20 Años (Buena Vista Social Club) – Voz e Violão | El Lolito Sessions

🎵 Acoustic and vocal interpretations of songs that have marked generations. Every Friday, here on YouTube, “around eight o'clock at night,” a new episode of A Song and a Little Story. This week's episode: 20 Años – Buena Vista Social Club ¿Qué te importa que te amo? If you don't want me The love that has passed You don't have to remember I was the illusion of your life Have a nice day Today I represent in the past I can't conform Today I represent in the past I can't conform If there are things that one wants If they could reach You wanted me just the same That 20 years ago With what sadness we look A love that leaves us It's a piece of the soul That starts without mercy It's a piece of the soul That starts without mercy History: Another chapter in our Iberian saga… A song that had already been in my repertoire before, because of the “so-and-so” there — who I don't even want to talk about anymore, because I'm tired of it. Yes, honey… you win. Summer was almost over when I met my new music partner. Chance? Luck? Destiny? I don't even know. It simply happened. And it only took one rehearsal for the old guy—and his dog—to realize they had finally found someone who understood the sacred fire of music. Or not… Invitation made: to play guitar at the next show with the singer from Madrid, in a town "near" home. Familiar repertoire: Cheek to Cheek… Capim… and, who would have guessed, 20 Años. In practice, I played much more percussion than guitar—thankfully. And there I could show what God brought me into the world for. It was a beautiful show. Full of contacts, promises, and compliments that… hmmm… Time for the truth. “In Spain, musicians are not respected.” “Living off music? Hahahaha… are you crazy, dude?” “There’s a music scene in San Sebastián, Madrid, Barcelona… but musicians don’t live off concerts like in France.” What do you mean? WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? So the “right” country was France? And all that fame as a musical country that Spain carries? “Yes, of course… there are flamenco venues, extremely expensive and selective… pure tourism.” I even suggested playing at village fairs, passing the hat, improvising… “Hahahaha, dude… in Spain there’s no money like in France. You’ll go home with ten euros.” And in big cities, like Oviedo and Gijón, you still needed permission to play on the street. Actually… I had a really unpleasant experience in Gijón, one of the rare times that gray place inspired me to play. The young people looked at me as if I were a lunatic holding a piece of wood. The old people looked at me with hatred. There was one old guy who I thought was going to explode, his fat head turned so red and his eyes bulged with resentment, just from seeing a poor musician playing for pleasure… without a hat, without an amplifier, without asking for anything. I didn't even want to imagine what would happen if I showed up there embodying the full character of Lolito to try and make a few coins. “Te multan y te echan sin hablar.” And that's when I understood everything. I understood why that “little girl” crossed the border every summer to make music in France. There, music still had value. There were still streets. There were still audiences. There was still room for madness. Even if one or two street musicians were a nuisance, at least the state wasn't so desperate for money as to fine street musicians… I was disappointed. Sad. And perhaps it was there, in that silent and noisy clash, that I began to see my dream of a musical summer night turn into winter… Today, “20 years later,” there are still people who ask me why. And, with the utmost audacity, they even make another little promise… Malice? Innocence? Neediness? I don't know… Few understand that, sometimes, the dream doesn't die in a great failure. Sometimes it dies slowly… in a crooked look, in the silence of an empty square, in an old musician laughing at your hope like someone who has seen that movie end before. The days passed. The cold arrived. The little sun went away for good. And all that remained was silence, empty promises, winter depression and longing… Longing for “20 years ago”, for a bon croque monsieur and a petit coup de soleil from the south of the country that I most unjustly judged… Scenes from the next little story. #20years #guitarandvoice #buenavistasocialclub