Metallica Supreme Kings in the return of Mad Cool
Mad Cool Festival: life beyond the big names
There are many ways to defend a festival.
For the income it generates;
for the social thing;
because
it feeds a guild, that of musicians,
crushed so many times, and even more so with the plague.
But perhaps the main reason is that, discounting the obvious figureheads, it provides a necessary showcase for theoretically minority proposals.
To justify the rivers of people and the seven stages, the (great) taco and sandwich stalls, their tents and their screens, it is enough to write that this Friday people like the Lisbon and British rapper, of Angolan origin,
IAMDDB played
.
Her menu, rich in
r&b
, gains weight with every foray into
Kingston
and every nod to
Jamaica.
His was the role of replacing the
Black Pumas on the main stage,
who were suspended for health reasons.
It hurt, and a lot, the fall of
Eric Burton
and
Adrian Quesada
, makers of a look with echoes of
Stax
or
Muscle Shoals.
Despite the obvious difficulty of the native public with English, IAMDDB did everything possible to raise the emotional decibels of a
show
that had to be won inch by inch, inch by inch, like someone taking a hill.
Almost immediately behind her was
Haim,
the trio of Los Angeles sisters.
In 2020 they presented their best album to date,
Women in music, part III
.
They started off powerful, rearing up with guitars and percussion.
A fuselage that helps to strengthen a proposal at times slightly adolescent.
The public, very devoted, chorused his lyrics.
Subdued by a sun that wouldn't let go of your throat, rocked by a melodic trend that mirrors memories of
Fleetwood Mac,
if you closed your eyes you could imagine yourself in
Santa Monica.
With
The War on Drugs
,
Mad Cool
was going to reach one of its most interesting moments.
Adam Granduciel
's group
, whom you saw more than a decade ago, in
New York,
has grown based on kaleidoscopic records, consolidating the atmospheric fluctuations of its beginnings with the teachings of
Bob Dylan
,
Bruce Springsteen
and
Paul Simon
.
They are no longer the great bet on the future of an
Americana revisited amid phosphorous clouds of
shoegaze
acid
, but rather its immediate present.
Imagine the evocative rolls of
Tom Petty
and the
Heartbreakers,
the romanticism with the heart to knives of
Roy Orbison
.
Add drops of
Jesus Mary
and shake the mix for the compositional talent of an Imperial
Granduciel
.
The result is songs like gliders of nostalgia, wave after wave in cinemascope.
They are not the fierce, avant-garde group of their early days.
They must be careful not to fall into the AOR.
They have changed experimentation for classicism, but it is welcome when you face it with duende.
At 12:15 pm the scowling
Muse was due,
but unlike Thursday's wonderful
St. Vincent
, scheduled for 12:40 pm, I'm far from sorry.
They started too late to make it to the paper's closing time.
What we win.
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Articles Julio Valdeon