Pablo Carbonell: the salty and irresponsible uncle who has taken 50 years to mature

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In the same way that there are celebrities whose privacy is little known, and who protect it as if it were the Fort Knox safe, there are others who can know everything, or almost everything, just by taking the trouble to read a little . Pablo Carbonell's life is not only like an open book, but also a published book: in 2016, when he had turned 57, he already left written evidence of his exaggerated, almost supernatural existence, in The world of the tarantula (Blackie Books) , some literary memories - with a good part of tenderness and another good part of kaffir humor - in which he confessed everything about drugs, sex, death, illness, money and friendship.With his pants off, as they say, and without much concern for what people might think of him. That, in general, it is that he is a salty and nice guy, a little vivalavirgen and quite a skull, and that it seems that he has already left behind the excesses of youth forever, even if there are live embers.

Carbonell wrote his memoirs at a time when he needed to atone for the pain of his sister's death, at the same time that he managed to maintain a visible presence on television, whether as a monologue writer, guest on whispering programs, funny contributor to light magazines, actor and other entertainment activities -which is the "tarantula" of the title-, such as occasionally reviving the Dead Bullfighters project or giving solo concerts, parodying the concept of the "singer-songwriter".

However, his brightest years -which are those that go from the early 80's to his consecration as a fucking fly in the Caiga Quien Caiga program , acting as a semi-border reporter- had already been left a little behind. He no longer published songs like Mi agüita amarillo or Yo no llamo Javier , and he had begun to accumulate problems with Ariola, his record label, because of lullabies that wanted to do with the editorial rights to his songs. In Pablo Carbonell's life there have always been browns and joys, all mixed up, without a filter: work ups that have kept him up, and personal disappointments -such as the death of his soul friend, Pedro Reyes- that dragged him back to the bottom .

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But since Carbonell is a survivor -and, in fact, he has always said that at this point in life he believes he is immortal, because as things have taken a long time ago, something should have happened to him, at least a dodgy yuyu-, there he continues, publishing more works, making more television, recovering the guitar when he plays, and always without losing his sense of humor, even when misfortune or restlessness appears.

He explained that he wanted to interrupt the story of his life with the birth of his two daughters, Carlota and Mafalda. That was a fresh start, a gift from God that seemed to nullify the mistakes of the past and give him an opportunity to reform, and even more so when the disease was also present - and already happily overcome - in the early years of Mafalda . Follow the humor, but moderate the sarcasm. It took years for Carbonell to stop being a big boy and become an adult, but he finally arrived, 50-something springs later.

Some of the most important moments of his life, and recorded in The world of the tarantula , have to do with sex, drugs and disease. As a young man he had mobility problems that he overcame with exercise and medicine -in recent years his most striking entry into an operating room has had to do with a hair transplant, which is a change for the better-, and he left home very young to go to Madrid and look for bread among comedians and actors, with the disapproval of his family.

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He lived in the 80s when La Movida broke out, and in his memoirs he explains first-hand what is already known: that Malasaña was a black hole of drugs, sex and hedonism, and that it doesn't matter if you had a band, a bar or a magazine, everyone fucked a lot. "I have fucked more than Julio Iglesias", he has come to say, resorting to the noble literary figure of hyperbole, and he even confessed that his first sexual experience, very early on and when he was still living in his native Cádiz, was with a boy . Then, in Madrid, he got into everything, enjoyed the honeys of success with Toreros Muertos -a group that, both by name and by content, so simple and giving, then caused the same controversies that it would cause today if it came from scratch-, and made the absurd experience, or Mongoloid in a Devo sense of expression, a new pop manifestation.

His time at Caiga Quien Caiga gave him an extension as a media star, which he had had some time ago as an actor in La cristal, but which he had not tied up making his own cinema, and established in Carbonell a type of action humor and certain tendency to vexation - she was always tickling Esperanza Aguirre, when she was Minister of Culture - who has continued in her recent stage as a jester of television and footlights. After the publication of his first book, he took a liking to writing -he writes, by the way, without literary black covering his back-, and last year he published Pepita , his first novel, with the Destino label. In the old Cervantes disquisition on weapons and letters, Carbonell has decided to give more importance to the word processor now than to the guitar, the microphone or the turulo, the family has changed at night, and that's fine.

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