Mick Jagger is not the same as Alejandro Sanz, even though the greatest rock icon and the Madrid idol of Andalusian blood share a job. But since last night the two can boast of a full house, or almost, at the Wanda Metropolitano in Madrid, which is equivalent to a good 45,000 souls delivered at their feet. And as for the author of Broken heartwith a significant percentage of attendees still pining for their bones, which is not without merit in a man who long ago stopped being a pipiolo or a newcomer.
Alejandro Sánchez Pizarro made himself beg until 10:48 p.m., with the night already closed and slow, and he wanted the giant screens to premiere with some images of him as a seductive young man, shirtless and with the eternal smile of a mischievous boy, no matter how much the stubborn DNI reveals the 53 years that have elapsed since it was incorporated into the neighborhood of the Moratalaz neighborhood. Sanz likes to feel that he is still qualified for seduction, and he does well to vindicate himself as that melodic and conquering singer-songwriter who caused vertigo and havoc in the 1990s and today retains a much higher prestige than his detractors are willing to admit. Although he has somewhat skirted his soul as an Italianate balladeer and now Latin and Flemish profiles prevail, and even that somewhat rogue left him when he sang totemic phrases such as “Living is the most dangerous thing in life.”
There was in last night’s repertoire some tacit acknowledgment that Alejandro has seen better times, a somewhat logical circumstance in an artist who is 31 years old and has a dozen studio albums on his resume (don’t worry, for the recount we have dispensed with the period as Alexander the Great). No trace throughout the night of The train of moments (2006) nor of that unfortunate nonsense that was Syrup (2015), a paradigm of those moments in which the emperors do not keep in their entourage a single lackey with arrests to tell him that they have started to parade in minced ball. The representation of ‘#ELDISCO’ (2019) was also rickety, just that My favorite person, which is characterized —and long live high-flying poetry— because “it has a pretty face”. Instead, Is not the same it was claimed, with up to five titles, as his last album with all the lyrics. And he has already passed (believe it, even if it costs you) 19 springs.
Part of that complicit encouragement that is still perceived between the stage and the fans comes precisely from the fact that we find ourselves before a long-term relationship. People have fallen in love and disappointed with songs by Sanz as a soundtrack; she has chosen it to give voice to sighs and longings, to feel questioned and understood in moments of shipwreck. To be convinced that we are not alone even when life turns unpleasant and shows its fangs. There may be some reunion with that more confessional Alejandro Sanz (and bare-chested, as in the images) in Sanz, that recent twelfth album that doesn’t include any earthquake for the charts, but it does offer a challenge to the artist’s most organic and flamenco facet. Surely also the most sincere and genuine. Or at least flattering.
Obviously, it is not easy to raise a discourse of intimacy and complicit resilience in the immensity of a stadium and with that jumbled and reverberating sound of massive events. Sanz is supported by a solid and iron band, as valid for the firm pulse as for the silky nuance, and he takes the opportunity to enjoy himself with heartbreaking, heartfelt and exciting performances like that of when no one sees me. But soccer fields are more appropriate temples for communion and brotherhood with others than for prolonged musical ecstasy. And it doesn’t help that Sanz resorts more than he should to the trick of shortening the songs and interweaving them. This way more titles enter the repertoire, of course, but the enjoyment is blurred.
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Elegant in his white suit, happy to strum the guitar with some frequency, Alejandro knew how to alternate inescapable ballads with recent pages that aspire to the status of classics (let me kiss you, looking for paradise) and even little surprises like Labanawhich is good for connecting with The Rose, that song that he has finished off from an unpublished sketch by his friend Paco de Lucía. Although reading him was also, go for God, in decapitated mode.
Newly bent midnight, Broken heart marked the beginning of the final arreón of the evening, with profuse presence of the songs of that Plus irrefutable, a Spanish album with a VIP pass for posterity as the best-selling in history, which is now celebrating a quarter of a century. We really enjoyed an intimate Sanz at the piano with And I already loved youa gift from the illustrious Manuel Alejandro, which linked with an also very emotional reading of You see it?. But even better on that last stretch was the slowed-down, near-nude acoustic version of Living fastthe irrefutable demonstration that that handsome kid from 1991 was going to be much more than a fleeting adolescent idol.
We cannot agree on everything with Alejandro Sanz, who at the Wanda even said: “Tomorrow, if the world ends, it doesn’t matter because we were here today.” No man; It is not that either. Sometimes the eternal seducer’s self-esteem rises excessively and, secondarily, grandiloquent and authoritarian tics. But the 115 minutes of last night’s concert confirm that he still has many reasons to be proud of himself.
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