“Gordo Cabrón led us all to a large ledge in a corridor, and there was the artist. He was in the middle of a photo shoot for an important publication.

Here is the first story of twelve that you will be able to read in the course of 2022 in Aragón Musical every first Wednesday of the month. These ‘Comics of Musical Aragon’ are true, are contextualized within the framework of the Aragonese music scene, although without dealing with it directly, and they try to capture the other side of this strange world of records, concerts, the public, the media and music people. This is the only story not unpublished. Its author published it two years ago from their networks. Enjoy it.

The strange date

Hard to forget the first time I suffered the music industry on my own. Without taking into account, of course, all the money that I have left in musical material far above its value.

That industrial deflower coincided with one of the first times that I interviewed a best-selling artist, one accustomed to dealing with people of a far less recognized and recognizable culture. The soloist was signing records in a store one day before the presentation in Zaragoza of his most acclaimed album. A server, at that time, already did everything he could, or they left him – come on, like now – to collect any detail related to the musical Aragon. So I waited microphone in hand for the musician to finish his homework.

That day I understood many things. One of them, how hard it is to sign records. It seems that the activity in question consists simply in receiving praise and writing more or less witty sentences, but no. The poor guy spent a little more than two and a half hours, let him write to you, let him answer you, let him laugh … and let him fuck you. The topics are topics and the job is the job even for a whole star.

«That day I understood many things. One of them, how hard it is to sign records. It seems that the activity in question consists simply in receiving praise and writing more or less witty sentences, but no.

Once the hard task is finished, a kid with a silly face appears – who writes – showing the microphone of a local radio station. The tired face of the protagonist told me everything but, even so, the man made an effort and also spoke to me verbally to make me understand that he did not have the right body for interviews. It was more than understandable. However, he invited me to come the next day to the sound check of the live presentation of the album. Once finished, he assured me that I would have my interview. What disturbed me the most was that when I asked how to access the premises, he told me to tell the man at the door that it came from him and to add that I was his colleague.

The next day I did not miss the strange appointment. I entered through the artists’ door of the Prince Felipe pavilion in Zaragoza, I approached a uniformed San Pedro and told him with a little face of conviction and doubtful expressions that it came from the star, of whom I was a colleague. To my surprise, the suddenly very kind man, hung a badge around my neck and sent me down the corridors to I don’t know where to go.

Inside there, nobody paid me a damn case, so I explored it on my own account and risk until I heard music and followed it like Hamelin’s rat until I saw myself at the foot of the stage, an almost sole witness of the staging of the new album.

There I was, before the rest of the public, breathing that air that so surprised locals and strangers. And it is that that direct broke schemes. I was, in this case literally, one of the first surprised.

“What disturbed me the most was that when I asked how to access the enclosure, he told me to tell the man at the door that it came from him and to add that I am a colleague of his.”

After the fascinating soundcheck was finished – it really was – I asked around where I had to wait to interview the artist. It was not easy to get the answer but I got it: we just had to wait. And waiting … waiting … after a while, a guy appeared carrying a microphone … followed by another … and another … and a photographer … and another … and another … and a television camera … and another … and another … I looked around me and I was surrounded by journalists. But real journalists, not like me. They were talking to a fat guy, the sea of ​​nice and friendly who was giving them the same time. So I approached the aforementioned who, suddenly, was left alone in fat and, in a few seconds, would transform into Fat Bastard. Apparently, as he explained to me before, friendly, in principle I was not going to have an interview but if I waited for the rest of the media to finish … well, maybe … who knows … maybe … maybe …

Gordo Cabrón led us all to a large ledge in a hallway, and there was the artist. He was in the middle of a photo shoot for an important publication. Cabrón told those present that when the musician finished with the posed, the musical carousel would begin. First Antena 3, then SER, then the rest of the TV … National Radio of Spain … and I don’t know what other … or what else … but I simply did not exist. I was behind the last row separated from the rest of the media. They all talked to each other with smiling faces. They were someone, at least that’s how they seemed to feel, or that’s how I perceived it. I envied them. Not even Christ spoke to me. At first, perhaps, some look in plan – what does that guy want with that microphone? -. Anal sex only works for me on someone else’s ass, so, they themselves, I thought.

The star finished his photo session like the day before the signing one. I was pissed off like someone who waited two and a half hours yesterday for nothing and today as many for the same. The people of the media began to greet the singer, shaking his hand like a true eminence, which was musical, with complicit laughter, comments on such an experience together and such another. Gordo Cabrón proceeded to explain the order of interviews. The star nodded, but Gordo wasn’t counting on something that hadn’t even remotely crossed my mind. I assumed that these things happen only once in a lifetime. Young that was one. The singer, showing a more than excellent vision, ran into my face, which was still trying to be seen far away. Then he said aloud, so that the whole world could hear him, as slowly as only someone who knows who is boss can speak in public, that he was sorry but that the only one he had left was with that boy over there – come on, with who tells this story of grandfather chives, obviously- and who would begin the batch of interviews with the aforementioned surprised.

«They were talking to a fat guy, the sea of ​​nice and nice who was giving them the same time. So I approached the aforementioned who, suddenly, was left alone in fat and, in a few seconds, would be transformed into Fat Cabrón ».

So it was. We locked ourselves in his dressing room on the way to which Cabrón, taking advantage of the fact that the artist had advanced a few meters, grabbed my arm, vomiting in my ear that the interview could not last more than five minutes. The truth is that it lasted twice as long, and I didn’t give the fucking wish to extend it any longer because there were currela people who wanted to do their job as I had hoped to do mine. In my case, by the way, in exchange for zero pesetas of those of then, which are worth the same number of euros of those of now. The funny thing is that the rest of the media each stayed at least twenty minutes with the guy.

The treatment by the musician was impeccable. My questions weren’t much, but their answers made that interview something, without a doubt, very interesting for the listener.

That day, indeed, I understood many things. What does a record firm consist of, as I pointed out before. What’s a great production soundcheck about? That to dare with any interview it is important to document yourself, to be clear about how to approach everything. Also that in this noble trade, hobby in my case, you have to have more patience than the entire saints.

“Some artists give a bad image of themselves because of those around them.”

But the most remarkable thing was bumping my nose for the first time with the music industry. You really do learn from that. There would be more times and there will be. Some artists give a bad image of themselves because of those around them. Fortunately, to this day, a server continues to skip as much as possible to record companies, promoters, managers and tries to talk one-on-one with the artist on duty. Without abusing, of course. We must be aware that a musician must dedicate himself almost exclusively to music and other professional people to support his work from other areas.

In the strange appointment, that artist, really showed me what it was like. And obviously the industry as well.

Author: Sergio Falces

Veracity of the cartoon: 95%

Modifications: The protagonist went to the strange appointment accompanied by a friend.

Dates: The first part of the story took place on October 9, 1999 and the second part a day later. This text is written at the end of the first decade of the current millennium with little later modifications.

Other data: The record store named is Linacero; he was on Calle San Miguel de Zaragoza. The disc that was presented was ‘Pequeno’, by Enrique Bunbury. The photo that illustrates this post corresponds to the interview carried out in this story with the artist; It was taken from an analog camera.

Curiosity 1: This comic was published on his social networks by its author in 2019, marking the 20th anniversary of what happened. After that, people close to Bunbury, including one of his musicians at the time, confirmed the “unfriendly” character of Gordo Cabrón, which apparently they soon dispensed with. They also cleared his name, which from here we continue to keep anonymous, convinced that today he is a great person. And we are indifferent if he has put on a diet or not, the physique of people does not matter to us, he will always be our beloved Fat Cabrón.

Curiosity 2: Three years after ‘the strange date’, the author of the story asked Bunbury in a much more formal interview about this anecdote. The artist did not remember.

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