Get dark on Sunday. More desire for house than for street. But Xabier Montoia came and he had to leave. To say to themselves: “It will be worth it.” He had to put him in and out in the street, against what the body asked him to do. “Who did it happen to do concerts on Sundays as well?” “Are they worth concerts on Sundays?”
Gasteiztarra came with a state-of-the-art training: With Ibon Rodríguez to guitar and piano, and Itziar Lertxundi to cello. But the repertoire was unusual, especially prepared for the Izar & Star cycle, composed of its songs and versions. And also the versions, linked to a specific criterion: not in English in other languages, especially as the reverse of an anglophone scene. He sang in Spanish, Catalan, Portuguese, German, Galician, Italian and, of course, in Basque; English, only in the title No English, please.
When I got to Oihaneder's entrance, I was already playing the group: It was El Lavo, written by Ruben Blades for Hector Lavoe, and as I found out later, they started with this on purpose. So I spoke the first sentence I heard. “Today I dedicate better proclamations to them.” The intentions, of course.
Then came the End of Year Drums in the original: trip-hop, with new arrangement; Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill with Die Moritat von Mackie Messer, for whom as I was until then Mack the Knife; a chic galego romance; a couple of songs that have not yet been published; and another format Maria del Meroret Bonce. Even the classic Zugan Gogoa of the final, so: version, own song, version...
I have already seen Montoia in three or four formats: with the old superband, first I present Ni ez naiz... in the Gaztetxe: with the help of two guitars in the Hala Bedi Taberna; with a single guitar in IBU; and with this last format, a couple of times. And everywhere well, tastefully. It's never been a front line, it's not to fill the big rooms, but it's not to shut up for the amateurs' joy, it's not to stabilize in a formula and have a good time there.
There were those who said that the place was not the most appropriate, that there were a lot of echoes and that it was not heard well. Okay, it's not a concert hall, it's a large backyard with high-ceiling palaces. It wasn't built especially for that, but I liked being told what you want, a kind of echo that gave it to the combination of cello voice guitar.
The whole body of Sunday night, its slowed head, was perfectly overtaken. To finish or start the week, there is nothing better than having “pa ra ba pa” on the lips.