Fresh from the south, the renowned songwriter Joan Manuel Serrat arrived in Madrid to perform at the Wizink Center. The evening carried the weight of a long-awaited gathering, a reunion with musicians and audiences who have shared memories in the glow of his songs. Those who have waited through years of premieres and pauses found in his return a sense of completion, as if a chapter long promised would finally close with a resonant, unified chorus. The first note hit promptly at nine, a punctual beacon announcing a night of shared history and renewed energy.
She, now 79, stood among a crowd that felt like a cross-section of a country past and present: expectant mothers, teenagers, ministers, professionals, all drawn into Serrat’s interpretive journey. Through his voice, songs that have become a natural history of a people spoke again, reconnected to the generations that hear them—from grandparents and parents to the younger listeners who treat the melodies as living memory. In this shared experience, familiar lines emerged with a quiet recognition of the past as it breathes in the present.
The applause resembled a blessing, a ceremonial return that linked the poet to figures like Machado and Miguel Hernández, and even to Serrat’s own grandfather, El Furo. The memory of a vanished valley, a life cut short by a regime, surfaced in the performance, as if the stage offered a way to bring them back to the light. The evening breathed with poetry, as the poet from Orihuela seemed to surface again, guiding the audience through a landscape where heritage and longing intertwine and linger.
Dressed simply in a brown shirt and flanked by his longtime trio, including Ricard Miralles at the piano, Serrat moved with a vitality that reminded everyone of the enduring quality of his work. He opened his heart with a candid simplicity, letting the words and melodies carry the emotion rather than theatrical flair. Their aim was clear: to let the audience feel the music as a form of personal revelation, a declaration of freedom, a sentiment he often renders with sensory imagery, sometimes likening it to a lily in bloom.
From the outset, Serrat’s humor and storytelling loosened the atmosphere. He recalled childhood memories of Poble Sec, the community that witnessed his early ascent. The voice in the stands affirmed the audience’s affection with a resounding, “We love you!” His stage presence blended autobiography with myth, presenting characters who still feel alive in the collective memory. The Mediterranean currents of his songs offered a navigational map through a century of musical evolution, anchored by a core aesthetic that makes his work feel both immediate and timeless. A phrase about a humid morning and hot afternoon became a recurring thread, tying the set to a broader experience of climate, season, and feeling.
The recital unfolded as a testament rather than a mere premiere. Love, shared confidences, and the faithful thread of memory ran through the program, inviting the audience to remember what happened and what remains after. The sense of novelty emerged from the very act of listening to familiar tunes sung with renewed clarity and intent, as if the poet could still conjure fresh images from his imagination with every verse.
Serrat’s performance was punctuated with light humor and a relaxed camaraderie, as if he and the audience were sharing a familiar ritual at a table with old friends. The nostalgia carried a playful undercurrent, as if the myths of the era lived again in the room. The concert, with its intimate roots and broad reach, felt anchored in a real emotional core—loneliness and longing, hope and resilience.
The audience response grew into a united chorus. In the immediate vicinity, observers included journalists, actors, and a crowd of cultural figures who shared the night’s mood: a blend of reverence, curiosity, and warmth. The presence of poets, ministers, and artists created a crowd that looked almost like a cross-section of a national cultural landscape—people who have carried and cherished these songs across generations. The atmosphere suggested a lineage of Nova Cançó and a legacy that continues to evolve with younger voices joining the chorus, even as the most significant member of the gathering signaled a farewell that felt inevitable and meaningful. The aria of the evening ended with a refrain that lingered: a name that, for many, sounds like grass in the wind, a word that felt almost sacred in its simplicity and depth.