A rock record. That is what it is about, in the entire gender dimension, The wild years, the new album composed in pandemic by a Fito Páez turned into a song-spitting machine, and recorded in three urgent days in the company of a dream team of musicians of the kind who understand everything at first sight and who, although all are in a position to put on the 10, know how to play for the team.
But although it sounds simple, it is not so simple to make a rock album these days, in which the genre seems to be rediscovering a certain refreshing marginalityOf course, not by its own will but because the industry found its candy of occasion in the self-tuned urban babbling with low production costs.
And much less make a rock album that does not say things that we know and have already heard a thousand times and is no longer attractive enough to make you want to listen to it from end to end without feeling the temptation to speed up the process. And if you have 40 minutes to spare, hit it again without the risk of getting bored.
A few days after receiving the Grammy for musical excellence, Fito Páez delivered a compelling new chapter of his work. Photo Press Sony Music
Especially if the plan is part of a larger one, which includes the recording of two other works, one instrumental, together with the Czech National Symphony Orchestra, and another in the “solo piano” mode, titled The Golden Light, which will be released in April next year.
Defiant and stripped
There are songs by Fito Páez that are imposed by their own weight; others, on the other hand, can (and should) be heard as parts of different sagas. Something that can only happen when an artist has a work; and Páez has one, generous and essential, under which he forged his condition, sometimes palatial in style and other times defiant and stripped.
In this second category qualify The wild years, although it even has the Czech National Symphony Orchestra, from the initial drums attack with which the McCarthyian Abraham Laboriel Jr., together with the happily “repatriated” Guille Vadalá marks the beat of We are going to make it.
One more chapter of Páez’s profile enrolled in what Caetano Veloso described in an interview recently given to this newspaper as “programmatic optimism”.
That’s where titles like The liberated city or The devil in your heart. And where the brand new could also be included The best of our lives, which under such a statement lists a few of our daily miseries with the electricity of Juani Agüero’s guitar.
Foreword to the immediate Shut up, which shoots raw at the center of the here and now, with the exact scenery on the cover of yesterday’s newspaper: “Don’t shoot the kids / What kind of man are you? / Don’t spray them with bullets …” The thing is In this fucking town the years never stopped being wild.
A look back at yesterday and the relentless formula
The music of the dreams of your youth, one of the “ballads” alla Fito offers one of the most inspired poetic moments of The wild years, with that idea that “we are floating in time”, sung after having warned us that “there is no mom or dad anymore “ So what “outside there is nothing anywhere”. A beautiful way of saying that we are nothing more than what remains of what we are.
Fito Páez manages to combine pieces of his past with the most urgent present. Photo Press Sony Music
What else? Troy Horse and Without me in you they are two implacable “two plus two is four” of the profession of an artist that if it is repeated, it does so to improve the original. And in any case, if you do not know that one, it is a good opportunity to go in search of it and explore the path that leads from the convoluted man in Rosario to the man. engrammed In Las Vegas.
The same record in which they can be included Lili and drake, one of those contemporary slum stories that Páez has been writing in chapters since Third World, and Close encounters, a precious declaration of love to Fabi Cantilo watered by the wonderful choirs provided by Juan Absatz and Carlos Vandera.
the best for the end
Instead Beer blues It is one of those creations that impose its own conditions, although it encourages a link with the London town from Trust. Only here, the presence of Elvis Costello contributes to the actions of The wild years soar into space.
Together, they play two points, between London and Rosario, establishing a direct line between Covent Garden and El Diablito in which Malvinas, Liverpool and tango they mix like English and Spanish in the song. And one would dare say that I would buy the whole album just for this song. Like in the old wild years.
Those that Páez tells, precisely, in the tenth and last track of the album to which he also gives the title, with Fabi as a guest and with a breath of fresh air that overshadows any hint of low-down nostalgia anchored in the past, despite the cover photo with a 1986 Fito, and puts everything in the present: “These are my wild years / infinity is out there, / I’m already curious about the flight.”
Reference from clarin