Serrat announced his decision to step away from the stage, signaling more than a promotional moment; it carried weighty symbolism. Today, one might hesitate to call it merely the end of an era, yet his withdrawal invites a collective pause for reflection on how life is understood, sung, and shared. Song, in his hands, remains a form of popular and cult art with a precise poetic line that elevates the soul.
It was a year ago when Serrat began the farewell tour El vicio de cantar 1965-2022, finishing at Palau Sant Jordi on a Friday night with no extensions planned. The tour paused a path back toward Calle Poeta Cabanyes, where it all began, in the heart of Poble Sec, and where his life’s journey started long ago at nearly seventy-nine years of age. The tour stretched to double dates and larger venues across Spain and the United States, expanding from intimate rooms to vast capacities. His repertoire, encyclopedic and evolving, typically features about seventy songs per night, from which he selects twenty-two to twenty-four. He surrounds those songs—with the songs of others and his own—with reflections that render difficult themes approachable, inviting audiences to reexamine themselves through intimate, poetic offerings.
In discussing his craft, Serrat spoke of a growing love for trade that intertwined with an appreciation for flour and the land. He envisions a future where he can blend farming sensibilities with music, creating works that reveal a deep sensitivity to nature and that radiate through his art. In early seasons, his catalog lamented the loss of appetite for life in certain pieces like “Ara que tinc vint anys,” celebrating landscapes and the daily life of the craftsman. He highlighted characters from the margins—such as “El drapaire,” “Els titles,” “La balada per a un trobador,” and “La tieta”—expressed with tenderness, letting past wounds and youthful vigor surface in his musical language. His influences ranged from French chansons (Brel, Brassens, Aznavour) to later blends with copla and overseas folk traditions, including tango and the enduring folklore of Don Atahualpa Yupanqui. The memory of personal tragedy—his father, a CNT anarchist, and a mother from Belchite who endured great hardship—lingered in the background as he shaped a universal, human voice.
Serrat is pictured here in a file image.
Thus, he answered Lluís Serrahima’s call in the article Ens calen cançons d’ara, published in Germinabit magazine in 1959, and joined Els Setze Jutges as the thirteenth member. He dedicated himself to catalan revival in a period of Francoist censorship. On the album Cançons tradicionals (1968) by Antoni Ros-Marbà, he appears as a curious young man ready to explore tunes from a past that might feel outdated. Although Arcusa and De la Calva pressed to defend their La la la in Catalan at Eurovision, Serrat soon expressed himself in his other language, Spanish. The self-titled album known as La paloma (1969) solidified his reputation as a bilingual artist whose excellence was notable on a global scale.
Today, many Catalan singers blend languages on their records, but Serrat has consistently allocated a separate album for each major facet of his art: mental, emotional, and personal spaces that also reflect a nuanced market. His later works, including Cançó de matinada or Me’n vaig a peu, became iconic—songs like Your name tastes like grass, Penélope, and the landmark sequences carved a place for him in the annals. Mediterrenian, arranged in a striking collaboration with Juan Carlos Calderón, and his resonance with poets in albums dedicated to Miguel Hernández and Antonio Machado, mark him as a singer-songwriter capable of translating poetic nuance into harmonic logic with an almost angelic clarity. His expressive gifts as a translator allow him to deliver texts with honesty and directness, free of pretense.
Into these currents, Serrat slipped into labels such as bard, light song, or pop, and his work often carried a cult status for minority audiences. Music became a powerful channel for ideas, emotions, and literary depth, and Serrat understood this impact. He has spoke about art’s public reach with humility, even as he challenged romantic clichés about romance and femininity in songs that resonated with audiences beyond the stage. The line about the woman he loves not needing baptism by holy water each night stands as a testament to his willingness to probe love’s complexity.
The label of singer-songwriter has not limited Serrat; his work spans broader concerns, even in a climate where making political songs was sensitive. A track like Fiesta, a celebration of popular unity beyond ideological and class boundaries, provoked censorship that required adjustments. In September 1975, tensions with the regime intensified from the road to exile after a Mexico tour where Serrat denounced recent executions. His asylum in Mexico foreshadowed painful connects across the Southern Cone, amid cycles of military coups and dictatorships. The artist’s appearances at Luna Park in Buenos Aires in 1983 and the National Stadium in Santiago in 1990 underscored his growing Latin American resonance. Albums such as El sur is also there (1985), with texts by Mario Benedetti, and later works honoring boleros, tangos, milongas, rancheras, and tonadas llaneras, cemented his American influence. The Catalan language found a welcoming audience across the Atlantic, a reminder of Serrat’s transnational appeal.
He never stopped returning to his mother tongue, singing for Barcelona as well as for global audiences. He invoked the poetic revolution embodied by Salvat-Papasseit with Res no és mesquí (1977) and explored a mixed-race Catalonia through Sensitive material (1989). The nova cançó movement thrived in his scores, culminating in Banda sonora d’un temps, d’un país (1996). Later, he offered some of his most intimate works on Mô (2006), including Cremant núvols and Plou al cor, a dedication to Menorca, his island refuge from the crowd. An ongoing collaboration with Joaquín Sabina—expressed in a playful homage—adds further texture to his long career and deep sense of friendship.
And so the arc moves toward a closing chapter, yet Serrat leaves the door ajar for continued song creation and perhaps a more modest studio project. He senses that it is time to step back, releasing the urgency that once pushed him to extraordinary commitments. The public relationship endures, a testament to decades of fidelity from a performer and his longtime manager José Emilio Navarro, nicknamed Berry. The longevity speaks to a person who has remained connected to the audience and the craft through changing times.
Even with special guests at occasional stops—Maria del Mar Bonet, Sole Giménez, Rozalén—the artist avoids letting the spectacle overshadow his presence. Nights spent in emotional intoxication may come, but there is no intention of a farewell full of sorrow. The plan is to celebrate the path already traveled, to honor joy and inclusion, and to let the music remain a living, shared experience. So be it.