From the 4th to the Primavera Sound, unfortunately, little to say: chaos, bewilderment, and rain. People gathered at the gates around nine at night, closed access, digital network collapse, contradictory information. Whether they would suspend, whether they would not suspend, whether the wind had knocked down a screen. The afternoon had developed with some calm, but suddenly Bad Gyal, Massive Attack, and Doja Cat (the latter strongly awaited by the international public) are in doubt. This breaks the narrative, the script, the photo finish of this first day of the festival (apart from the free inaugural day the day before) and leaves a bitter taste in the memory of this edition. Luckily, on Friday, meteorologists point out, spring will mean good weather.
As we said, the afternoon of the 4th begins with the Lleida-based Renaldo & Clara presenting their new album. Delicate, poetic, and luminous, as expected, but also like the classics they grant us. The entire festival, however "guiri" it may seem, is full of Catalan speakers who alternate dialogues with other linguistic registers with commendable bi, tri, multilingual fluency. I miss the festive Teo Lucadamo, because I'm not here to write an exhaustive chronicle but a portrait of impressions, but precisely the impression is that the audience leaves fascinated. I preferred to go see Geese -boomer things, I suppose- after the first beer, remember, you have to keep the plastic cup because they give you your money back later.
Geese are a prototype Primavera band, tortured and soft at the same time, radiohead-esque, kind, alternative, and peaceful, like this audience that always surprises me with new outfits: this year everyone is a bit more retro, darker and more discreet, less Eurovision-like despite the thousand-colored earrings and some vicious fur coat. With Geese comes the rain, as if it were the first warning bell for the concerts that will not come, and the first umbrellas and raincoats are deployed. For a moment it seems, however, that all the rain that had to fall has already fallen.
The suspension notice becomes explicit on the screens shortly after, warning that we are at the mercy of time. The main stages (Estrella Damm and Revolut) will pay for it, and, therefore, the main stars. Massive Attack is not at the agreed time and no one informs. As we said, at the entrance they no longer let anyone in and fans despair. Some start to leave, others have a different impression of the clouds. There is no very clear information and everything seems open, especially the issue of Doja Cat, who is -excuse this boomer again- the sensation of the moment. Finally, and after sharing the bewilderment with a few strangers, we are informed that Massive Attack will indeed perform but at half past one, which gives hope to those of the cat and those of Farel·lo's daughter. I'm interested in the weather holding up for the former; for the latter, I already endured a concert for my teenage daughter and the only thing that remains in my memory is the umpteenth hip thrust.
But Doja Cat will not do like Massive Attack and will not perform, which she makes known in a melodramatic message (fascinatingly affected or overacted) on social media. What Massive Attack doesn't know is that they won't perform either, neither at half past one nor at a quarter to three. The first day ends here, please circulate, there's nothing to see here. We'll always have Friday, Friday I'm in Love.
I came to see The Cure, yes. My whole festival this year is about that, I go directly, the Estrella stage is packed. I know they're releasing a new album, but Pictures of You to start. I know they're releasing a new album, and they intersperse it among the classics, but Lovesong. I know they're releasing a new album, but In between days, Just Like Heaven, Push, A Forest. I am very surprised by the number of young people there, not for being there but for singing all of them, as if we were not in front of undisguised (but adorable) mummies who, on top of that (and as always), barely deign to move on stage.
Absolute myths, boomer adolescence referents, dreamlike, romantic, singular, healers. Very high category live, again. Which makes that, in a pause to diversify the chronicle, when I approach the Occident stage to see Jade, I realize how we have been losing generationally. That is: Jade is good, I would almost say very good, with an eclectic offer, a great vocal range of disco music and an immense and hyperactive variety of mixed styles, but she needs to say that she is so, so happy to be here (The Cure don't need it for a second) and vary the rhythm three times per song. Everything tires us, we want constant stimuli, plot twists, variety. The opposite of what it would be to want to become a classic, like what we saw on the Estrella stage with The Cure.
I also grant a few minutes to DJ Skrillex, later on the Revolut stage, a demonstration of what a good live show is: it's worth seeing to experience it, it's not enough to listen to it on disc or in a playlist. The entrance was worth it. PinkPantheress, on the other hand, on the Cupra stage, seems to me of an almost unbearable frivolity if it weren't for a magnificent staging without sparing anything. For that alone, let's consider them welcome. Perhaps I'm getting older, I suppose, or rather certainly. The girl at the bar confirms it to me, not only assuring me that returning the glass is no longer done, but also taking the trouble to add that it hasn't been done for quite a few years. They say what stings, cures.