Time has wanted Serrat to come home to sing to time. It has been the same week that politics ran out of hours in a false debate about a meeting with a high-voltage will that has bordered on ridicule as strenuous.
The time, its passage and its validity, its inscrutable future and its imprints marked in our sentimental chronicle make the songs of Joan Manuel an inescapable collection of poems. And his messages in favor of taking advantage of him describe a great artist who has gained presence and has consecrated dimension, who has marked charisma and has internalized even more his own verses because he knows that time escapes him. It escapes us. Maybe that's why, when the decades accumulate in our business card, to observe how some waste a so fungible badge unworthy. Or even despair.
Do not leave for tomorrow what you can do today, recommended Tuesday night from the stage the noi of the Poble Sec,making the proverb his, while she was desgranaba his Mediterranean inspirations written in Calella de Palafrugell around the year 71 of the last century. Recovering those successes without rounding off ephemerides does not have to be seen as a contradiction when it is the will that explains it and the time that advises it. To the audience, some faithful followers outlined a "happy anniversary" with which the protagonist did not want to identify. He has days to celebrate, he has plenty of candles to blow it. Because the time for the singer-songwriter is today one of his happy successes and, at the same time, one of his scarce assets. In the second part, recovering some of its less versioned classics, the viewer realized the vision of the future that some songs distilled, perhaps not considered by some when they premiered but, incubating sensitivity based on perseverance, have still made it bigger the talent of the artist.
Poet, he was called from Ràdio Barcelona by the great Arribas Castro when he synchronized his chickens with Serrat's songbook. And this one took out the head to greet the radiophonic transgressor with much more frequency of which they forced to do it the launchings of their creations. It was when Mediterranean I already had the appearance of classic and Cançó de matinada It was already a hymn. When the first bars of El falziots they tuned in and The tieta He traveled the world thanks to his many adaptations. It was when Machado and Hernández, Salvat-Papasseit and Foix had been vindicated and the desires of love and freedom flooded the hearts.
Time, the concept that Mario Benedetti, friend of Serrat, reduced to the five minutes with which it is enough to dream a life. And they are enough to ruin it. The just to play with that of the others. This is how the apprentices of statesmen have entertained us these days. Those who do not tire of preaching and demand the dialogue that both costs them to practice and to which they put so many preventions to start. Meanwhile, the sorcerers of the tribe tried to invoke the most evil spirits and present us on the 21st as the beginning of the end they desire. For them to talk is to waste the time they want and need to delve into the open wounds in a society tired of so much electoral turbulence at the expense of the denial of difference by way of uniformity or exclusion.
It does not seem that in these moments the Serrat represents that is reflected in the right politicians. He, who receives the applause of a society that, as a whole, applies much more sensibility than its representatives. This does not prevent that, when the time comes, one of the parties will be carried away by the current of emotion rather than by reason. And follow those who dictate a path, however wrong it may be, because it is more convenient to participate in gregariousness than to separate oneself from the flock. And that serves those who promote populism while saying they fight. But as a whole, and apart from social networks, common sense prioritizes relationships that are much more pragmatic than idyllic in a community that demands and demands time.
Now that we know how it has been harmful to scream that we were in a hurry, how foolish it has been to repress that yearning and how dramatic it is not to recognize the shared mistakes, now that we continue to fall into the trap of the damned adversary thus looking for the opposite justification of the own nonsense, now we should be able to claim time. And to demand it from those who deny it or play badly because they squandered it when they did not have to do it and used it as they did not know how to do it. Unlike Serrat.
"Temps was temps". And that evocation, like many of its songs, acquires validity by the obstinacies of a present that seems eternal. As much as to miss the future.