long live the country

This is the name, without exclamation marks; Fernando's homeland does not carry them. This Viva la patria is not a battle cry, it is a procession; it is said softly and at night, shyly. It is not that there is no ridiculous love for the earth on this album, because there is, and it is good that there is, but it appears fragmented, dispersed, superimposed like the photos of Montevideo on the cover; Because the homeland spoken of here is both the "Uruguay peneplain" and the life there, especially that of Fernando himself.

In Montevideo's footprint, the most beautiful thing in that South American corner, one hears: “Beautiful Montevideo, they have delayed you; / you inherited this self-absorbed step. / Smuggling people, you live passing. / I take root, and I give you my home, and if I can I sing ”. Before, on the fourth track, a masterpiece titled the phonogram, we believe by the name that now we are going to find a band, horse and Artigas, since three songs had already passed and no trace of the homeland; but nananina, we discovered the most autobiographical song on the album (because this is an autobiographical album, although Fernando is so “showy” that he can sign a record of that cut without giving us a single piece of information - or very few - about his life; it gives us, instead, images, signs, shadows, like this one, from Escondido: "The midwife said 'gauchito!' / when I had to be born. / At the ranch the two alone, / my mother and I, without knowing. / She give birth, I will be born ”). A theme where the homeland is all there is between the Canzani and Pereira hospitals - places, both, from the narrator's birth - and these last verses, capable of annihilating the toughest: “… I swear, history, I don't think I cry when you're dead I don't think, song, that you cry, too, when I'm dead "

In The imprint of Montevideo, beautiful praise to that South American corner, is heard: “Lindo Montevideo, they have delayed you; / you inherited this self-absorbed step. / People smuggling, you live passing by. / I settle down, and I town you, and if I can I sing”. Before, on the fourth track, a masterpiece that titles the phonogram, we believe from the name that now we are going to find band, horse and Artigas, since three songs had already passed and no trace of the homeland; but nananina, we discover the most autobiographical theme of the album (because this is an autobiographical album, although Fernando is so “great” that he can sign a record of that track without giving us a single piece of information —or very little— about his life; he gives us, instead, images, signs, shadows, like this one, from Hidden: “the midwife said 'gauchito!' / when I had to be born. / At the ranch, the two of us alone, / my mother and I, without knowing. / She to give birth, I to be born”). A theme where the homeland is all that there is between the Canzani and Pereira hospitals —places, both, of the narrator's birth— and these last verses, capable of annihilating the toughest: “... I swear, history, I don't think I'll cry when you're dead. I don't think, song, that you cry, too, when I'm dead"

I guess we have all had this kind of friends: friends-guardians, friends-big brother; They teach us, as if it were the most important thing in the world (and it is), the good things that we should get closer to. My friend from Miami was mine. This kind of friend can only be had at a precise age: the age of amazement and the ventilated heart, a beautiful age at which unbelief has not yet expired. If they took you 30 and you have not found yours, you screwed; It will no longer be the same when someone tells you that Alice in Chains is the greatest, and then, alone, you strike out the Dirt to verify that yes, indeed, it is; you will no longer undertake listening with the same gravity, as if it were friendship itself.

I guess we've all had these kinds of friends: friends-guardians, friends-older brother; that teach us, as if it were the most important thing in the world (and it is), the good things that we should approach. My friend from Miami was mine. This kind of friends can only be had at a precise age: the age of astonishment and a ventilated heart, a beautiful age at which disbelief has not yet vanquished. If the 30 caught you and you haven't found yours, you're screwed; It won't be the same when someone tells you that Alice in Chains is the greatest thing, and then you just punch out the dirty to verify that yes, indeed, it is; you will no longer undertake listening with the same seriousness, as if it were friendship itself.

Here are some proper names that my friend from Miami showed me for the first time: Spinetta, Charly, Radiohead, The Doors, Pedro Guerra, Patti Smith, Drexler, Roly Berrío, Ariel Barreiros, Leonard Cohen, the list is long. I don't thank you for this—or at least for anything I'm going to say now—because there's nothing to be thankful for. He was where he was when he was, and so was I. You were going to run into those names anyway, it was a matter of time; the nice thing here is not the proper names, but you and your friend from Miami, attacked, picking cigarette ends from the pots in the lobby from the Alamar scholarship at three in the morning.

My friend-tutor went to Miami in the eighth, and since then we have only seen each other in person twice, here in Havana, although we have not stopped writing to each other or mentioning names. When he tells me today: "listen to this", I do it with a seriousness that the act does not have, like when my father tells everyone in the room to shut up because Rafael Serrano is going to play, with the expression of an angry high school principal, the last Informative note from the Minrex in the news. When we talk about music he is still the authority, the academy, the superego. I'll have to kill him, poor thing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQkVQ84mb28

When he showed me Fernando Cabrera, we were in the living room of a house in Vedado, with more people: the number of people that are in the living room of a house where someone has just arrived from Miami. I put on the headphones. It was the time is after. I paused playback in the middle because there was so much noise; if my friend-older brother said that you had to hear that, then you had to hear it well. I moved away a bit and went to the window, which overlooked Calle Línea. It wasn't really a window, it was more of a space in the wall, which turned that part of the room into a kind of balcony. I leaned both arms on the wall, put my head out a little, looked towards the street, played the song again, and then the magic did happen. I thought — how could I not! — about the past and present of myself and my friend from Miami when Fernando said: “One day we will meet / at another carnival. / We will be lucky if we learn / that there is no corner, / that there is no dock / that can dissolve / in its hiding place what we were; / the time is after"

Among the albums on the list, the long live the country, of this crack Eastern, was the last one to arrive, and he did it via WhatsApp, subject by subject, at the irritating speed of the Wi-Fi of the ISDi park, in an era that seems so far away, when Nodiel had not yet let me use his Spotify account and life saved. My friend from Miami shared it with me, from there, a few months after our second meeting in Havana. After having heard a good part of Fernando's discography, this album continues to be the one I like the most; positively, because of the naturalness of poetry, which here reaches a very high level, by itself and because of how it connects with music; negative, because I find it hard to find things that I don't like in these 15 songs.

Fernando Cabrera is a poet poet. His word does not cheat, he does not see the trick. It seems that what he says can not be said in any other way, and this is what true poets do, they are the only ones who can be called poets without getting hives on your skin doing it, as it happens to me to me every time I hear someone called out of tune suddenly. Fernando is the antithesis of the pseudo-poet. A pseudopoet is a poet who does not know how to make a lifelong love poem, a poet with a limited subject, who is only served by the avant-garde. Fernando not only talks about anything, but he moves even when you do not know what the hell he is talking about, as happens in Good Wood, that if you are distracted you do not find out, so, well, it is, it gives us a clue in the last stanza —Although the title already anticipated it—: “Where is the turn of this candombe? / The question is in the wood. / Someone polishes the soul of the drums. / Someone makes the doors more sincere ”. Similar occurs in Canelones, the opening of the album: you don't have to know the history or geography of Uruguay to understand what is going on; It helps, but it is not necessary.

Fernando's thing is not to show off. You don't need an extensive vocabulary, or start inventing, or carry the dictionary of synonyms and antonyms under your arm, or think about it too much. It just comes out like that. Has it. Oliver Girondo suffers! Take heed, initiates of the infladera! Look what he does on the opening track of the album, I never told you I love you: “Gale your coat / by your side I continue / corner of disbelief. / Swept jetty / cold holidays / folded in half. / I never told you 'love you' / I'm not even going to tell you. / They are words that anyone / says with certainty, or without. / I never told you 'love you' / but I love you like I'll never love”. Try saying the same thing and you'll see how cool it comes out.

Fernando is not showing off. You don't need an extensive vocabulary, or inventing, or carrying the dictionary of synonyms and antonyms under your arm, or giving it too much thought. It just comes out like that. Has it. Oliverio Girondo suffers! Behold, initiates of the inflation! Look at what he does in the song that ends the album, I never told you I love you: “Gale your coat / next to you I follow / corner of disbelief. / Swept groyne / cold holidays / folded in half. / I never told you 'I love you' / nor will I tell you. / They are words that anyone / says with certainty, or without. / I never said ‘I love you’ / but I love you as I will never love. ” Try saying the same thing and you will see how cheo it comes out. To say something and make me smart, I would have liked Fresh Merchandise to open the phonogram, and not located only as eleventh, where it neither paints nor colors in the album's narrative. That cry “take fifteen songs! Fresh merchandise! ”, It would have been great to warm up, but we already said that Fernando is not interested in the avant-garde. Nor is he a sentinel of forms. The same contradicts the metric guidelines when he feels like it, which begins with singing and ends with reciting. These things don't stop him. It says first, and then we'll see.

In Caminos en flor you will find a beautiful story about those early stages of some artists, when they go on tour, acting for food and shelter, which they always long for after fame and success. Children of abundance hear a different sound than the rest of the album. I thought it had been recorded elsewhere, but it is not. It sounds different because it is the only song on the album that Fernando does not sign alone; the text is his but the music belongs to his compatriot Jorge Galemire, who also plays the guitar and has the leading role. Futura cumbia is apparently the most easy-going cut, if there is something easy about this: “Why is there no longer an antenna on your roof? / God gives me lunch, and it doesn't fill ”; and in Cinema Religion Fernando messes with certain kinds of faithful with a childish attitude: "The old exchange of believers: anxious obedient" Cordero Lobo excites me a lot; he talks about what I know what, by Tony Soprano; and the unparalleled After the Dock is a commission for the documentary I never read Onetti, by the director Pablo Dotta, a sign to those brave sailor explorers, discoverers of the world, who leaves us moments like this: “Now they are free as if they were. / They do not know yet that the night is eternal, / darkness without change no matter how much they turned on / tiny and brief the dim lantern "

In paths in flower You will find a beautiful story about those early stages of some artists, when they go around on tour, performing for food and shelter, which they always yearn for after fame and success. In sons of plenty a different sound is heard from the rest of the disc. I thought it was recorded somewhere else, but it's not. It sounds different because it is the only song on the album that Fernando does not sign alone; the text is his but the music is by his compatriot Jorge Galemire, who also plays the guitar and has the leading vocal role. future cumbia it is apparently the most casual cut, if there is any casualness in it: “Why is there no antenna on your roof anymore? / God gives me lunch, and it doesn't fill”; and in Film Religion Fernando messes with a certain class of faithful with a puerile attitude: “The Old Believers Exchange: Eager Obedient" Lamb Wolf it excites me a lot; he talks about what I know what, by Tony Soprano; and the peerless after the pier It is a commission for the documentary I never read Onetti, by director Pablo Dotta, a sign to those brave explorer sailors, discoverers of the world, who leaves us with moments like this: “Now they are free as if they were. / They still do not know that the night is eternal, / darkness without change no matter how much they turn on / tiny and brief the dim lantern"

Dedicated to Luis Pescetti, this is already located among my most beloved albums, and Fernando Cabrera, whom I met yesterday afternoon, is already a must in my life. Whatever he calls homeland, it will surely be a beautiful place.