A guy who seems to have been taken from a Saxon concert held in 1984 in that temple of heavy metal called Chancellor comes out on stage. He wears elastic pants with black and white vertical stripes, a dark T-shirt, and a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off. Long, curly hair. He is carrying a wineskin in his hand. Give a short speech into the microphone. Nothing is understood because the public cheers conscientiously. Only the last words can be heard well: “We are Alcalá Norte and we come to share. Come!” He takes a drink from the boot and throws it to the audience. His name is Jaime Barbosa and he plays the drums. In this very peculiar way, the concert by the Madrid-based Alcalá Norte began, a band made up of twenty- and thirty-somethings that confirmed on Saturday night at La Riviera (they also perform today and tomorrow, Monday) that those big band designs that they pointed out a year and a half ago are now a reality.
Full house in Madrid (2,200 people) and the feeling of attending an important recital, since perhaps rarely can the group be seen in a venue of medium size, especially in the capital, their city. In fact, the band has just announced a date at the Movistar Arena in Madrid, February 20, 2027, where they will present their second album, which is being developed in the studio at the moment.
Much of the success of the quintet, reinforced yesterday Saturday by a sixth member on guitar, is understood by the wide age range of the attendees: a legion of boys and girls in their 20s mixed with forties and fifties whom this group has managed to get out of the house on a Saturday because it reminds them of those bands from the eighties with which they became passionate about music: Derribos Arias, The Cure, Aviador Dro, Joy Division…
There are things in the Alcalá Norte universe that are vividly appreciated in concerts like last night’s. For example, the antagonistic figure they draw and how well this disparity suits them: a heavy drummer, a classically trained keyboardist, a bassist who is even more on his game than the standard bassist, a guitarist with very long white hair that moves tirelessly and a singer who pours into his lyrics his obsessions with gods, religion or the theories of thinkers like Calvin or Goethe. The latter, Álvaro Rivas, on a journey to discover the best way to express himself with his voice, demonstrated some innate achievements, such as not needing to move too much to convey charisma. Like Liam Gallagher, but without despising the world, Rivas can undertake a song in a static position and looking at the audience without blinking and without detracting from the character of the performance.
The group reviewed their first and only full-length album and rescued some of the songs from what they call “early demo.” The combination of keyboards with guitars and the sonic patterns generated by the bass are reminiscent of sounds from the early eighties with an important nuance: what once generated a dark atmosphere, they turn into a festive one. Because they have managed to make a song that says “the blood of the rich is pus” become a piece of pop hit chanted throughout the room. Contributing to this atmosphere of revelry are the decorations that are introduced into the show, such as when a Power Ranger appears on stage while the sublime 420N; or when the winner of a scratch card is revealed from some cards that have been distributed at the entrance; or when they distribute cigarillos to the public; or when Barbosa presents the songs, with a Cheli tone of voice that only hardened guys like fairgrounds have, “for the lady, the gentleman and the boy, the chochona doll.”
After 75 minutes, the concert inevitably ended with The canyon life, an anthem of contemporary musical Spain that experienced in the first rows of last night’s recital meant entering into a roar of pushing, shared sweat and the occasional “sorry” after a stomp. Everything doesn’t matter because in those moments, life, in fact, consists exclusively of enjoying that moment. And tomorrow we will see…