Razzmatazz, September 2010: A Night That Felt Like a Moment in Time
The night at Razzmatazz unfolded with a surprise start. Andrés Calamaro and his band brought the set in sooner than announced, catching many attendees off guard as they filed in. The performance was raw, imperfect, and unmistakably alive. Months later, the energy of that evening would be captured on double vinyl and CD, following an initial digital release. The journey from a live rush to physical formats has since become a talking point for fans and collectors alike.
Chaotic yet compelling, the concert left an impression of a record that is more about mood than meticulous accuracy. Those present remember a curious blend of covers and original moments, stretching beyond the usual confines of a live show. The evening moved through tracks connected to Stand Up, Walking on the Moon, Imagine, No Woman, Don’t Cry, Bridge Over Troubled Waters, and more. Interludes of spoken commentary about contemporary events surfaced between songs, and political moments from that Catalan summer—such as reactions to a bullfighting ban—threaded through the performance. The result is a live release that feels less like a clean documentation and more like a snapshot of atmosphere, a testament to how a show can become a memorable listening experience even with rough edges.
The release notes reveal a deceptive truth about the track list. Of the 21 tracks presented, only 11 are clearly tied to the actual performance from that night, with several songs not definitively confirmed as part of the set. The back cover hints that ten or more cuts were recorded in other venues across Spain, and the order on the album does not reflect the night’s real sequence. Yet the resonance remains intact because the collection captures something more essential than a sequence of songs; it captures the room’s spirit and the tension that filled the air.
What stands out is the absence of grand production or a single, blowout moment. Instead, the release offers intimate, intense live takes that speak to those evenings in 2010. The album journeys through emotional highs and brisk rock rhythms, with explorations of songs that mix gravity with playful mischief. A lean guitar trio—Diego García, Geny Avello, and Julián Kanevsky—drives the performance with a focused energy that sustains the band’s vitality. Calamaro’s distinctive voice takes center stage with a directness that keeps the performance engaging, even when the set diverges from a perfect recreation of a single night. This is evident in the way the music breathes rather than marching in lockstep with a canned chronology.
The value of the release rests in its unpolished approach. It does not present a flawless concert. Instead, it offers a candid, perhaps imperfect, document of a live encounter. The tracks swing from high-octane rock to quieter, more nuanced piano passages, weaving through textures that reveal a band comfortable with shifting gears. The material traverses brisk rock lines, soulful touches, and occasional flirtations with country-inflected melodies, all while maintaining a palpable sense of urgency felt in the venue. There is a stubborn honesty in the performance, a willingness to risk rough edges to preserve immediacy and atmosphere. The album never pretends to be a flawless chronicle of that night; it stands as a vivid record of the mood and the moment, a quiet triumph of spirit over precision that still speaks loudly to listeners today. The recording captures the sense of a room alive with reaction, where every miscue and every instant of inspiration helps tell a story that lives beyond the stage lights and the last encore.