No one will talk about Rosalía when we are dead



Vintage photos of Rosalia Garrido, who died last week, must have been lost in the last transfer of the Editorial Office and the ABC file. “Three moves are equivalent to a fire,” he seems to have said Benjamin Franklin, way ahead of the time Low recorded ‘Things We Lost in the Fire‘ O Laurie Anderson composed ‘Landfall‘, a story and a metaphor about the losses caused by the storm that swept the New York ground floor in 2012. The fact is that we do not have our own images available of the artist from Madrid, a pioneer of pop who died last and was buried in a bad way, a I respond and raise mallow, before the general indifference. We turn to internet funds to illustrate a farewell that amounts to a repair. The 225 words that Wikipedia dedicates to it – where the Rosalía who now goes to the New York MET dressed in a Manila shawl is already over a thousand- they realize the forgetfulness that the passage of time generates, but also of the indocumentation caused by social networks and the cultural toxicity that derives from an information hierarchy based on the sensations left by the democratic memory of global communication.

Rosalía Garrido, Rosalía for the 20th century and for the incipient market, national pop disappeared from the map at the beginning of the seventies, surpassed by some musical forms to which it did not know how to adapt after ten years of busyness yeyé. When in Spain there was no Primavera Sound, ni Mad Cool, nor Christ who founded it, the festivals were of the song, nurseries of light music whose authors still did not know whether to stagnate in the melodies and throw themselves into the mud of a rhythmic imported from Italy, France and even the United States. Next to Fine Galicia, Albertina Cortés O Female, also seal stars Sapphire, where twenty years later they landed Log, Red Baron and Howitzer, Rosalía -that of Spain, not that of the Merimee that goes to Metropolitan in a chiné dress- she toured the radio stations and the tables of festivals such as Benidorm, that of the Mediterranean song of Barcelona, where by then Salome won singing in Catalan (‘He left‘), that of the Costa del Sol, that of the Green Coast of Gijón or that of Madrid.

Rosalía was a girl Algueró, a circumstance that in the early sixties was more groundbreaking than in the eighties working with Almodovar, and recorded among other pieces’The yeyé girl‘. She did not sing in English, nor did she have tousled hair, but she showed her colored stockings under a miniskirt whose use helped to popularize in that Spain that according to the progress story taught in schools it was in black and white until it arrived. the move. Everything is colored, and almost everything was colored, even before Lole and Manuel.

The emotionality that conditions any balance in recent musical history, an artistic form that like no other permeates experiences and memories and alters rationality, even of critics, manifests itself at the time of the death of composers and singers. Subjectivity rules, and memory fails. Of those who danced with Rosalía at the beginning of the sixties, a celebration of a developmentalism that was announced through music before materializing, there is hardly anyone left who can value it in its proper measure, which was a lot. The advances in science and geriatrics may allow, God forbid, that we live many years to continue adding words, it is already a thousand, to the entry of the new Rosalía in Wikipedia.

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