There are people for everything, which is very good. It is a different thing to separate grain and chaff, filfas and veins, contingent and necessary, but everything will work out. The same venue that these days hosted two consecutive packed houses by Vetusta Morla, a prodigious concert by Led Zeppelin albums—opened the doors this Tuesday to Aitana Ocaña Morales, a 24-year-old from Barcelona who, in strictly numerical terms, ended up beating all her illustrious predecessors. Her visit to WiZink, the third sold-out one after her two dates in November, also served her to announce with solemnity and videographic display that this venue for 15,000 spectators has already become too small for her. The next event, on December 28 of next year, sets its meeting point at the Santiago Bernabéu stadium itself.
Are there reasons for such enthusiasm? Just depending on where we want to place the ribbon. Aitana has a splendid voice and offers a dance show, enjoyable and solvent, very well choreographed and generous in lighting technology, intergenerational empathy and good intentions. The author of Alpha It brings to the stands not only a young audience, but also a toddler audience, with thousands of children and even more girls under 10 years old who smile, shout and enjoy themselves like the good little ones they are. And that’s where it starts, regardless of the fact that our idol has not yet bothered to contribute an ounce of uniqueness to her recipes, painfully routine in the pop sections and exasperating, due to repetitiveness, in her most recent dalliances with electronics.
All this guarantees that it is much easier to gather information about present, past, resumed or future couples of our protagonist than about her aesthetic postulates or artistic intentions. During the 100 minutes of the show there are some magnificent games of light and shadow, disco sparkles that reach the last corner of the venue and a dozen male and female dancers with the gift of executing body movements unthinkable for the common member of the human race. But we also find a few kilograms of pre-recorded music—also in the vocal part—and two dozen titles in which any hint of originality has been viciously annihilated. It’s not going to be that the algorithm misleads us later.
And so it happens that our brand new princess of courts and pavilions is not capable of providing a minimum of new-secular enthusiasm compared to all the great queens who have preceded her. There is a modern and commendable attitude in abolishing what people will say (The Angels); in vindicating pride, self-love and the predisposition that no minor undocumented person will make your existence bitter (Now that you’re gone), a very necessary message at this time when we can repudiate the machirulos with the full blessing of the RAE. But in the end, aerobic pop always ends up winning the game over the argument or the concept. In general, knowledge about the textile industry, or tutorials to memorize some fragment of those devilish choreographies, are more useful than pricking up your ears waiting for some surprise that – sorry for spoiling the end of the film – never comes. to happen.
We can hold on to the comfort that Darari is twinned via onomatopoeia with another of the dance hits it’s from the season, Padam padamby Kylie Minogue. Moon It is a drinkable, well-developed and resolved ballad, the first time in which, after half an hour of concert, the officiant claims to be a vocalist with manifest virtues. That certainty becomes even more palpable in the case of Further, which, without being a dazzling song, leaves room for things to happen every time it is performed, for Aitana to break out and assume the risk that the result will be brighter or faded than that of another previous or future night. The very essence of the live show, wow.
Arriving at the moment of my lovewith his twerking and their skirmishes, it can only be confirmed that we live in a society that is lazy, boring and prudish enough to look for a reason for controversy in a sensual dance. But that’s what we do now, pontificating about nothing. Aitana does well to paraphrase and pay tribute to Úrsula Corberó, who in Los Ondas had already claimed the value of self-esteem. “I say that I will be doing something good,” exclaimed the singer, full of reason. And it should be noted that she has a very wide margin for improvement, starting with the speeches. Contributions such as “I always say it: there are better days and there are worse days” or “The year is already ending: that is a reality” (sic y sic) endorse the lucid recent evil of The World Today In this regard: “Aitana raises another controversy by ensuring in the middle of a concert that inductive reasoning and belief in causality can be rationally justified.”
Acid humor stings, but it also sometimes stimulates. The day will come when Aitana takes better advantage of her possibilities and saves us bad drinks like “Thinking of you, it happened to me.” toa the night and I can’t sleep anymore” (Thinking of you), a horror beyond that linguistic syncopation, aggravated by the audacity of including a sampler of Sweet Dreams Are Made of This in the equation. But we can compromise with The Babiesa crazy version of Saturday Night, from Wighfield, who danced their hearts out. And satisfy that ending with the wet and sticky Formentera, preceded by a warning: it was “the last real one,” because going in and out, because of the old ritual of encores, makes him “very ashamed.” Well look, maybe we even agree on that.
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