In Madrid’s vibrant nights, Paco Clavel stood as an emblem of a scene that refused to settle in the past. A man whose words aren’t chained to nostalgia, Clavel remains a living thread in the city’s cultural fabric. He never chased fame for its own sake, deeming it tacky, yet the public still flocks for a selfie when they spot him on the street.
What was the move?
The city grew dramatically. Spain shifted from dictatorship toward openness and democracy, and Madrid became a playground where people rushed out to enjoy life. It was a time of experiments, energy, and discovery among younger generations who wanted to see how culture and life could collide. The years carried a curious mix of daring ideas and new experiences, and Clavel recalls the moment as a time when everyone was figuring out what they were cooking up next.
Isn’t that a bit nostalgic?
Not exactly nostalgia. It was a past that held both missed chances and bright potential. He refers to the era when friends like Tino Casal and Fabio McNamara were close, and a creative alliance formed among artists who shared plans that remained unfinished with Casal’s passing. They used to frequent spaces such as the Tate Tate Gallery in Chueca, a late-night hub where quirky menus and氛onic energy kept the streets alive. Movida carried two faces: joyous bursts of creativity and others less bright. The movement spread through neighborhoods, supported by a small circle that included Alaska, Carlos Berlanga, and Las Costus. Local scenes were alive, and a morning call could reveal that an important show would take place at Mora Sol, underscoring how momentum and progression mattered even in pockets that seemed modest at first.
Like “Libertad 8,” which remains a cornerstone for those starting out in music, where did the spark come from?
Libertad 8 and La Aurora were early gathering places for the left and for Almodóvar to present his short films, where Krahe or Sabina began their paths. It was a period marked by events, bold experiments, and a sense that anything could happen when people came together to create and perform.
You worked at Radio Nacional. What was the impact?
Radio stations played a pivotal role. Clavel recalls watching Bowie influence political discourse, and while at the Prado del Rey he even received a personal memorandum from the artist. Programs like Juan de Pablos’ Flor de PASSION on Radio 3 helped push Movida groups into the spotlight. The media’s reach was immense. Today, social networks exist, and Clavel notes their double-edged nature. People now can be recognized on the street without being in the media, simply through the power of smartphones that everyone carries and the ease of taking photos.
What does Paco Clavel think when he looks back?
There has been plenty of astonishment. The era felt far more groundbreaking than today, and even as networks evolved, people pushed boundaries. The sense of revolution remained, though it often burned brightly and then faded or changed with the times.
What’s left of the 80s?
A defining moment in pop music. It was not without strife, including tough times with drugs and information gaps that let many friends slip away. The losses of Enrique Urquijo and others left a heavy mark. Still, the decade was marked by positive, transformative energy and a sense of experimentation that opened doors for countless artists, turning the period into a milestone in cultural history.
Musically, were they virtuosos?
Not in the conventional sense. Players might have lacked formal virtuosity by traditional standards, but audiences connected with the raw, fearless spirit of the performances. The same way The Beatles started, the movement proved that taste and instinct could outrun technical polish.
Movida moved through neighborhoods and social classes, right?
Absolutely. It touched every layer of society, from the chic circles to more modest scenes. It wasn’t a uniform movement; it offered a spectrum. Berlanga and other insiders helped shape it, while power brokers and local figures alike contributed to the mix. A friend’s memory even hints at a story where a piece of clothing tied to a performance helped shape a moment in Benidorm. The movement stood for more than music; it was a social and cultural surge.
Definitely.
Tino Casal stood out. He transcended Movida itself and remained a singular figure in Spanish music history, an artist who defined an era and then rose above it.
In the ’80s you weren’t young either.
No, not a teenager then. Clavel recalls a life that blended work and culture. He taught English to the children of artists like Carmen Flores and found himself drawn into the social circles that included venues, conservatories, and moments of performance that lightened the mood even during tense times. The Teatro Real hosted protest songs and performances by figures like Víctor Manuel and Ana Belén, but the mood could shift with a cheeky rebellion, turning serious moments into something lighter with songs like Corazón de melón that kept spirits high.
Did you always want the spotlight?
Not really. Fame felt tacky, even if popularity brought recognition. Clavel notes a career built on collaborations with Pepe Rubio, Alvarado, and many others, including duets with Almodóvar, Carlos Berlanga, Alaska, and Susana Estrada. Nights out, chance meetings, and a thriving street life at places like the Rastro market kept energy high. The days of selling a few items on a stall and earning enough for a beer feel distant. Yet the joy of music and performance lingered, and those moments defined a practical, shared sense of fun rather than personal gain.
Were you a pioneer?
Yes. He released the first independent album, with the Milky Way backing, followed by performances at the Sol room that caught the eye of CBS. The label signed them, and the scene broadened beyond its initial circle. Artists like Camilo Sesto, Perales, and Ana Belén were connected to that wave, and there were moments when cantidubi, new sounds, and fresh voices emerged even before any major investment.
During the Pandemic you did a show with Samantha Hudson?
Yes, a show produced after a long break. For younger generations, some past icons may seem distant, yet the pioneers they look up to were real catalysts. While today’s youth might not know all the historic names, they are carrying fragments of that history into their own art and time, adapting it for a new era with energy that feels genuine and current.
How is your record collection going? (there are half a million)
It remains a crowded treasure trove. A vinyl enthusiast, Clavel cherishes rare and curious pieces that reveal stories beyond the obvious. A recent find was a French rendition by Juanito Valderrama, a reminder that music travels in surprising directions and connects unlikely audiences.
And Movida in Asturias?
Movida touched Asturias as well, with Víctor Manuel contributing to the era’s youth energy. Tino often shared bold moments in front of public icons long before the movement gained broader recognition. Asturias holds a special place as a homeland where the spirit of Movida continued to echo in later years, resonating with the region’s own cultural pride and resilience.