Perfect Songs - Si Supieras

This was it. This is where it all started.

As powerful as music can be, sometimes it's the atmosphere of the song that carries all the power. That can be in the melody, but in many cases, it comes from the sound quality of the recording and sometimes down to the medium used to hear it. This is only one of the many reasons vinyl snobbery is a real thing and will always exist. For me, vinyl has always meant Sunday mornings. That's when I remember the most music would be played by my parents and the sound of that Zenith console is one I need to reproduce, because my turntable set up, while just fine, isn't really bringing me that warmth, that separation, that I-don't-know-what (using the French would have made this unbearably pretentious, while pointing this out is only slightly less so) that I remember. But one song from that time comes close, just because of the atmosphere of it. Although this version doesn't sound as good as the 45 I still have, which used to be my aunt's, I think the arrangement still comes through.

The melancholy longing of forbidden love comes through, whether or not you understand the lyrics, I think. This may, on the surface, appear to be a simple sweet love song, but it's not. There's a sighing tension in the orchestration, but beyond that, the lyrics talk about a misunderstood, maybe taboo and repressed love affair. More than likely it's a simple tale of a teenage girl who isn't allowed to go out to see her boyfriend, who may be older, and she lies to her parents to go see him. And that would be fine and could be disturbing on it's own, depending on the age of the boyfriend. Giving a teenage drama type song a lush orchestral treatment like this is not unheard of and it's a genre all it's own, really. But, maybe it's just me, I see more room for interpretation here. The video above not withstanding, the gender of her lover is never mentioned. What is mentioned, however, is the line "nadie en casa me comprende, todos censuran mi forma de ser" ("nobody at home understands me, they all censor my way of being"). I'm sure I read too much into this in the context of gay rights and all, but it fits that this song might be about a closeted gay teen in the 70s. And maybe it's not at all, but the fact that it could be, that it could be about so many things, lyrically, musically and emotionally,  that's the power of the song. 

The B-Side is good too.

And yet, for me, these readings only come now. They only reveal themselves to me on rediscovery and exploration. I was too young and later dismissive back then. But my visceral reaction to hearing this, on vinyl, is the feeling of Sunday morning, hearing this music and feeling the nostalgia from my parents. It's the memory, coupled with a constant search for that sound. It's realizing that my tastes in music always go back to these things when I hear this and can't help but think of artist like The Last Shadow Puppets, who quite likely never heard this specific song. And I think of other artists I've discovered later in life like Scott Walker and Jacques Brel when I hear Gloria sing "pienso que soy muy pequeña para ser feliz" ("I think I'm too young to be happy") which gives this song, written by Manuel Alejandro, a dark punctuation. And as it turns out, this man wrote songs for most of the artists my parents would play back in the day, from Nino Bravo to Raphael to Rocio Jurado and many more. Either way, this one song, is damn perfect. And now, I think I have to start searching for a Zenith Allegro Wedge Stereo system. 

Madrid in the 70s

My father left Cuba in the early 70's for Spain. I honestly don't know much about his life there until my mom arrived in Spain, from Cuba sometime in 71. The families had known each other for many years, and my parents weren't necessarily close, but my mom had been babysitter and godmother to some of my dad's nieces and nephews. So when my mom arrived in a new country, by herself, the only person she knew there came to meet her at the airport and, because my dad was so much cooler than I ever could imagine being, with long hair and a leather jacket (probably) he just went ahead and kissed her the moment he saw her at the airport, like something out of a movie, even though they only barely knew each other. Anyway, the rest is history, as I was born soon after. And 6 months after that, my parents brought me to the US.

I might have that jacket in my closet, but I'll never be as cool.

Growing up, I had pictures of this time in my parents' lives and stories about how awesome Madrid was with late night singing in the streets and clubs and drinking. Much of the music that I grew up with was from artists of this era and I've always had a fondness for it. Chief among them is Nino Bravo. His music was played just about every weekend in my house, and I actually still have my dad's vinyl albums. The song that sticks out the most and was also his biggest hit is "Un Beso y Una Flor," which doesn't just take me back to those weekends my dad would play the record, but it also makes me think of some of the stories they'd tell me and I picture them, young, cool, expatriates in Madrid in the 70s, just being cool and young. And above all, cool.

                                 

It's interesting that the song is about leaving a loved one behind to find a better life, something both my parents did when they left Cuba, leaving their families behind. It's even more interesting that when I finally went to Spain for my honeymoon, a song (which I can't remember*) came on the radio while riding a cab and the cab driver talked about how it reminded him of having to leave Spain in the 70's because things were so bad back when Franco was in power. Everyone runs from and to different things and for different reasons. Some leave nothing behind, some never return, but those that do seem to share something and I think this song really captures it. The chorus sometimes chokes me up because I have all these memories, mine and my parents, rolled up together into my history. I sometimes wish I knew more details about their lives before me, but then other times, I think the legend is probably so much better, that I'm glad it's a little sketchy. At least they gave me a good soundtrack to imagine the details by.




*I want to remember that moment in the cab revolving around this same song, because that would be perfect. I considered just saying that it was. But I know that the realities of Franco's Spain were not necessarily the good times that my parents described to me, and I didn't want to disrespect those that had to leave because of it or stayed and suffered out of my parent's sight.