John Valero: Squeezing every note as if it were the last dance

"In adolescence I discovered a new world when I first listened to records by Marvin Gaye, James Brown, Otis Redding, Ray Charles and, of course, Jamaican music. I will always remember how captivated I was by the first concert of my life, The Skatalites", reasons John Valero at the bar, sipping a Pujol rum carajillo with ice, "my daily classic", and enjoying the local scene at the Bar.

As a youngster, those sounds led him directly and non-stop to the subcultural world. Tonik suits, shiny brogues, gingham checked shirts, Hush Puppies and suspenders; reggae, soul and, of course, the Lambretta: the scooter, as more than just a means of transport. A self-affirmation. A way of life in which he immediately knew he wanted to stay. "I could be a doctor, a mechanic, a journalist... But what I knew from that first moment is that I was going to be, first of all, a scooterist".

A night owl with thousands of nights lived in clubs and allnighters of all kinds, this activist of the Barcelona scooterist world, owner of the renowned Only Scooter store and member of the veteran Scooter Club Sant Jordi, has spent more than half his life walking and dancing to the rhythm of black music that is anchored, in its multiple forms, deep in his soul. Sounds squeezed on dance floors or on a thousand and one stages, in his role as a singer and showman of high-octane sixties soul.

In this journey, he has even shared the stage with Tommy Hunt himself, a soulman from the golden age whom the regular considers a soul brother: "I would need to lean on this bar for many hours to explain what it has meant to me to have been lucky enough to meet Tommy". The first two words of that long explanation could well be beautiful friendship.

Stompers in 21st century Barcelona

"Music has given me the best and most fun moments of my life. I've always had my band. The first one, The Peanuts, in the late 90s. With them I did many concerts and, luckily, I don't remember half of them," he laughs.

---And why is that?

---Let's just say we were 20 years old and let's just say, also, that we partied too much.

With his current band, The Twisted Wheels, a name taken from the mythical Manchester club, one of the first to define the British soul scene in the 60s, things are different. No amnesia of any kind is required, given the recitals of this septet which are, in every way, memorable parties based on their own repertoire and a handful of covers that pay homage to African-American dance music of the 60s and early 70s. Frenetic-paced stompers with which generations of dancers have worn out soles, sweated their souls out, and fallen in love with life. "I feel lucky to be there with real musicians and to play, I think well, the music I'm passionate about."

After years of touring, the band is now debuting with an album, Soul on fire, soon to be released, and where ---as could not be otherwise--- collaborations with friends like Tommy Hunt or the designer, DJ and agitator Txarly Brown, taking care of the graphic section with his usual good judgment, have not been lacking. An album that reflects John's creed of "living every note of that song as if it were the last one you hear, and at that moment everything else disappears". And he takes a second, which he uses to take a sip of his carajillo, before finishing: "For me, that is happiness." And he smiles.

The city of nostalgia

The regular grew up in Sant Pol de Mar, in Maresme, but moved to the city during his university years. "Honestly, I was lucky enough to catch a good time," he recalls about the late 90s: "For a scooterist, and lover of black music, Barcelona had it all: ska, reggae or soul concerts every week, the Zimbabwe in Gràcia, El Barbara Ann in Les Corts, Sala Garatge, El Jamboree and its Thursday Jam Sessions. I could go out any night to party and travel around Barcelona on my Lambretta, enjoying with my friends the music we were passionate about." He sighs. "It was an unrepeatable era." He sighs again.

---And those exhalations?

He takes a moment to answer, perhaps searching for the most appropriate words. "It happens that now I no longer feel it is mine, it has changed too much and I feel like I am being kicked out. I was in love with many things about this city, but for me now it is just a place where I lived my best moments. A nostalgia. And I'm sure I'm not the only one to see it this way. But they have sold it to certain powers, turning it into a kind of Disneyworld where, soon, the locals will no longer be able to afford to live." And he finishes his coffee and rum as Paula, his partner, arrives at the Bar with their daughter. John Valero's face changes. Happiness is a good song fully squeezed, yes, but it is also this, he seems to be saying.

---Since you are here, as a family, would you like to have some lunch? We have tapas, portions, pastries. Everything exquisite.

That happiness seems to double, like a bet won against all odds.

"I've always been one for sweets," replies the singer of the Twisted Wheels, "although I never say no to a good portion of cod," he adds, looking longingly at a piece of hake a la llauna freshly served to another patron.