By the way, which one’s Crosby? It’s a logical question: like Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young this Spanish foursome deserted other bands to form a supergroup, and like Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young they seem to have owned the kinds of egos that demanded that they see their individual names in lights. They could have called themselves Los Cacahuetes, after all. And the timeline is right; they put out their first and most famous album, Señora Azul, in 1974.
Unlike CSN&Y, however, their album tanked, and it took decades for fans and critics to come around to the opinion that it was a classic. The fans hated it, the critics loathed it, and I couldn’t tell you what Spain’s then dictator-for-life Generalissimo Francisco Franco—he would kick the fascist bucket the following year—thought of it, but I doubt he was a folk rock guy and if he had been he’d have promptly had them shot.
The band’s members were Juan Robles Cánovas, Rodrigo García, Adolfo Rodríguez, and José María Guzmán. García and Guzmán hailed from the band Solera; Rodrigo from Los Pekenikes and, before that, a Colombian group called The Speakers. Cánovas, surprisingly, had a progressive rock background as drummer for Módulos. They’re pretty horrible. Check out their cover of “Hello, Goodbye” if you get the chance; you won’t be able to say goodbye fast enough. Adolfo was previously the vocalist and guitarist of the psychedelia-tinged pop group Los Íberos. Listen to them long enough and you will grow to like them and hate yourself for it.
The winner-to-loser ratio of Señora Azul (that’s Blue Lady in Inglais) is well above 50 percent, and several of its songs are quite good indeed. The folk rock numbers can be quite powerful, and aside from an overly delicate love song or two and a failed attempt at whimsical pop, there are none I’d turn over to Franco’s secret police. And they throw in a country rocker or two that have real push. And like CSN&Y, they throw in some nice vocal harmonies, especially on the title track.
“Carrusel” (“Carousel”) is a jaunty number dressed up by some nice vocal harmonies, a primitive synthesizer and some horns, and is quite likeable. Love the way the singers go “Bop bop!” “Solo pienso en ti” (“I Only Think of You”) is great stuff; lovely melody, very sad, with lots of strummed acoustic guitars and strings that work. And a vocal that is both gruff and delicate at the same time. “El Rio” (“The River”) suffers from a vocal performance that is too sensitive for his or anybody else’s good, and the same goes for the melody. And the bird chirp and horns don’t help, although things take a slight turn towards the bearable when the song briefly speeds up.
“Don Samuel Jazmin” is the albums biggest weak link—music hall piano, an overly perky melody that brings Three Dog Night’s “Black and White” to mind, and an excess of whimsy (especially in the vocals) all turn it into an irritation machine. And the Dixieland clarinet doesn’t help. Follow-up “Si Pudieras ver” (“If You Could See”) is a simple love song that is simply annoying, although I’ll admit to softening when it soars. And the brief electric piano solo is nice.
“Nuestra Problema” (“Our Problem”) is sung by the same guy who sings “Solo pienso en ti,” and part of me wishes he’d sung all of the songs on the album. He has muscle in his voice, and on this one he pushes the song—which is as stripped down indeed—along. And when the backing vocalists come in it works. And the electric guitar lends bicep as well. One of the best on the album. “Buscando una solucion” (“Looking for a Solution”) has exotic flavoring; Latin percussion, Latin beat, oddly modulated guitar. The vocals: wimpy. This is one I can’t relate to with my rock and roll ears, but if you like this sort of thing it’s swell.
“Supremo Director” reminds me of CSN&Y—although the song’s fast tempo, vocal harmonies, and muscular electric guitar bring to mind Stephen Stills’ “Love the One You’re With.” “Maria y Amaranta” features my main man on lead vocals, and his machismo vocals muscle the flutes and the fancy guitar flourishes right out of the picture—sung by anyone else, this one wouldn’t work. The organ is nice too, as is the extended guitar solo which takes the song out.
And he returns on “El Vividor” (“The Playboy”), the LP’s strongest track. It’s a real country honk of a number, taken at a breakneck speed, “Subterranean Homesick Blues” speed almost. And when the boys join in on vocals and the harmonica comes in, well, it’s heaven. The title track is a Bee Gees kinda number, very spritely with lush harmonies, and while some said it was a criticism of Francoism, the band vehemently disagreed, obviously not wanting to find their asses in prison. They claimed it was an attack on music critics. The organ is nice, as are the horns that come in at the end. Sweet number.
I’ll concede my expectations were low–I don’t even like CSN&Y. But this is an album that makes the language barrier irrelevant; on its best numbers you won’t care that you don’t understand a word they’re singing. And if you speak Spanish, all the better. Bands working in authoritarian regimes rarely produce great music—this one’s an exception. I’m in Valencia, Spain as I write this, and Señora Azul has been the unofficial soundtrack of my stay here. Viva Spain!
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B
