As always when there is salsa involved, The Pearl is the quintessential candidate to become the most talked about, hummed and played song of Lux, that fourth Rosalía album that humanity has decided to scrutinize line by line and about which even the last earthling with a Wi-Fi connection will end up having their own opinion. Berghain For now, it remains comfortably in first position in terms of listening on digital platforms, since it served as a preview two weeks before the full album was released (forgive the redundancy). But the diatribe against this “emotional terrorist” who deserves the “Olympic gold medal for the most bastard” has aroused smiles, sympathy, sisterhood and, of course, speculation about the ultimate recipient of the diatribe. As much as the Catalan artist herself appealed on Monday, as she passed through The Revolt (TVE), because the songs always have “part of reality and fiction” since there are “many and many pearls” that would have contributed their grains of sand when it came to forging that conceited, egomaniacal and detestable character that emerges in the seventh cut of the album.
Of course, Rauw Alejandro has every chance to be mentioned, and even more so if we add the small detail that La Perla is the name of his native neighborhood in Puerto Rico. Do some brushstrokes or personality traits of the artist C. Tangana or the actor Jeremy Allen White sneak in, to speak of other illustrious ex-couples? It could be, judging by that condition of the perla like one and trill. But it seems more likely that the song that monopolizes all the gossip is revenge on a cold plate in front of Hayami Hana, that self-exculpatory manifesto with which the one from San Juan tried to formalize the settlement with elegance: “I will be many things, but never unfaithful. She always had the key to my cell phone.”
¿Es The Pearl a “Mexican-style” adaptation of Shakira’s famous attack against Piqué in the Bizarrap studio, that of “women no longer cry, women make bills”? This is the most explicit, recent and vitriolic antecedent in this subgenre of female songs of spite against solemnly bad ex-boyfriends, and it seems likely that Rosalía Vila had it in mind while she sharpened her pencil and shot at that “collector of bras” (another obvious evil, apparently, against Alejandro) that deserves the consideration of “greatest world disaster.” Now, what other musical monuments to heartbreak come together in these 3 minutes and 13 seconds that take up all the after-dinner conversations?
It seems obvious that the sources of inspiration should under no circumstances include 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover (Fifty Ways to Ditch Your Lover), that humorous and poisonous song by Paul Simon that is now exactly half a century old. One of the most unusual details in Broncano’s interview on Monday was stating that the author of Motomami I didn’t have the slightest idea about Graceland (1986), the South African album by the New York singer-songwriter and one of the most influential albums of the last half century (it didn’t sound familiar either). MaieuticsRobe Iniesta’s 2021 album, in case you want to support your arguments for the music-loving stupor). But if we imagine other more plausible influences, these emerge:
That man, by Rocío Jurado (1979)
Those today reviled boomers (as if one were to blame for their year of birth) they grew up with this verbose diatribe of the Chipionera against that “vain, unconscious and conceited clown. / False, dwarf, spiteful, who has no heart.” It seems difficult to match such a string of grievances, but the most fascinating thing about such a memorable outburst is that the executing pen was in the hands of a man: Don Manuel Alejandro, evidently. It doesn’t matter what citizen Alejandro (Manuel Álvarez-Beigbeder Pérez, for civil purposes), honored at 92 less than two weeks ago at the Bilbao BIME fair, thinks in his private capacity: when he wrote for the Jury, he was the Jury.
two-legged rat, by Paquita la del Barrio (2004)
No possible influence has been cited as much in Rosalía’s ideology as this monument to the fury against the undocumented machorro that ranchera performer Francisca Viveros Barranda concocted 20 years ago, just when our fellow Generation Xers were in the prime of life. Its author, Manuel Eduardo Toscano, so sublimed the anger expressed by Rocío Jurado a quarter of a century before that, by way of comparison, that man It seems like a tender and conciliatory ballad. If you want an authentic and genuine discharge of bile, think of expressions like “Spectre of hell”, “Damn vermin”, “Ponomous snake” or “Scum of life, poorly made eyesore”. We have tried to surpass the bar, but we confess, humble and troubled, our inability.
I Forgot That You Existedde Taylor Swift (2019)
The even greatest female icon of the 21st century (until our friend from Sant Esteve Sesrovires ends up ousting her) has had the ability and the rennet to witness her love adventures album by album, so that we can see first-hand how things of love have gone for her. What’s more: if they have someone good swiftie In the contact list, ask them what their romantic future awaits them based on which Taylor song their boyfriend or girlfriend sings the most in the shower (and stick to the consequences). The song that opened the album in 2019 Loverthe megastar’s seventh work, is far from being among the best-known in his catalogue; In fact, she only performed it live a couple of times during the mammoth The Eras Tour, the one that took her to the Santiago Bernabéu in May 2024. It doesn’t matter: the Olympian contempt conveyed by that “I forgot you existed. / It’s neither love nor hate, but just indifference” is the best musical summary that millennials have come up with to slam the door loudly. As skillful as ever, the one from Pennsylvania summoned as co-authors Louis Bell and Frank Dukes, the sought-after signatories of Havana (Camila Cabello) or that one Sucker which marked the rebirth of the Jonas Brothers.
I Didn’t Change My Number, Billie Eilish (2021)
The now ubiquitous members of the gen Z (children of the new century: envy them) have found in this Californian from 2001 the most unequivocal beacon and reference for their pride and frustrations, so we entrust the great anthem to her in the face of all the prevailing cliqueism. And the answer is as sibylline as it is brilliant: instead of letting out toads and snakes, Eilish simply notes that she keeps the same phone number as always intact, to make it clear to her ex that she doesn’t answer his calls because she doesn’t really feel like it. No foaming at the mouth: contempt and non-appreciation had never gone so far. The verisimilitude is so stark that the lyrics warn: “Laura said it should be nicer…, but not with you.” The person questioned is not a fictional character, but Laura Ramsay, the singer’s personal assistant since 2019.