I didn’t see the Saved dedicated to Víctor Manuel that La Sexta broadcasts tonight, therefore this is not a criticism or a value judgment, not even a recommendation. At best, it’s a suspicion, a concern. In times of memes and reelfrom the show Gonzo, will pick up the radish by the leaves. No matter how hard they try to adjust the portrait. In the end, only noise will come out, because Víctor speaks like Mieres’s countrymen. Like a good poet, he knows no euphemism and periphrasis. They have already filled the program with phrases about Pedro Sánchez and some political figures. For example, he compares Abascal with Blas Piñar, in an analogy that is not very surprising, but which has produced some clicks and fights on the networks.
It’s a shame that the noise drowns out Victor’s silences. If his words sound categorical, it is because he cultivates silences that television cannot allow. Víctor Manuel is indescribable on TV: to show his way of being in the world you would need a Bergman-style film, long and with very static and minimalist shots. The amphetamine vacui horror of today’s television and social media does little justice to his wry smile, his sarcastic, underground humor, and his inexhaustible ability to listen. When Víctor speaks to someone, he responds with his whole body. The interlocutor feels that there is nothing more important than what he says. When listening, the singer creates a timely response because he responds to what the other person said. He never brings well-thought-out phrases from home, like on talk shows. In a world of monologues, he speaks, but on Instagram there is only room for preachers. After issuing Saved Remnants of a sermon of sorts will float across phone screens. And as a priest, Víctor just has the pose, with his black shirt and his way of taking over the stage.
If someone could capture Víctor Manuel’s modulations of silence, instead of putting his words in quotation marks, we could try a change of tone that would do us a lot of good. It would be nice if the political debate was more like a long conversation after dinner with him, and less like a fight between deputies. In the absence of silence, I hope that one of the mottos he always raised resonates more strongly: we all fit here or not even God fits. That would be enough.
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