When reggaeton killed the melodic singer

In one of those "pre-pandemic" years, when we could still go to the gym with some normality, I found myself with the civic duty to step forward. A necessary and indispensable gesture to be able to move, with a certain dignity, between the weight machines and the spinning room. I had to leave the fitness room with a determined step and go to the reception staff:

--Could you change the music?

The look of surprise on the faces of the two people behind the counter surprised me.

--Do you want us to turn off the music?

-- No, no. I want to stop suffering reggaeton at 7 AM.

--The girls like it! -- The younger one blurted out.

--Well, I must be very old! - I replied with a smile and showing my wrinkles. And I added --I only ask for normal music from seven to eight in the morning. --I understand that "normal" can be offensive, but inevitably, the concept of normal is always subjective.

And so for three days in a row, until the music went from the tum-catatum-tum-tum of reggaeton to Anglo-Saxon pop. Another world, another dimension, and above all, another rhythm.

The pity is that I could hardly savor my victory, as the advent of the pandemic prevented me from setting foot in the gym again. Now I am attentive to changes in Covid-19 regulations to see when I can return to my center. I admit that I am very lazy to sweat and pant with a mask. If it's already hard to breathe during activity, imagine with a mask! But I'm also lazy to have to start the war over music again. I am convinced that during my absence, reggaeton has once again roamed freely and at all times through the speakers of my beloved gym.

I'm lazy to have to start the war over music at the gym again

I don't believe that the rise and hegemony of reggaeton and its variants is generational.That is, it is not the result of an aesthetic trend change, nor the result of the consolidation of miscegenation as an interpretation of a global culture. It is rather that the adolescent public is more prone to the byproduct. In the seventies and eighties, a majority of the adolescent public in Spain preferred Los Pecos or Leif Garrett (if by chance some young person reads this they will wonder: "Who are these?") to Peter Gabriel, Madness or Ovidi Montllor. Today the same happens with reggaeton, rap and other similar species. And it is true that within these genres there are some works of art, which is normal with so much production, but most will die without pain or glory. And I'm not going to talk about the content of the lyrics, since some (many) are worthy of a police report.

Conclusion: We are getting old. And this month Franco Battiato has died. As someone said, he was the first Franco celebrated by many Spaniards. One of the greats has left us and although the press has echoed it, here the news has gone quite unnoticed. I was able to enjoy his last performance in Catalonia at the Castell de Peralada Festival in July 2017. Eclectic, romantic, profound... as always Battiato leaves a unique legacy and trajectory. I hope that Italy, his country, institutionalizes his memory as it should.

Each generation usually has its references and then there are the classics. I had always believed that all the troop of Italian soloists like Adriano Celentano, Franco Battiato, Paolo Conte or Domenico Modugno were already classics and that Italy would always remain a cultural reference. And the feeling was the same when you saw that Nek, Eros Ramazzotti or Laura Pausini continued to be a reference for subsequent generations despite the drop in level. Not to mention French music. But no. The tropical winds have swept away our references. What we considered a classic. There is no longer any Joan Capdevila who wants to become Sergio Dalma. The aesthetic canon is also changing at full speed. And we refuse to accept as art what the new generations have made their own.

Each generation usually has its references and then there are the classics

But despite assuming that age does not forgive, that any past time was better, and that we will listen again and againThe season of love, Nevsky Prospect, The song of lost loveor that we will definitely look for aPermanent Gravity Center.And I wonder what will remain after reggaeton, rap or trap. Even the most transgressive heavy metal and punk have become part of the classics. We will have to see what remains of all this in twenty years.