Conchita live in El Búho Real

There are certain things that doesn’t happen. No one travels 1.200 kilometres in two days just to attend a concert of the songwriter Conchita… Or maybe someone does. No one meets seven strangers with only one thing in common: one day, maybe listening to the radio, they heard a song and they knew that that one and no other would be different. Or maybe someone does. And no one arrives at the venue an hour and a half before it opens, covered by the October cold of Madrid, just to be in the first row, only one meter of separation from our friend. Or could it really happen?

And, definitely, if you ever go to a Conchita concert in Madrid, you don’t meet her a few hours before coming out of a neighbourhood shop. And if you find her, you wouldn’t dare to approach her and say hello. And if you could pluck up courage enough to finally approach her, your pulse would speed up and your words would rush themselves. Because she’s just like that, a normal girl who goes shopping, with a special talent to tell stories just singing, and, at the same time, a star, one of the real ones, of those that shine in the sky and can’t be reached. This doesn’t happen either, does it?
The Búho Real is a small pub in a side street. It’s modest. Nothing in the outside would let you know the cute inside. Nothing in the outside but the cold would let you know how many stories were sung in the inside. Tonight a few more will be sung. The small stage is at the back, totally occupied by the electric piano of Raúl Osuna, two stools and two microphones. Separated only by some small tables, maybe one metre or so, there are the faithful, those who heard that song one day and knew it was different. Behind them there are one hundred people, more or less, the pub is full, but it looks as if the concert is only for the first row. Conchita manages to do so. She’s back to where everything begun, to the small recitals, to the “home living-room”, to play for friends. Songs flow naturally, and even more naturally the comments between songs, the anecdotes, the “I’m telling you my life, but it doesn’t matter”. Of course it doesn’t matter, that is what friends are for.

Conchita en el Búho

Conchita en el Búho


There are also friends with her on the stage. Raúl Osuna wrapping her up warm with his piano or the faithful Gabriel with his guitar. And guests: Dani Flaco, el Lichis and Lantana share the stage, the good vibrations, laughs and clappings. Definitely, this is not a concert: it’s a friends reunion during a cold night in Madrid to tell how’s life going. And if the tell it in the treble clef, better.
With only one album on sale, how is it that it’s been two hours? For instance, making confidences (“this is the first time I play this one…”); telling anecdotes (“I have a neighbour who plays the flute…”); Was it Mecano and their “Quédate en Madrid” what sounded before? Asking for common sense (“I don’t mind if you record it, but if you upload it to the internet, it’s playing a dirty trick on me…” There’s no reason for you to worry, friends won’t trip you up); being comfortable (“when you want me to stop, just tell me… Or you may ask me for something you want to listen to, if I know it, of course, because if it’s someone else’s I can try, but I can fail too…”).
Two hours? It’s been a sigh. We have to meet more often, friend Conchita and friends cats

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