who remain in disbelief in the face of an individual of such morality, such fame, such success.” During the show, Juan Gabriel flirts with the audience, talks about you, and greets the wife of controversial President Salinas, who is accused of facilitating sacrilege after the singer supported his election campaign.
“Who wants to marry me?” says Divo with an already engaged audience. “The response – Monsivais again – is mostly or almost exclusively male. Roosters, mayors, creeps, and angry males stand up and sincerely shout to those who regulate the ban: ‘Hey huanga!’ Juan Gabriel, you are one of a kind! look at me! “Here I am, look at me!” And in addition to the exclamations that delight the army of psychologists and psychoanalysts, experts in the art of verifying the opening of homosexual cores.
Juanja’s attack on the Palace of Fine Arts was revived on Saturday in the Zocalo. The capital’s large square was full again, although not as full as it was when Juanja himself broke the record two decades ago when he packed 350,000 people into the large square. The ceremony was broadcast on giant screens, as part of the promotion of a new documentary series produced by Netflix. Juan Gabriel: I have to, I can, I want to. The main attraction of this series is the detailed archive provided by the artist’s family: 30,000 photographs, 2,268 videotapes and nearly half a million audio files, most of which he took himself over the decades of his career.
The file collects one of his most popular moments. In 2002, besieged by the tabloid press’s persecution of his private life, Juan Gabriel gave an interview on television. The journalist asks him: “Juan Gabriel, they say he is gay, but is Juan Gabriel gay?” Answer: “They say you don’t ask what you see.” It could have been a lyric of his songs. That talent for omitting, for saying without saying, this combination of the rawness of Agustín Lara and the melancholy sadness of José Alfredo.
Monsivais explains it better again: “Juan Gabriel is the literal justification for what was kicked out of the TV program or what could never be included: nacos and Truck drivers And romantic secretaries, and homeless housewives who wait, and “weirdos” and teenagers from the slums. This taste has transcended marginalization, domesticated modernist jealousy, and homophobia, and today, whether stripped of its original drive for transgression or not, it triumphs equally in the Atlante Stadium, in the luxurious cabarets, and in the Palais des Beaux-Arts.
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