First was the screen, huge. From there some kids were talking about the concert, in a street, in Catalan, languages are important in it. Then he left. He remained planted on the stage, diaphanous, simple, a platform. Behind the pink band. He in cream, a suit, breathing as if to cope with the thunderous shouting of the crowd, already surrendered. A few long seconds passed and after them the band began to dance and it seemed that their eyes, behind gold-rimmed glasses, shone even brighter as it played. The Move. The shouting rose, and the stadium danced smiling and lilting, all of it, with Callaita and then with coconut spout, introduced with a Puerto Rican four-piece solo. Organic sound for traditional songs that have throbbed in the Latin memory for generations, tropical pop with Weltita, bolero in tourist, salsa again, trombones unleashed on unforgettable dance choreographed with little lights that came from the cameras distributed at the entrance and more salsa with Nuevayol with its dembow engine. Exciting in capital letters, goosebumps, everyone going crazy, only the cement static. Bad Bunny in Barcelona. It couldn’t have started better, seriously. The day said goodbye, the party began and the pride of being Latino illuminated more than the spotlights.
That pride became street in La Casita, hit by the reggaeton of Veldá, the dominican dembow Titi asked me, with Bad Bunny already in a tracksuit, with Barça players like Lamine Yamal, Gavi, Balde or a strangely restrained Marc Giró who only smiled, probably outmatched. The stadium was dyed romantic pink for the sensual If I see your momin an unprecedented rhythmic spread, a shaking of hips that only the youth of the audience did not lead to fractures. This section of the concert, minimum distances between audience and star, saw the sky turn dark and give prominence to the artificial light, which without much fanfare only wrapped the rhythm and carnal cadence of reggaetón in chromatic cellophane. The explosion of I’m going to take you to PR It shook even the dead from the nearby cemetery, the fireworks illuminated the sky and the bass resounded in the sky. Only a few breaks prevented some collapse, since I act pretty, He lifted the lid of several brains, which flew even more when I twerk alone He counted on Bad Gyal to better screw the meaning of the song, which he finished alone with Dame. As if that were not enough, the more lights flickering in the stands, the more fireworks, the more smoke and the more rhythm, Safaera o Coffee with rum They were real nonsense.
The celebration continued wildly, because the concert was quite festive with uncontrollable joy, palpable both on the track and in the stands, where the seats were rarely useful. The audience was freed through the dance, singing the songs, lyrics sung a thousand times, lyrics always imitated, sloppy but intentional gesticulation, while Bad Bunny directed that immense choir with that voice in which he accentuates his nasal tone, a baritone that sings with a sought-after incorrectness, as a way of leaving the shared lane to circulate on his own. The security of his street movements, as well as the harsh tone of his diction, spoke of the neighborhood to the crowd, of a closeness that a common language sung with another accent reflected different but close realities, establishing complicities that only occur with that depth when there are such cultural coincidences, when you listen to the cousin who emigrated and who now no longer speaks when he left, but is still your cousin. That is an ace that Bad Bunny has in his hand when he sings among us, when he managed to make the entire stadium feel a little Puerto Rican, an extension of those Canarians whose presence was accentuated in Puerto Rico in the 18th and 19th centuries. Yes, Bad Bunny is a bit like home.
In the same way, the rhythms that were played are our own rhythms, salsa and reggaeton, merengues and boleros, sounds that we have heard from our elders, typical of popular festivals and in many cases, in particular reggaeton, wickers of a self-affirmation that has had to deal with the contempt of those same elders, who now, not without surprise, see how it coexists with styles that they understand but without being able to grasp the fit. All of this palpitated in the Stadium, last night the cradle of encounters between back-and-forth musicians that unite generations, in some cases separated by a lack of understanding that Bad Bunny liquefied in his performance. And to continue with that crazy mix, Monaco made Charles Aznavour sound Yesterday again, romantic and elegant, while trapper and rubbery bass pierced the melody and made the pylorus tremble. Yesterday, today and the day after tomorrow from the hand of an artist who has evolved reggaeton without losing the trace of street life and lust, to which he has added respect for what our elders were, although with the spice of someone old enough to seduce. On the roof of La Casita I make it clear with The saintthe special theme of the night: “don’t be a saint, you love perreo.” The recognition of the plena, an all-drum rhythm from Puerto Rico, full of leather, Sunbeam La Casita closed with Los Pleneros de la Cresta and Bad Bunny proclaiming “we are all Puerto Ricans” in a stadium that roared its approval.
Far from getting tired, with almost two hours of twerking and shouting already in their bodies, the audience continued to be engaged. Back on the central stage, naked only to give presence to Bad Bunny’s charisma, the concert faced the final fireworks based on tropical Cute eyes, The blackout with his very explicit criticism of the mistreatment of the island, or a I should have taken more photos that was simply the end. Joy, tradition, vindication – with video by Jacobo Morales, the actor of the short that accompanied the album – hand in hand in a concert that was full in every sense. Music may not change the world, but it explains it very well.