And tell me if you think the same
And tell me if you are with me
or against me
The first song of the Lori Meyers band, support band of Amaral, was catchy; the third one was clingy, and after an hour their simply a pain in the neck.
After, a crimson courtain covers the stage. There’s activity behind, but catcalls from the crowd start soon. People occupied their places in the stands of Vista Alegre or laid out over the court, as close to the stage as each one could, about two hours ago. We’re at that delicated point, of balance between knowing how to make your self awaited (and desired) or driving to despair those who wait. But nothing can go wrong tonight in this place. When the courtain opens, each musician is in their place, Juan Aguirre in the left, and Eva in the middle, wearing a short black dress, high-heeled patent leather shoes and a black cat mask. First chord and it starts like a kamikaze flight. Shivers can’t be avoided. It’s Eva against everyone and everything, because this wishes of living don’t fit in a song. Nor even in two. She sings in anger, with strengh, power, desperate, as she would do in their first concert, or the last. Let the sound barrier brake and nothing heard, just the voice of Eva Amaral, like a torrent that floods everything.
There’s a family near, with a seven or so years old. She doesn’t know a thing about music firms, sales or piracy: the only thing she knows is that her idols are there, twenty metres ahead, and she has to sing, jump and move her arms higher than anyone. That’s why we are here, wrong or not.
Lyrics aren’t just songs, but hymns. Who doesn’t want to feel the universe over me, who didn’t feel some time like Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, who didn’t wander what happened to Sebas, Guille and the others? Five thousand souls shouting out loud, throwing a glove to Eva, who accepts gladly, because she goes plenty. Since the second theme she’s soaked, but even this way Hell’s gates are opened and, from there, the living mingles with the dead.
The themes follow one another, linked, without a rest. How could I tell you that you earned me slowly, you that came by chance?
We get exhausted to the break. What a waste of energy, of power, of enthusiasm. The show is spectacular: two giant screens on the sides show the movements of Eva, Juan, the drummer, the guitarrist, the keyboardist or the cellist with a precise and superb editing. Behind them, the luminous screens jump from one colour to another, from one image to another. Great.
After the short break, the shy Juan makes us clear that it’s only a song. Humbles, also. And, since there are no more summer days, they’re throwing the rest. It’s been an hour and it seems they’re just starting. The seven years old girl has fallen asleep, exhausted. She couldn’t arrived to the day of the revolution (dammed Lori Meyers, for making the espectacle late). Another hour while I’m nothing without you and it’s the end, an explosion of light and sound, a primal, neverending scream, Eva on her knees on the stage… And thousands of throats crying out for a resurrection, because you make my sadness go away, you bring me back to life.
And it happens. Eva Amaral and Juan Aguirre, two hearts marked for the rest of the days, bring us back to life one last time. I have no solution, I know I have no remedy, rock and roll to be free. And we are free.