Say "Lluííííís"!

Cafés are missed in Barcelona. Not cafeterias, not bars, not coffee shops: cafés, what would be called a typical Viennese café, or what in Vienna they would call a Gran Cafe. Many of them passed away, but there were many memorable ones during the Modernist era and the following years, of which only a trace can be found in the halls of some hotels. This is the case of Hotel Casa Fuster, which preserves, in my opinion, the best corner to enjoy a luxurious coffee enveloped in a modernist room with a marble colonnade and covered with gold leaf arches. Domènech i Montaner year, Hotel Casa Fuster, the old Café Vienés (it wouldn't cost them anything to Catalanize its name) which did not appear during Modernism but during the twenties, as a place for gatherings, coffee, drinks and cigars. And on Thursday nights, a jazz venue.

I'm starting to be able to say that I know the jazz caves of my city, but this could by no means be a cave: too bright, too exposed, too transparent. Perhaps that's why the music played is not dark and introspective jazz, but rather optimistic and popular. Lluís Coloma is one of our most brilliant blues and boogie-woogie pianists, perhaps that's why it's not necessary to expect dark tones but a permanent invitation to joy. A man with New Orleans hues, rather rock and roll, with touches of swing and even country. I thought we would find ourselves before an interpreter, but we found ourselves before a composer: most of the themes are his, and they are very dangerous mixtures that he completes with excellence: classical with touches of country, blues with Chinese music, jazz with Catalan music, and especially boogie compositions full of virtuosity and somersaults. The woman at the table opposite dances, inevitably, as she finishes the first course. The arrangement of the tables is for a show, not a cozy corner for couples, an improvised amphitheater in which the piano must be the protagonist because we have already said that this is not a cave: it is a night to listen and marvel. And, if you are the lady opposite, dance without shame.

Yes, this is the place where Woody Allen has played the clarinet accompanying a band during his stays in Barcelona, and this is simply a pleasant place to enjoy a luxury quite accessible to everyone. Full dinner or snacks, unfortunately Moët Chandon has taken the place of our cava, but you can perfectly resist and order the local drink. A sufficient, varied, and light menu, Mediterranean enough. Evidently, it is about satisfying tourists, but I would say that this is a place where locals should come more often. Make it ours, as we made our discussion cafés of the 20s ours, as we have made our various jazz caves where we can say we are safe from the most obvious.

Lluís Coloma must be somewhat obvious, he needs to be a bit mainstream, although we have already said that most of the compositions are his: he has the mission to smile often and to make people smile, not to make you order the last whiskey before suicide. His repertoire has names that sound like cocktail names: Nuk Orleans, Mishuri, How Long Blues, Taboo, Tijuana Riders, Caromatic Boogie…, and he has an excellent version of Georgia on my Mind that makes you applaud with your ears. Sometimes I wonder if he suffers from the Sebastian Wilder syndrome, the character Ryan Gosling played so well in the movie La La Land, and who internally feels exhausted from satisfying the establishment's requests when a more intimate and tortured music resonates within him. But no, Lluís smiles with his mouth because he also smiles with his fingers, and with his soul, and with the purple dress devoid of frills of a person who has come to play. He has a positive version of the night, an optimistic message for life, and an expository simplicity that keeps saying "it's not that big a deal, man!". That's why he is a perfect musician for the place. If the Café Vienés wants to include something darker and more tortured on Thursdays, that would be their decision. For tonight, in any case, the communion is perfect.

We have small and easy luxuries within reach, perhaps exceptional, perhaps not for every Thursday, but which we can make our own when it turns out we live in Barcelona. It is not about being a tourist in your own city, but about enjoying its most unique corners and claiming their possession, nationality, almost the authorship. All this is ours: Lluís, the musician who says "lluíííííís" to the camera and with his fingers, and also Lluís, the architect of ordered and not genius-like Modernism. All this at the top of our Fifth Avenue and our particular obelisk dedicated to no one. Will we really allow this to be land for foreigners? Is all the blame on gentrification? Are we sure we don't have a part of the blame? Shouldn't we mark our territory more in our city? What are you doing at home? Or, what are you doing always going to the same places?