“It looked like we were in El Huerto,” said one of the spectators – a well-known widow in San Sebastian from the age of 60, whose daughter and granddaughter also attended – after a brief tribute to Derribos Arias, when we were already out of the Ernest Lluch culture house on the late night of Anoeta.

The pub that ETA exploded at the other end of the city in 1980, called El Huerto, in the Plaza de la Trinidad, which apparently was the navel of Donostia’s life… and was presented before the concert by Derribos Arias: In the aftermath of the Aberrar License, written by journalist Carlos Rego, we also heard a kind of claim for the Transition Culture, that is, before we become aware of what the kitsch of the RRV is.

In that cool city – avant la lettre – and unexplored, the golden nest of those modern and irreducible bourgeois citizens – in our stereotyped view. I mean, mocosos provincians. Then I imagined it, let's say to Alejo Alberdi himself that he was in the concert, living in a decadent village like the film director Ivan, who also looked at Ondarreta. You know, the characters in the song that Rafa Berrio wrote thirty years later: my friends, those people full of names.

The Gros musician came to the challenge: Live stream of the top eight Derribos Arias songs, according to their beliefs. In lower Ikerne Jiménez, a regular musician from Alaska. The bilbaíno was encased, with a big bombon, in a powerful post-Warholian image. With the guitar, Iñaki Huarte “Fissuras”, a classic of that new-wave scene, strong and sensitive. In the drums, the young Nagore Etxabe of Zumaia, a virtuous drummer interpreter with the shape of an audio-grr.

They started with A-Fluor, then we heard Who's there. Derribos Arias had never been seen, Montoia whispered to me. All too well, I would like to say. I felt strong or confident. He had not made a mistake in the playwright of the late Poch, but he had kept his drama in his songs.

In Derribos we loved all the deconstructions, both in music and in words. The Spanish “aberrate”, so close and so far away from this “homeland” in Basque.

Apparently a kind of post criticism has been articulated about the aesthetics of the Abertzale left, see Maia, see Circles Esku Dago, but of course, his germ was in that Transition Culture in which today he is so deplorable. What happens is that all that was very Spanish and some of them, the Basques also by vaginal, which we then shut up, out of respect for folklore. As you know, one of the few exceptions, Montoia (M) itself.

But well, as Berrio himself would say, because what matters who we were (This Album, 1971, Warner).