Ricardo Miralles

These two birds back to join their voices, between lyric and tear, Serrat and Sabina. During a previous tour viewers could overthrow them both with one shot, but this time that these birds will soar on shotguns. Each with its splendor, with its poison. Joan Manuel Serrat keeps intact the moral, tough, committed contempt of difficult times, but always wrapped in the aura of a joy of living, in favor of simple pleasures, the melancholy of those trams transported to the beaches on Sunday to overcome people and returned to the city only defeated by the sun, with salty lips and burned skin. And among so many words of love Serrat, the hoarse cries of Sabina, both fused, and although the two crossing their songs, one with guitar and the heart will scratch another liver.

Joan Manuel Serrat fled to Mexico when Franco ordered his persecution. In Argentina and Chile, his commitment against military regimes is still remembered. Joaquín Sabina arrived later. His poetry bewitched the audience. In Argentina, he is a tango singer as much as a rocker; in Mexico, the mariachis sing their songs. The former is a symbol, a venerated figure; the latter is a “cuate,” as they say in Mexico, a buddy with whom you can always count.