In Ibiza, silence is music from chill out I'm not exaggerating. Even the supposedly intimate, quiet, rural places are inseparable from that demoniac soniquete. In Ibiza, the melody of tranquility, of well-being, is that. You go to an old bar, thinking that there you will only hear the sound of the dentures gnawing olives, and there it is, again: chill out. If you ask any old man at the bar, he will tell you that he does not hear anything. Because, I repeat, here the chill out It amounts to silence. It is as if we were on a boat watching whales and a DVD looping of whale songs will not let us hear the real whales, real whales that we can pet.
With this I do not pretend to offend Ibicencan hearts: I agree with them that the island is beautiful, in that it has magical corners. But the truth is that almost all of it is contaminated by "the idea of Ibiza" (See: clubs, crazed djs, white linen, denim thongs, people spending a lot of money on supposedly luxurious experiences, and also for that other spiritual and psychotropic side that charges you eight euros for squeezing juice while looking at the mountain of Es Vedra, because the juice is charged with the energy of the mountain and that energy costs euros), which does not too much room for nothing more. Luckily for those who flee in terror of a possible VIP pass, for those who are not interested in watching the sunset while a dj dulls the gray matter, there is the Festival of Damned Narratives organized by the association Mal del Cap.
In the words of Inma Saranova, the lethal matriarch who, together with Pedro López and a few other partners, takes care of the whole affair, "Mal del Cap we are four subnormales doing bullshit." But what is especially Mal del Cap is a crack that opens roads in the heavy stone of what "is supposed to be Ibiza". And those cracks are filled with a very tasty poison. Within the nine days of the V Festival Mal del Cap Naritas Malditas, the hard core of the association has created a program that could be described as miraculous: Manuel Bartual, Paco Alcázar, Venga Monjas, Miguel Noguera, Carlo Padial, Isa Calderón and Lucía Lijtmaer with their Deforme Semanal, Borja Crespo, Esty Quesada ("I am a pringada"), Fermín Muguruza and Josele Santiago. The Maldelcapians themselves explain it this way: "The purpose is to bring the modern underground to Ibiza, because the islanders also want posture. We are modern people like any peninsular, with the difference that, eventually, some of us are more dark. "
These days Ibiza, in which even sexagenarian waiters who have been spat violently from the hospitality system and its floors by the great machine destroyer of Airbnb tourism and balconing They snort in the bars of the bars criticizing the brazenness of Dani Mateo sounding with the flag, Mal del Cap is like removing a very dense mucus in the flag of the "typically Ibizan". Bravo for them.