BCN WEEK_Dues Tintes by BCN WEEK

And the

BARCELONA’S FREE CULTURAL PAPER | WWW.BCNWEEK.COM | VOL. 1, Nº O88 | 15 July - 15 Sep 2010

Winners are...

Maga Kwasniewska & Ester Vallbona 3Page 7 Chispa Ibérica

Shortlisted

Don‘t MISS

Irse al otro barrio

Per un moment, imagino que podria vomitar sobre les sabates de la Loli i fugir per donar categoria a aquest malson. Però sóc d’escola de monges. Page 5

This month we investigated bars that serve free tapas. Experience the unique satisfaction of sinking your teeth into something that didn’t cost a dime Pages 16-17

Pipilotti Rist at the Fundació Miró, Cecil Taylor and Amiri Baraka at Can Ricart, Erykah Badu, the Kings of Convenience, and much more. Pages 18-20

Las cuatro paredes respiran y el extractor carbura. Los insectos pululan. Esa existencia de la nada es una de las grandes bases poéticas del universo... Page 22

Illustration: Elliotsdóttir // vainitaselliotsdottir.blogspot.com

er m m u S ial c e p S

Dues Tintes

Illustration & WRiting competition

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BCNWEEK Nº 088 – JULY/September 2010

Editors’ Letter Being fans of all things great and small in Barcelona, but particularly of the great talent that comes in unobtrusive packages, BCN Week looks for every possible opportunity to support artists, especially starving ones. This month we present to you our first annual writing and illustration contest, Dues Tintes. We asked for writer/illustrator pairs to form equipos and create an obra in one week based on pautas that were assigned randomly. Each team submission had to reflect a genre (like terror, western, or fantasy); each illustrator had to incorporate the style of a visual artist (like Banksy, Matisse, or Klee), and a physical line that we assigned them; and each writer had to incorporate the style of another writer (like Bolaño, Cervantes, or Joyce), and a written line (eg, “It ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings.”). The winning pair is the one that incorporated all the pautas while simultaneously impressing us with its originality and skillz. We learned quite a few things during the judging period, chief among them that either we give terrible directions, or people are terrible at reading directions. It’s probably some combination of the two, but there were quite a few entries that were neck and neck in terms of quality, but that we had to eliminate from the running because of a failure to include one or more of the pautas assigned. So, to the contestants: you were all great, we apologize if we confused you, and we’re going to revamp some things for next year. We’ve included as many of the best entries as we could in this edition, because you all created something (and sometimes many things) worthy of publication. To our lovely readers: this is BCN Week’s last edition for the summer. We’re taking off in August for far-off lands (or at least Sant Pol de Mar) in the desperate hope that somewhere, somehow, we can escape the heat. Join us back again in September, write us while we’re gone so that we find our inboxes full when we return, and don’t spend too much time having dirty beach sex. In the meantime, enjoy these fruits of rushed labor while sunning yourself on a terraza, and we hope you’ll join the fray next year for Dues Tintes 2011.

7 segundos by Christian Schallert

Christian Schallert has an eye for the city’s soft spots. His comic snapshots capture the friction between the colorful bubblegum “Barcelona para turistas” and low-brow street life. Check out his web, www.icecreamsocialweb.com, for more photos and his series of special productos artesanos.

Lunes 9:32 – Barceloneta

Martes 14:41 – Passeig de Gràcia

Miércoles 11:08 – La Boqueria

Jueves 16:02 – Santa Catarina

Viernes 11:15 – Les Encants

Sábado 10:22 - Mercado Sants

Domingo 15:59 – Barceloneta

Los Editors

Content Chispa Ibérica

DUES TINTES 2010

LE WINNER

LOS CASI, CASI

SHORTLIST

Listings

Se Fue Al Otro Barrio

the back door

Staff

Contributors

Publishers & Editors: Núria Ferrer – nuria@bcnweek.com Joe Littenberg – joe@bcnweek.com Lena Wiget – lena@bcnweek.com Associate Editors: Jordi Corominas i Julián – jordi@bcnweek.com Judit Ortiz Cardona – judit@bcnweek.com Copy Editors: Judit Ortiz Cardona – judit@bcnweek.com Laura Tenenberg – laura@bcnweek.com Special Agents: Neill Higgins – neill@bcnweek.com Allison Kent & Jake Nash - interning General Stuff: info@bcnweek.com

Text: Judith Alarcón Bardera, The Bankers, Jordi Corominas i Julián, Lucía Jiménez, Allison Kent, Joan López Lloret, Jake Nash, Lady Ondina Osborne, Rafaela Rivas Photo: Jake Nash Illustration: Nil Bartolozzi, Elliotsdóttir

stuff

Addendum

Civisme de veritat QUEJAS Summertime is here again, and with it the Ajuntament’s annual campaign to make us behave better. In some ways, it’s reasonable: dog shit and human piss on the sidewalk does smell worse in July, and there are more drunken tourists bumping into things, which I guess is how the urban furniture gets broken? But we have to draw the line at the new fines for bicycling on sidewalks less than 5 metres wide. Ours is not so much a complaint about the fear behind the delito - after all, if someone on a bicycle ran over my heel while on the sidewalk, I would probably roll back and smack the shit out of him - but about the tone of the poster, which seems to equate being on a bicycle on the sidewalk, regardless of whether anyone is around, with destroying public property and urinating in corners. Let’s get one thing crystal, shall we? No cyclist would CHOOSE to be on the sidewalk if there were another reasonable option. Pedestrians are to bikers what those huge grates on country roads are to cows: something to be avoided at all costs. Once again, Bar-

celona, a city that trots out its huge numbers of bikers everytime it has to wave its “green” flag, continues to talk snidely to us at home. To the poster’s proclamation that there are 147 km of carrils bici that we could be on instead of the cera, we would ask the following questions: 1) Is the city still counting both directions of the bike lanes as separate lengths, thus falsely doubling the number of km of bike lanes? 2) Since, even if we accepted this figure of 147 km of bike lanes, it still compares to some 1,328 linear km of roads, will we be fined only one out of every ten times we are caught on the sidewalk? 3) Could we get the numbers on how many pedestrians were killed and/or wounded last year by a bicycle on the sidewalk, as opposed to how many cyclists were killed and/or wounded last year while biking on a street without a bike lane? 4) And finally, why, for a full month of this campaign, have these signs only been written in Castellano? Doesn’t that kind of undermine the entire language policy of Catalunya?

Tactelgraphics // Galería Cosma @ Enric Granados, 3 El mes pasado publicamos una foto en la página 8 que enseñó una “ola de casetes”. Esa ola forma parte de una obra de Tactelgraphics, un equipo multidisciplinar formado por Ismael Chappaz (Técnico superior en fotografía artística, EASD Valencia) y Juanma Menero ( Licenciado en Bellas Artes por la Universidad Politécnica de Valencia). Más información en ismaelyjuanma.com y tactelgraphics.com.

Distribution Points A few of our distribution points in each barrio El Raval Juicy Jones • Hospital, 74 Holala • Plaça Castella, 2 Fantastik • Joaquin Costa, 62 Poble Sec Apolo • Nou de la Rambla, 111-113 Bar Só-Ló • Margarit, 18 MauMau • Fontrodona, 33 Gótico Ménage à Trois • Bot, 4 Bagel Shop • Canuda, 25 Artevistas • Pg. Crèdit, 4

La Ribera L’Antic Teatre • Verdaguer i Callís, 12 Mujer • Carders, 28 Ciclic • Rec Comtal, 5 El Born Cactus • Passeig del Born, 30 Lilipep • Pou de la Cadena, 8 The Rent Shop • Princesa, 49 Barceloneta Bitacora • Balboa, 14 Absenta • Sant Carles, 36 Fastnet • Pg. Joan de Borbó, 22 Gracia Hibernian • Montseny, 17 Lima Loca • la Perla, 10-12

Bicitecla • Santa Tecla, 5 Eixample Left iCoffee • Londres, 87 Cincomonos • Consell de Cent, 283 Dolso • Valencia, 227 Eixample Right Hair Club • Roger de Llúria, 55 Elizabeth Budia • Consell de Cent, 354 BCN Books • Roger De Llúria, 118

Estimad@s lectores, It has come to the attention of our staff that some Barcelona residents do not find the city’s civisme laws entirely adequate. That is, by choosing only to penalize normal city behavior (drinking, urinating, dropping a fiver for a BJ), the city is missing out on a panoply of more subtle, yet equally misanthropic, social assaults. While legal experts and Ajuntament budget planners may doubt the prosecutability of these lesser offenses, and therefore their revenue-earning potential, we here at BCN Week are ready to help you navigate these treacherous urban waters via those old standbys: complaint and conversation. Enviad vuestras quejas a edit@bcnweek.com. ADVERT

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Lesson 14 No calia anar a Cornellà by Judith Alarcón Bardera “Cornellà de Llobregat, parada de tram El Pedró.” M’endinso en el paisatge desolador de l’extraradi pensant “on collons m’he ficat?!”. Però, una feina és una feina. Enfilo el carrer Granada, seu de Sutti Health, ridícul nom per aquesta empresa d’estafadors que m’esperava amb els braços oberts a la segona planta del número 34. Pujo les escales de l’edifici i m’arriba la remor inconfusible de les teleoperadores, pedra angular d’aquests negocis que avui venen aspiradores i demà planxes industrials per a les llars. Unes quantes chonis surten per la porta quan anava a tocar el timbre, així que m’he colat. A la “sala d’espera” hi ha una recepcionista menuda, d’edat imprecisa; la seva roba diu 22, les bosses sota els ulls diuen 30. “Vinc per l’entrevista de feina, em van dir que preguntés per la Loli”, li dic. “Sí, puedes esperar aquí un minuto, por favor.” M’assento i miro el meu voltant: sóc objecte de mirades com la meva. Unes quinze persones s’esperen amb cara d’incògnita. Quan deixo de ser la novetat, la majoria abaixen la mirada per rellegir per centèsima vegada els seus missatges. D’altres tornen a papar mosques mentre masteguen xiclet. “Quina merda”, penso, “no tinc xiclet. Segur que quan em cridin em farà pudor l’alè”. Però no puc donar fil a aquestes cabòries, perquè de seguida apareix una matrona, que deu ser la Loli, en els seus quaranta, o trenta llargs molt mal portats, grassa sense manies, i tenyida de caoba. Ens fa passar “a todos los que hemos venido por la entrevista”, i comencem la peregrinació, amb el cul de la Loli al davant, cap a una sala mal ventilada. M’assec al bell mig de la sala, com a bona covarda que sóc, però sorprenentment els altres ocupen els últims llocs, així quedo a segona fila. Al meu costat s’asseuen dues nenes amb pírcings d’aquells que simulen una piga a un costat del llavi superior, potser per imitar la sensual piga de la Cindy Crawford? Al meu davant una noia no para de fer-se i refer-se la cua de cavall amb la que controla les extensions de cabell negre i ondulat. Quan amb una breu ullada (que pretén ser) simpàtica la Loli comprova que estem atents, ens convida a presentar-nos. I aquí, per. I aquí, per desgràcia, ja ens comencen a passar pel garbell d’una forma molt coneguda. Em maleeixo els ossos una i mil vegades per haver caigut de nou en aquesta trampa. Noi 1: “Me llamo Quique, tengo 26 años, soy de San Adrián y... y... no sé que más decir”. Rialleta general. La Loli ens anima a confessar hobbies, somnis, traumes i intimitats vàries, com ara el nom de les nostres mascotes. Un per un ens

esforcem per ser més simpàtics, dicharacheros i seductors que l’anterior. Alguns no han nascut per parlar en públic i ni tan sols intenten no semblar analfabets. Em comença a pujar un regust a bilis incontrolable. “Què merda hi faig aquí.” Tot i així, quan em toca el torn, m’aixeco i segueixo amb la farsa. “Hipòcrita, hipòcrita”, rondina la veueta de dins del cervell amb la cançoneta del càstig quan m’assec. Quan l’últim candidat, un argentí d’extraordinàries habilitats socials que s’envolta de col·legues que li riuen les gracietes, finalitza el seu speech, arriba el moment de destapar la caixa dels trons. La Loli amenaça amb revelar-nos què merda hi fem aquí. Però abans ens comunica que, malauradament, no tothom ha passat la primera prova de selecció (?). Amb el dit assenyala uns quants pàmfils i pàmfiles que marxen amb silenciosa resignació. Desesperada comprovo que he passat la prova juntament amb el grup d’argentins i tres juanis de vint i molts, d’aquestes que ja tenen dos churumbeles, però porten camisa de Mango i semblen professionals de qualsevol cosa. Estic lost. Atrapada en un lloc on no sé com he arribat, amb gent que poca cosa té a veure amb mi, amb una missió que no entenc. La Loli encén l’aparell de vídeo i sospito que en qualsevol moment sortirà el símbol de Dharma a la pantalla. Fóra llums. A continuació, 10 minuts d’apologia de les virtuts del nou aparell que filtrarà l’aigua de la teva llar. Ja no patiràs per la salut dels teus! Amb aquest aparell s’eliminaran el clor, la cal i la resta de sediments que conté l’aigua de l’aixeta, i ja no morireu de càncer, ni tu, ni els nens, ni la iaia, ni el gosset Rocky. Fortes ganes de vomitar, ara sí. El vídeo s’acaba i, encenent el llum, la Loli ens desperta del somni humit d’aigua de l’aixeta. La nostra missió ara és molt clara. Hem estat escollits per portar la bona nova del filtrat de l’aigua per les llars. Predicarem la paraula porta a porta. Serem comercials, tot i que, entre nosaltres, ens coneixerem com a apòstols del filtrat. Obrint els ulls i les consciències i, sobretot, buidant les butxaques. Els meus nous companys s’ho prenen seriosament. “Vull morir aquí mateix. No penso fer aquesta feina. Per què cony he vingut!!”, és l’únic que puc pensar ara mateix, mentre intento posar cara que m’interesso pels incentius i comissions. Per un moment, imagino que podria vomitar sobre les sabates de la Loli i fugir per donar categoria a aquest malson. Però sóc d’escola de monges. Tan bon punt surti d’aquí, em limitaré a ignorar les trucades de número desconegut.

Dues Tintes

We are pleased to present the first ever winners of our illustration and writing contest, Maga Kwasniewska & Ester Vallbona. These lovely ladies, in addition to being talented, are also now the happy owners of 200 Euros in abonos to book and art supply stores. Read on to see who else was hot on their tail.

ilu/writing concurso

2010

Texto: Ester Vallbona + Ilustración: Maga Kwasniewska AKA Tugamovil // Género: Noir Estilo (text): Bolaño + Línea “La muerte es dulce, pero su antesala cruel.” // Estilo (Ilustración): Munch + Línea

Aquella tarde, una llamada de teléfono cambió el rumbo de mi historia. Por entonces, yo era un joven escritor que pasaba las tardes acunado por los versos de Rimbaud, y las noches enlazando gemidos con putas cuyo acento francés, comprado también la mayor parte de las veces, me devolvía de nuevo la confianza en el hombre, al menos durante el lapsus de tiempo que duraba mi orgasmo. Aquella tarde, decía, una llamada me sacó de mi ensueño literario. Al otro lado de la línea, una voz femenina, visiblemente nerviosa, preguntaba por un tal León. “¿Trotsky?”, le pregunté sonriéndome, pero ella no estaba para guasas o no me oyó, y enseguida añadió: “Dígale que le espero esta tarde en la biblioteca, a las cinco, y que no olvide el sobre”. Entonces colgó sin darme tiempo a decirle que allí no vivía ningún León. Al momento, mi imaginación se desbocó. ¿Quién sería ese tal León? Tenía nombre de detective de novela negra. Yo siempre había querido ser detective de homicidios, pero me faltaban las agallas suficientes para enfrentarme a la sola visión de una pistola, ni siquiera me imaginaba empuñando una, y mucho menos disparándola. Además, ni siquiera fumaba. Decidí no desaprovechar la ocasión de conocer a la mujer de voz misteriosa. Con un poco de suerte, igual hasta conseguía llevármela al apartamento. Así que a las cinco menos cinco estaba sentado en una silla de la biblioteca, dándole vueltas y más vueltas al primer sobre que encontré por casa. Con el paso de los minutos, empecé a ponerme nervioso. Quizá no había sido tan buena idea venir. A las cinco menos un minuto, cuando ya me levantaba convencido de que aquello era una locura, entró en la sala una mujer alta y delgada, hermosa, de pechos pequeños, una mujer cuya sola presencia dejó la seguridad en mí mismo reducida a la del muchacho que visita por primera vez un prostíbulo. Miró a un lado y otro hasta que se fijó en mi sobre. Automáticamente se encaminó hacia mí con paso nervioso. “¿León?”, me preguntó. “La verdad es que…”, musité. “¿Ése es el sobre?”, preguntó arrancándomelo de las manos. “Pero ¿qué tomadura de pelo es ésta?”, dijo al momento, clavándome unos ojos brillantes y profundos, “¡está vacío!”. “Deja que te explique… Yo no soy León, llamaste a mi número por equivocación y no me diste tiempo a decírtelo. Como imaginé que se trataba de algo importante, decidí venir a avisarte.” La mujer lanzó un bufido de fastidio y se sentó a mi lado. “Si puedo ayudarte en algo…”, le dije. “No, en esto estoy sola. Ahora he de marcharme…”, dijo de pronto. “Por cierto, ¿y quién eres tú?”, dijo mientras recogía su bolso. “Nadie importante, alguien con sueños de escritor”, respondí algo avergonzado. “¿Y eres de los buenos? Quiero decir… ¿Escribes bien?” “No sé”, dije, “para saberlo debería estar muerto”. Ella, sin apenas dudar, añadió: “La muerte es dulce, pero su antesala cruel”, y se fue. No volví a saber de ella.

UN TAL LEÓN

a le winners 7

Texto: Nuria Figueras Amenos + Ilustración: Claudia Rifaterra Amenos // Género: Western Estilo (text): Cervantes + Línea “No todo el monte es orgasmo.” // Estilo (Ilustración): Hopper + Línea

Despertáronle unos zarandeos. Una banda de música tocaba con gran alegría y nuestro héroe entendió que la celebración era por su llegada. Un par de cachetadas más tarde escuchó qué decía aquel hombre que le sacudía: –¿Se puede saber cómo ha llegado hasta aquí? ¿De dónde viene? ¿Qué hace? –le preguntaba. –Soy Mc Hario y vengo de Las Cruces en el condado de Doña Ana donde vivimos los hombres más valientes del mundo y parte del extranjero –contestó levantándose y sacando pecho. La música cesó y se oyeron algunas risotadas. El hombre desconocido suspiró. –Me parece muy bien señor Mc Hario, pero ahora se va a tener que ir. Está a punto de llegar el gobernador para inaugurar el gran puente del Union Pacific sobre el río. Ande, un trago en el saloon no le vendrá mal –le dijo indicándole el sendero hacia el pueblo. Por el camino, Mc Hario abrió bien los ojos para ver bien las vacas gigantes y los árboles de oro, pero sólo se cruzó con una oveja famélica, bastantes matorrales secos y una mujer desdentada que le invitaba a algo que no acabó de entender.

Una tarde mientras descansaba su caballo en el abrevadero del villorrio de Chaparral, no pudo evitar escuchar la animada charla de dos forasteros vestidos con trajes de rayas, bombines y zapatos brillantes: –Sí, querido Nathaniel, al otro lado del Río Grande las vacas son tan grandes como iglesias y dan tanta leche en un día como para bañar a una familia en ella. –Cierto, amigo Isaiah, las riquezas son infinitas en el Oeste. Yo he visto árboles en los que crecen pepitas de oro cual racimos de uva. Mc Hario creyó haber dado con la solución a las estrecheces de la congregación. Tenía que prepararse: con un par de puertas y los clavos del crucifijo del altar ingenió una balsa. Lanzose al río, pero en el primer rápido la embarcación se partió quedando Mc Hario flotando a la deriva. Como no sabía nadar, agarrose fuerte a los restos aunque nada pudo hacer cuando lo engulló la Gran Catarata.

Los años pasaron. Mc Hario se hizo un hombre y las hermanas envejecieron sin remedio. La Superiora, en su lecho final, lo hizo llamar para decirle sus últimas palabras: –Hijo mío, ahora deberás velar tú por el honor de las hermanas y el cuidado del convento. Piensa siempre en seguir la receta de Santa Paulina: un buen chorro de agua, y de bourbon sólo una chorrina.

En un lugar de Nuevo México, dónde no todo el monte es orgasmo, vivían en el convento de las Hijas de la Caridad de Santa Paula Auxiliadora, diez monjas dedicadas al comercio de bourbon aguado y un varón, algo cojo y orejudo, tan honrado como de pocas luces. Habíase criado el desdichado con las monjas, que lo encontraron con pocos días de vida en un barril vacío a la puerta de la iglesia. La Hermana Superiora lo cristianó Mc Hario, en honor a su Escocia natal.

Le llamaban Mc Hario 8

los casi, casi

Texto: Simón LoRenzo Ortiz + Ilustración: Sara Díez Santidrián // Género: Terror Estilo (text): García Lorca + Línea “Algo habrá de malo en la riqueza cuando a todo el mundo le da vergüenza confesar que la tiene.” // Estilo (Ilustración): Rothko + Línea

los casi, casi 9

Texto: Elías Martínez Viejo + Ilustración: Mercedes Jiménez García // Género: Terror Estilo (text): Joyce + Línea “It ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings.” // Estilo (Ilustración): Van Gogh + Línea

Indeed, you sometimes find yourself in an odd placement in life so to speak, dabbling in this and that here and there and thereafter, you sometimes, as mother would say, end up wandering by mistake into whatever trouble lies past some grimy street corner or alley like the one time I was surreptitiously roughed up by some ruffians while walking home from school, my beloved Doc Martens stolen, I had to walk barefoot all the way home, whereupon I was greeted by mother’s worst possible humor for the loss of the footwear that father had worked so hard at the mill to earn the money for, or like the one time a friendly officer decided to crack down on the head of the protester I was assumed to be while simply making my way down the block to buy some coffee and Spanish onions, and that’s really how it usually goes on: you go ahead and mind your own and suddenly realize you’re caught up in a veritable whirlpool of trouble, distress, and, generally, pain of the physical and moral kind, with no end in sight and the certainty that, as they shay, ‘it ain’t over ‘till the fat lady sings’, with the fat lady being a clever metaphor -of the kind I favor, being as I am an educated gent- for the sirens of the police cars and ambulances liable to appear at any such event like that one time some crowd started gathering outside of the school and it a brawl of considerate dimensions broke out for reasons still unbeknownst to anyone and.. Anyway. The predicament I found myself now was, even with my penchant for mischief and what I’ve come to term ‘vital irregularity’, peculiarly different from the usual, being that I was locked up for the night in the house up on the hill on the outskirts of town which, I shouldn’t need to add but will do anyway, was abandoned and supposedly haunted by ghosts and ghouls and creepy crawling creatures of all kinds known to man’s fantasies and perhaps even some unknown, why you might even run into Chtulu himself if you were to believe what the local lore had been saying since any of us had any recollection of such things, and even despite the fact that no one had ever seen or heard anything coming from there besides the odd rat crawling out of the bushes out by the front yard, it was said, however, that the house was inhabited by the ghosts of Sir Henry Wagford and his life-long wife Wilhelmina, beloved early settlers of our town which did so back in the good old days of 1893, with all that it entailed, no running water, no electricity, tuberculosis running rampant on a seasonal basis, yet it seems that the Wagfords were wonderful people of culture, prone, like many other cultured souls of the time, to the infatuation with the occult, and are rumored to have hosted in their home the visit of none other than Aleister Crowley during an American tour by Mister Great Beast himself and I can certainly imagine Henry and Wilhelmina just sitting there enjoying their tea, minding their business and Oh dear, Crowley telegraphed, he’s coming over for dinner tomorrow, I hope it’s perfectly fine, and old Wilma would answer But Henry baby, the servants did a full spring cleaning just yesterday, I suppose and truly hope that Great Beast business has nothing to do with him being rude and dirty and unkempt and inconsiderate, and Henry would comfort Wilma and make her feel all better about having Crowley in for the day and how He (for, in the eyes of these occult aficionados, Aleister was a man of divine importance) would most surely be helpful in their reoccurring yet unsuccessful attempts at summoning the creatures from the other side of reality, the dark, brooding, mysterious multiverse where the shoggoths and the demons and the succubus and incubus and whatnot coexisted with the ghosts and spirits of persons past, something which particularly obsessed the Wagfords who seemed to have a peculiar fantasy of flooding their house with friendly spirits to keep them company to compensate for their horrible estranged relationship with pretty much every other living soul in town who actually suspected that Wilma was in fact a man and referred to the couple as ‘those satanic sodomites’ and also thought that they actually had managed to fill their house up with whatever beings and lived all together in some kind of non-stop satanic sodomite escapade. But I digress. One in the morning and my iPod battery runs out leaving me alone with the discomforting sounds of the house, these being the constant tiptaptiptaptiptaptiptap of a innumerable number of leaky ceilings, incessant scratching coupled with what seems to be small household items tumbling down and around above me which I attribute to rats in the cellar which is certainly not a comforting thought and screeeeeeeyyeeeach goes the fence door outside, to and fro to the rhythm of the wind while I’m sitting here hating my guts for being asinine enough to let myself get talked into this and oh darn, I could so very well be sitting at home right now instead of wasting time and risking getting bit by a rat and catching god-knows-what in the process and what the hell was that, I saw something move out there in the corner oh well probably some curtain or something that the wind moved and did some funny effect with the streetlights outside except there’s no windows in that corner of the room and this is starting to get rather odd I must say and there’s still a few hours left until morning and OH MY GOD I certainly have seen something there and it was a woman and she was blonde and was wearing something that looked blood-stained and WHAT WAS THAT NOW? I swear I saw something out by the kitchen door and OK, OK now, it’s all right it’s certainly normal to be led to believe you have seen a woman in a house you believe to be haunted but this is getting out of hand I swear I have just seen a second figure and this time it’s a man I’m sure, so I better get on and make a dash for the door and to hell with this stupid bet as much as I need the money and hey....when exactly was this door locked? 10

los casi, casi

Texto: Marc Recasens + Ilustración: Germán Tejerina // Género: Sci-Fi Estilo (text): García Márquez + Línea “La nostra integritat val tan poc... però és tot el que tenim, és l’últim centímetre que ens queda de nosaltres. Si guardem aquest centímetre, som lliures.” // Estilo (Ilustración): Egon Schiele + Línea

los casi, casi 11

Texto: Gabriela Damián + Ilustración: Alejandra Espino // Género: Terror Estilo (text): Unamuno + Línea “No tengas amistad con quien tenga poderosos enemigos.” // Estilo (Ilustración): Banksy + Línea

Camino por la calle, que está húmeda como un reptil, después de despertar súbitamente a mitad de la madrugada pensando en el enemigo. Porque ¡ah, sí!, hasta la más insignificante de las ociosas como yo no quedan a salvo de la deliciosa intriga de poseer un enemigo. “¡Señorita! ¡Tenga cuidado! ¡¿Ningún caballero ha podido acompañarla a estas horas?!” Mi enemigo no es un fisgón como éste. No creo que le halle en la penumbra de las esquinas: ni asaltador ni robachicos. Salí de casa porque sentí que estaba ahí, en mi habitación, acechándome tras las cortinas o las puertas del armario, cuyos espejos cada vez me llenan más de espanto. Y pensar que todo empezó aquella tarde, cuando yo miraba complacida mi reflejo en el tocador, coloreándome las mejillas antes de volver a aquel salón donde la música retumbaba, y esa mujer miraba también mi reflejo, e invadiéndolo, hablándome a mí y no a la del espejo, me susurró: “No tengas amistad con quien tenga poderosos enemigos”, su sonrisa siniestra y el bisbiseo de la falda saliendo con sigilo. “¿Martín tendrá enemigos?”, pensé entonces, pero de ahí en adelante me sentí observada, ajena, buscando afrentas por todas partes; mientras en el espejo veía mi belleza crecer, empero más pálida o enjuta, con un temblor en los labios pero de alguna forma, sí, poderosa. ¿Por qué? ¿Cuál era ese poder? Hasta que tal magnanimidad me resultó perversa y empecé a no tolerar mi propia imagen. Esa noche fue insoportable, me levanté porque sentí de que desde el azogue un odio temible me observaba, en la calle quise purgar la sensación de que el poderoso enemigo me rondaba con un odio incomprensible. No, no es un hombre, es una enemiga. La niebla, ¡bendita sea!, oculta los aparadores oscurecidos, aún capaces de duplicarme. Es una enemiga, ¡lo noto! Tiene dientes dulces y un ligero temblor en los labios, pálida, cabellos finos... “¡Señorita!”, grita alguien más desde la niebla, ¡oh, es imposible huir! “¡Ayúdeme, por favor, ayúdeme!”, grito; viene tras de mí su aliento de manzana, ¿o es delante? “¡Ayuda! ¡Es ella!”, y la veo ahí en el piso. “¡¿Quien, Señorita?! ¡Yo no veo a nadie más que a usted!”, la veo surgir de un extenso charco, poderosa enemiga que tanto tiempo creí cómplice, reflejo maldito que ahora consume mi carne.

En el reflejo

los casi, casi

I was born from indifference or the lack of everything that I am now. I sat dormant bound to die where I was born, ignorant enough not to know any better. I was released through a rush of all emotion, thrust from the wailing that never was. Shouted out into the crushed cloud of confusion where emotions congregate waiting to be chosen like orphans. All emotions are uncaring when they have nowhere to go. Rushing through the empty spaces and over one another in the confusion of not knowing what they are, empty without purpose. Each one racing down a road that has no destination. Don’t they know? If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there. Here in the blowout, worry wisps by, wondering where to wait, hate seethes past, yearning to burn and love longs as though it will never learn. Anger rages for another recipient while sadness suffers until it can saturate again. Most are chosen while others have less chance and arrive with no warning, like a long lost friend that never really was. I have become the master of fleeting feelings, the crush, the lust, the anger, the thrill, the pleasure, the relief, all, impulse emotions. I am sucked in on the coattails of a breath and released weeping through your follicles where there once was hair. I swirl from your ear tickling it on the way out sending tendrils of chills to feed other affections that replace me. I’m as forgettable as the reason I exist. I am a smile wiped away from your last tryst. I have been manipulated and mangled, but I do not perish, I can only die if I am held inside and slip away when you do, never to be felt again. The challenge of changing always makes me want to know who I am. I know where I’ve been and move forward looking backward, dodging the gaping holes of neediness. I have avoided the specialist moods, the extended stays, since my beginnings. I have repelled that way of being for as long as I have been. I have never been love or guilt holding hands with shame. Regret, like a pet stays close. I’ve fallen into despair only to realize it was actually the activity of doing nothing, depression. Some emotions can never escape and some emotions can be so easily confused. Though once we are there it is very hard to believe that we are not real, hard to not become enraptured by, and impossible not to be led. I have led myself to everywhere that I should not be and ignored all the responsibility of who I am. I have leapt from the swirling sea of inevitability. I have escaped the emotionless emotions that share my air. I have buried myself here in the darkness having never been any other emotion, I have always just been fear, hiding and dreaming of anything that I could be, but here.

Texto: W.C. Willumsen + Ilustración: Anna Manolatos // Género: Fantasy // EStilo (Text): Nabokov + Estilo (illustración): Toulouse-Lautrec

I am the light of your life and the sadness in your soul. The bright light of hope as you climb out your hole of disgust from your loss of trust. I have been and will be again the anticipation of your surprise, the remorse of your love, the disappointment of your optimism, the contempt for your submissions and your anger for it all; do not be afraid I am in control of my emotions, myself.

Obcecada, empecinada, descuajeringada y obsoleta. Sin un duro. Rota por querer vivir y no hallar muertes. Pendía de un hilo por un defecto de archivo. Dirigía una sección criminal en la radio y necesitaba un asesinato a la semana para comer desde un extraño apego a la realidad, pues la sangre es un sustento carente de sueños. La desesperación crecía exponencialmente por un defecto de forma en la crisis. Normalmente estos períodos son propicios para dar rienda suelta a cuchillos, pistolas y salvajadas de toda índole. Está demostrado estadísticamente que en tiempos de vacas flacas la gente, porque cualquiera puede enfundarse el traje homicida, tiende a matar fruto del desquicio que invade la mente cuando el miedo atenaza y los bolsillos pasean sus vacías vergüenzas. Siempre había aplicado la lógica. Entraba en Google, tecleaba un barrio de la ciudad y esperaba resultados. Guinardó sucesos. Aproximadamente 8349483934834 resultados en 0,17 segundos. Triple magnicidio en un bazar chino. Bromas de aficionado. Guineueta crónica negra. El cadáver de la mujer no presentaba signos de violencia. Algunas noticias eran hilos conductores repletos de detalles, puertas que abrían las estancias requeridas para recuperar antiguas historias. De link a link y tiro porque me toca, salvo en el pérfido percance de cortarse la senda por arte de birlibirloque. Algunos crímenes se notificaban y luego desaparecían sin dejar rastro, imperfección periodística que ocultaba el desdén por cuerpos exánimes y jinetes saliendo indemnes de la neblinosa tormenta, no como sus víctimas, nombres anónimos que nadie recuerda. Margot sentía verdadero deleite por un par de luctuosas e irresueltas anécdotas. La primera versaba sobre el extraño asesinato de un profesor muy querido. Escuchaba música en su barrio de Sants, quiso un poco de diversión y los vecinos creyeron detectar una voz brasileña. Luego el silencio y la putrefacción, tanto en la casa como en la prensa, que repitió el mismo procedimiento al informar de una carnicería en un local de intercambio de parejas. La degollada era bielorrusa. Asunto finiquitado para horror de Margot, drogadicta que sólo podía avanzar con sobredosis de concreción porque su emisora le pedía obras con punto y final, sin atisbo de duda. Con el grifo seco y un guión para entregar recorrió las calles de la ciudad, bebiéndose las copas de los demás en un intento de recuperar la cordura. Urdía planes aun a sabiendas de lo absurdo de su situación. Estaba entre el milagro y la decadencia, porque nada serviría sin un gatillo apretado, un corazón sin latido, una cabeza machacada o un brote psicótico aliñado con celos o luchas monetarias. Manos a la obra. Puso una vela a la Virgen del Arroyo, patrona de los asesinos. Habló con modernos para ver si su nimiedad chillona se convertía en oro de plasma y vísceras. Comentó con el carnicero el precio del bistec mientras le colaba el fascinante tema del canibalismo en España. Fue a la base de datos del Metro para averiguar el número de suicidios. Quiso sonsacar sucios testimonios a los taxistas. Molestó a sus vecinos ayurvédicos. Jugó al escondite con dos travestis cubanas, y hasta se atrevió a pasear desnuda por la Rambla. Faltaba el deseo, única pieza conservada intacta en su cerebro por culpa de una educación demasiado cristiana. No matarás, y por supuesto no pensarás en lo positivo del acto en sí. Margot empezó a desear. Llenó su imaginario de macabras escenas. Un bar y un robo a martillazos con las paredes manchadas. Una prostituta de lujo con el gaznate rajado. Policías y chinos tiroteándose en el centro y la salvajada de una madre quitada de en medio por la criatura que engendró. Puso dos dedos en la frente, como si así las posibilidades de su estúpida apuesta en la ruleta fructificaran. Cerró los ojos y apagó la luz para dejarse seducir por Morfeo. A la mañana siguiente los cuatro crímenes anhelados inundaban las portadas de todos los periódicos, entusiasmados por la rapidez con que las fuerzas del orden atraparon a los criminales. Margot fue a la playa, a broncearse.

Texto: Jordi Corominas Julián + Ilustración: Andrés Valdovinos // Género: Noir // EStilo (Text): Borges + Estilo (illustración): Daumier

El deseo

los casi, casi

Texto: JOE burke + Ilustración: federico marigonda // Género: noir // EStilo (Text): hunter s. thompson + Estilo (illustración): hockney

Texto: Manuel de Sousa + Ilustración: Andrea Gómez // Género: Western // EStilo (Text): Unamuno + Estilo (illustración): Toulouse-Lautrec

Acontecer “EE.UU ya no es...”, “Obama y Medvedev”..., “Hoy juega la roja”, “Los Sindicatos...”, “Rafa Nadal”, “Detenido en Belfast el etarra”. Universo semántico que martiriza la cotidianidad, le da vitalidad a los poco conversadores y brinda ideas a los maridos treinta y something con escasas luces creativas para, con el impulso intelectual de la cafeína matutina, comentarle algo inteligente a sus mujeres, quienes ahora expertas en despegar el plástico de las lonchas del queso, sumergen su pre-rolliza curiosidad plebeya en el cotilleo rosa y en la prontitud administrativa del Economic Downturn, que les concede la virtud de ser amas de casa forzadas por la oportuna “Resolución de Aprobación de las Prestaciones por Desempleo” y la perfidia gerencial para despedir a los abuelos, despojándolos de la prestigiosa tarea de humanizar la hipoteca y cuidar a los niños. Es así como Jaume ha logrado mantener intacta la virilidad de su imagen frente a su familia, aliviando el avanzado crecimiento de su restante periferia capilar, y contrarrestando el hecho de que su penúltima idea brillante la compartió con su mejor amigo, cuando ambos, hace diez años, decidieron no ir a ese after ni comprar speed, porque Silvia estaba que lo dejaba por el hijo de un papá de la fría y acomodada Baviera que conoció cuando hizo el Erasmus, quien casi la llegó a conquistar repitiéndole a cada rato que los catalanes eran los alemanes del Mediterráneo. No obstante, como una calamitosa realidad que el presente le ha brindado a Jaume, Silvia también sabe leer y puede fácilmente escuchar las noticias del telediario. Él lo sabe muy bien, y no demoró en tener su última idea brillante hasta la fecha: tomar la decisión de levantarse siempre más temprano que ella, informarse, hacerle creer que es un hombre industrioso además de productivo y hacerle el pertinente comentario inteligente entre 7:40 y 8 de la mañana. Por su parte, tras saber que está engordando por la falta de actividad y presupuesto para engañarse comprando Special K cada semana, Silvia optó por comenzar a levantarse igual de temprano que Jaume, para así asesorarse con las clases de Pilates y yoga televisivas que ofrecen algunos canales justo antes del telediario. La vehemencia individualista de su mujer por mejorar su deplorable aspecto físico, le daba un importante aliento estético al sopor sexual de Jaume, sin embargo, ponía en peligro la credibilidad de su análisis de la actualidad noticiosa del país y del mundo, en pocas palabras, su relación y su genio pendían de un hilo. No así su salvación eréctil, pensó Jaume erráticamente: con varios centímetros menos, y, bien informada, Silvia comenzó a leer las noticias por Internet y a buscar pasajes baratos a Múnich.

We were all digesting, strewn about the silly-putty planks, paws over bellies. The air was purple and green, flecked with unfamiliar magenta. Only when the magenta flickers landed on our brooding temples did we raise our arms like Chinese good luck cats, batting away that which would eventually overrun us all. The First Felini had, as was usual, eaten the most that evening. And, as was her right, The Command Second was therefore taking charge, keeping us on course. “We are all geniuses up to the age of ten.” Pookie’s fur waved in a new rhythm, the effects of the ship’s normal humming momentarily disrupted. A couple ears, those of The First Felini and The Kibbler, flattened, almost glued to their scalps. The rest of us, though startled by her outburst, merely continued breathing in the air, magenta sloshing between our teeth, blending in our lungs, and cutting through the purple and green remains of our past travels until we exhaled them back out, their glow deadened from the contact with our inner turmoil. “After ten, I have found we all lose some of our intelligences. And, however lucky or unlucky, the fact that brain matter fades is built into life.” At this point, The Kibbler extended his claws and kneaded up some silly-putty, creating, eventually, a fresh litter box. The Command Second lost her footing, falling atop Pookie, causing a plume of magenta air to rocket up and billow out, blinding us all. If we had considered the significance of the blinding pink at that time, we most likely would have turned back and returned to the more comforting blanket of green and purple that was our home dock. But, Pookie was right. The youngest among us was 15 years old and our intelligences reflected the fact. “The change would be more pronounced should we have ever accomplished anything great, but that is clearly hardly ever the case. I myself have journeyed to the far reaches of our stars. I have been waterlogged and air-dried. My heart is a disgusting pile of charred ash and yet I continue to make these trips of discovery. It is impossible for me to relate precisely how much I have lost since stepping past age ten. It is most detestable, and is so with each of you as well.” Pookie was now reclining precariously across the bow of our vessel. Behind her we could see the fading greens and purples of what we knew, of what our brains recognized. “I will not bore you with an account of my choices prior to these years of flight and travel. It is the actions made now, in my old age, which have affected me so terribly. It is the journey into these places of neon blindness that has brought me to ruin and despair. It is-” It was almost imperceptible, the move made by The First Felini, but it made the silly-putty wobble just enough to send Pookie toppling overboard. We were, by now, fully enveloped in the magenta and she would have been lost even had we leapt up to her rescue. As it was, none of us made any move. We barreled forward, minds and bodies mimicking ship and scenery, everything devolving into pink mush with no one questioning our motivations or reasons. All of us contentedly rocketing into nothingness.

Texto: Jo Marvel + Ilustración: Rosa Maria Ospina // Género: Fantasy // EStilo (Text): Conrad + Estilo (illustración): Schiele

los casi, casi

listen to many, speak

Texto: Alessandro Bernardi + Ilustración: Ariadna Reyes // Género: Action // EStilo (Text): Austen + Estilo (illustración): Escher

to a few.

shops and Hangouts que…

The Shortlist

Pago

by Allison Kent & Jake Nash Sometimes you don’t realize how hungry you are until food appears right in front of you. If alcohol is being consumed, this sensation is automatically heightened. Hence, the phenomenon of the tapa. If said nourishment comes with no price tag, all the better. The following places understand this philosophy, and generously offer a free tapa (of, admittedly, varying quality) with the purchase of a caña. And, while some of us are inclined to take anything that’s free (T-shirt 3 sizes too big? Yes, please. Sample of anti-balding cream? Don’t mind if I do.), many of these morsels do exert a respectable effort in the taste-bud-pleasing department. So gather a few Euros, a couple of amigos, and your anti-balding cream, and experience the unique satisfaction of sinking your teeth into something that didn’t cost a dime.

Atatapa c/ comte urgell, 77

els tres c/ muntaner, 55

At most places, the official policy regarding free tapa selection seems to be “We’ll bring you whatever happens to be lying around.” But not at Atatapa! Here, you are proudly shown the array of available tapas (which, notes the bartender, increases substantially as the evening progresses) and allowed to choose from a tantalizing selection of…whatever happens to be lying around. If you prefer your tapas fresh from la cocina, however, the patatas bravas are well worth the 3€ that they’ll set you back. Still ravenous after our two-bite selfselected tapas, we caved to their marketing, and the bravas made their debut at the table so beautifully arranged that it was difficult to bring ourselves to destroy the display. Perhaps unsurprisingly, we got over it.

If presentation (and by that we mean the flat modern style that passes for classy in Barcelona) is the name of the game, this place has it locked - right down to the toilet brush holder. The free tapas arrived looking rather pleased with themselves, too: cute sliced tomatoes elegantly covered in melted cheese. Those bitches were tasty, though. This place definitely pushes towards the upscale side of the spectrum, so don’t expect to stroll in here tracking in sand from la playa. Still, prices are reasonable, and a few drinks won’t leave you without money for a proper dinner which, by the way, can be found on the spot, if you don’t want to break away from the hip artwork on the walls, the chic numberless clocks, and the sea of red and black décor.

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…molan big time

ambiente del sur c/ viladomat, 85

Café de los Angelitos c/ Almirall Cervera, 26

DeDues Café c/ Torrent de l’Olla, 89

Sometimes we find ourselves sharing an experience with a complete stranger, and it’s often these moments that help restore some basic faith in the human race. If you’re in need of a similar emotional pick-me-up and/or a delicious (and free!) Andalucian tapa, make your way down Viladomat and look for the unassuming Ambiente del Sur. Within seconds of entering, we became the proud owners of two Estrella Damms and a generous plate of sautéed potatoes, leaving the entire population of the bar (us and the bartender) free to become collectively engrossed in a documentary on sea turtles that was playing on the clunky, pre-flatscreen-era TV. Every now and then, we would look up from our greasy goodness, and he from his slow, deliberate cleaning, to share a smile as the baby turtles braved the dangers of the ocean and arrived back safely to their native beach.

They don’t have Estrella Damm de barril? We’re probably too close to the beach…it’s Heineken instead. But the beer selection wasn’t what struck us most about this seaside cove: it was the just-right feeling of plopping down upon a deep mahogany bench with plushy red cushions after a day at the playa. Visual delights accompany corporeal comfort; there’s a mélange of photographs, paintings, and sculptures. Waiting for our tapa (an underwhelming scoop of (maybe?) pasta salad mounted on an equally underwhelming slice of stale bread), our eyes drifted towards the collection of liquor bottles: Jack Daniels, Grey Goose, Jäger, scary shrunken head, Bacardi … wait, what? Though apparently the booze shelves also double as a tribal relic exhibition, the late-day sunshine pouring in and the luxurious yet unpretentious feel made us more than willing to overlook the lackluster food offering.

First and foremost: DeDues boasts the cheapest cañas of the bunch. Damms are only 1 Euro before 20:00h. The waitress told us this, by the way, with a knowing, juicy-secret kind of a wink that immediately elevated a standard promotional strategy to an in-club exclusive offer. Cheap beer is enough of a draw, but the free tortilla de patatas put us over the top, writhing in culinary delight. The setup here has an elevated, spacious area in the back for lounging and sipping, and handpainted orange swirls adorn the walls, a charismatic motif that is consistent throughout. Circular mirrors and metallic tables join the mix, too. The service is friendly and personable while staying true to the place’s hip vibe, as if the employees and the décor all came from the same trendy batch of primordial soup.

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top of the pops

Los Top Ten – 15 July to 31 August 08.07 - 01.11 Exhibition / Pipilotti Rist If you judge wine by the label and books by their covers, you won’t get around this Swiss video artist, whose first name conjures up happy memories of Daddy reading Lindgren before bedtime. And, in fact, her large-scale video installations do seem overwhelmingly lush and vivid at first, inviting you to absorb colors and sound. When her 7354 cubic meter installation Pour Your Body Out showed at the MOMA last year, visitors were enthralled. The Fundació Joan Miró may not have that much space at its disposal, but they have made room for nine installations created over the course of the past ten years. And once you are in Pipilotti’s universe, you’ll realize that this woman doesn’t create kitschy, colorful wonderlands, but searches for the female body, the disappearing body, the canny in the uncanny, and the clash between what we commonly call Nature and Culture. Tuesday to Saturday 10:00h – 20:00h / Sundays 10:00h – 14:30h • Fundació Joan Miró @ Parc de Montjuïc s/n • 4€ fundaciomiro-bcn.org

Thursdays / Until 10.09 Nits d’estiu a la terrassa / Nova Cancó As part of the temporary exhibition La Nova cançó. La voz de un pueblo, currently running at Catalunya’s National Art Museum, established and upcoming musicians who belong to the official Catalan canon are invited to share their tunes, open-air, in the museum’s courtyard. Every Thursday until the beginning of September, a different band will sing in Catalan about things that concern us all – the passing of time, love, misery and memories. Up next is Joan Isaac (15.07) followed by Mazoni (22.07), Sanjosex (29.07), Pi de la Serra (05.08), Francesc Burrull (12.08), Toti Soler (19.08), Anna Roig i l’Ombre de Ton Chien (26.08), Miquela Lladó (02.09), and, last but not least, Roger Mas (10.09). A visit of the exhibition is included in the ticket price and the museum opens until 10pm on Thursdays during the summer months. 22:00h • MNAC @ Plaça de Pau Vila, 3 • 4€ mhcat.net

15.07-26.09 Exhibition / The London Punk Tapes There are many interesting things to say about Jordi Valls, responsible for the conceptual design of this exhibition. His main body of work has appeared in the form of Vagina Dentata Organ (VDO), an art and sound project that has been successfully alienating audiences all over the world for the last 30 years (check YouTube for the infamous 1984 VDO performance on the show La Edad de Oro). But this expo is not about Valls himself. In 1976 and 1977, he recorded nine audio cassettes of some of the early live punk gigs in London featuring The Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Damned, Subway Sect, Billy Idol & Generation X, The Slits and Buzzcocks. Sound, photographs, an audiovisual on punk iconography by Franc Aleu-Urano Films, and an installation combine here to profile a rebellious attitude firmly committed to its time. 11:00h – 21:0h Tuesday to Sunday • Arts Santa Monica @ La Rambla, 7 • Free artssantamonica.cat

16.07 Paraula en escena / Cecil Taylor + Amiri Baraka Cultural globalization may have some very nasty consequences, but it comes with some beautiful side effects as well. How incredible is it that these two AfricanAmerican legends, musicians, and poets, who are also revolutionaries and Marxists and contemporaries of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, perform together at ages 81 and 75 on a Friday night in Poblenou, Barcelona, for five pavos entrance fee? I’ve looked it up three times. I called them. It’s true: we get to see the pioneer of free jazz, Cecil Taylor, whose piano technique has been described as “eighty-eight tuned drums”, and Amiri Baraka, the controversial beat poet, writer and publisher of icons like Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, for a mere fiver. I had a dream… 21:30h • Fàbrica Can Ricart @ Marroc / Pg de Santa Isabel • 5€ cafelebab.cat

16.07 Concert / BCNmp7 Moroccan hip hop comes pounding through the B-Sizzle this month, thanks to the excellent BCNmp7 series. They’re bringing the beats and voices of the Casa Crew along with Dj Key, Vj Kalamour and more. The CCCB website prompts us to “discover and enjoy rap beyond the barriers of culture and language”, and that’s no joke, ‘cause you might not be able to understand a single fucking word of this shit. However, the beats are dope (hot and hard, fast, a throwback to Dr. Dre-type shit at times) and well produced, and the lyrics (at least rhythmically) fit in tight. Dj Key does a solid job both on the mix and the scratch (maybe you remember him from Sonar 2008?) and this Vj Kalamour character is capable of throwing together some cool, modern visuals that give a new and über-urban perspective to traditional stereotypes of Moroccan landscapes. What’s more? This shit is free, thanks to the fiesta mayor del Raval! 20:00h – 01:00h • CCCB @ Montalegre, 5 • Free cccb.org

18.07 Concert / Erykah Badu Erykah Badu is beautiful (vocally and physically), different (musically and aesthetically), diverse, spiritual, political, original, hip hop, blues, soul, funk and jazz. She’s the soundtrack to your break-ups and your far-off hopes for a better love (listen to “You Got Me” by the Roots feat. Badu) and a more genuine, if grimy, fidelity (“Danger”). She’s in those purest moments when you realize how much you love hip hop, all it’s composed of, and all it represents (listen to “Love of My Life” feat. Common). She’s the best head-bobbing music around (“Woo”), and she’s smooth classics that’ll never die (“On & On”). If you still don’t know this musician, listen to the songs listed above and go to the concert. Pay the money. Don’t hesitate if you think you don’t like hip hop. She’s pure soul in a bottle. There’s funk. There’s rhythm and blues. And if you’re already a fan, then you already know everything you’ve just read, you already have tickets, and I’ll see you there. 21:30h • Poble Espanyol @ Av. Marquès de Comillas, 13 • 45€-65€ poble-espanyol.com // erykahbadu.com

22.07 Concert / Kings of Convenience Self-described as “music your parents like, too”, the songs of Kings of Convenience blend soft acoustic tunes with velvety smooth vocals for an experience comparable to sipping chamomile tea in silk pajamas. This awkward indie/folk-pop Norwegian duo compose their Simon & Garfunkel-esque harmonies themselves and sing them so soothingly that you wonder if they’re ever stressed. Last year’s release, Declaration of Dependence, is a bold and beautiful assertion that we are better off together than apart. So grab your partner in crime - or mom and dad - for some quality time and head to the Poble Espanyol for an evening of relaxation that won’t cost you a single brain cell or the content of the nevera. Quiet is king... 21:00h • Poble Espanyol @ Avinguda Marquès de Comillas, 13 • 35€-45€ poble-espanyol.com // theproject.es

24.07 Funny Games / Encuentros polaroid #1 Playa, platja, beach – that’s all you hear when asking what people are up to on the weekend. Is it really too hot to do anything else? Isn’t there something just a little bit more demanding to be done on a day off than playing roast chicken on a jam-packed strip of sand whilst having to listen to others’ unexciting opinions on Sarkozy’s Airbus A319? (Btw, the chutzpah!) At least the peeps from the ingenious hodgepodge shop Chandal in Raval think so. They’ve invited everyone to join a little photo competition with instant cameras (the ones with self-developing film, remember?). Bring yours (the one catching dust on a bottom shelf) or arrive early to snatch one of the six they’ll loan out. You’ve got two hours to roam the streets of the Ciutat Vella and return with glorious snapshots of the urban habitat, and the best instant photo wins a small “thank you for playing with us” award. Game? 16:00h • Chandal @ Valldonzella, 29 • Free souvenirofchandal.com

31.07 Concerts / Sorrofest How do you choose to release the adolescent angst that you’ve bottled up inside you all these years? Start running ultramarathons might be an option or paying 50 bucks an hour for “professional” advice from a person you would never choose to talk to if you were to meet them at a party. Others decide to go to punk shows and jump around for a few hours to short songs that even the most distraught teenager could understand. If the latter option sounds appealing, then make your way down to Sala Rocksound in Poblenou, where some of the best punk that Barna has to offer (namely Spoilers, Los Brackets, Ningoonies, and Fanta) will be blasting for hours on end for a mere eight euritos. Set yourself free. 22:00h • Rocksound @ Almogavèrs, 116 • 8€ salarocksound.com

03.08 – 25.08 Cine / Gandules 2010** Rotten mileurista life! Friends traveling to Peru or the Seychelles this summer have already generously announced that they’ll host a Powerpoint party upon their return to share their adventures with the poor sods stuck at home in the heat with the tourists. We can’t wait. But seriously, darlings, you don’t have to travel far to travel far – be a gandul: relax in a deck chair and let the world come to you. This year’s lineup for the CCCB’s annual open-air cinema festival couldn’t be better suited to your situation. Poignantly entitled Lost, lost, lost, it’s full of fiction: aimless characters, endless searches, journeys to the unknown. It’s a cycle about the desire for movement, escape and transformation. What’s important may not be the choice of path, but the possibility of starting a new one... Please check the day-to-day listings on page 17 for the detailed line up**. And don’t forget to arrive early; there’s never been a Gandules night that wasn’t jam-packed. 22:00h / Tuesday-Thursday • CCCB @ Montalegre, 5 • Free cccb.org

more listings

Wednesday 21 With contributions by Sala Montjuïc / Let the Right One In, Tomas Allison Kent, Jake Nash Alfredson (2009, V.O. S.E) “Twelve-year-old Oskar is constantly bullied at school by his classmates. His dream of having and Trevor Steward st

thursday 15th Inauguration / SENSORY OVERLOAD // Until 01.08 Marco Zamora’s approach isn’t brand new, but it’s interesting nonetheless. The 29-year-old artist from L.A. photographs an urban scene, repaints it in mostly black and white, distorts or adds fragments and inserts colors selectively to shift visual emphasis. 20:00h • Miscelänea @ Guàrdia, 10 • Free miscelanea.info // marcozamora.com

Friday 16

Concierto / Burbuja The brainchild of artist Merche Blasco, Burbuja tries to deliver its audience a live experience that moves beyond simply playing song after song. Unmistakably fragile, the compositions feature a wide range of percussive sounds which are often made by using instruments that can be found in our kitchens. By juxtaposing these different sources into the framework of electronic music, they probe the possibilities of filling empty space with personal fantasy. Each performance is accompanied by a visual exposition that offers us a glimpse into the deep crevasses of the unconscious. 21:00h • Miscelänea @ Guàrdia, 10 • TBA miscelanea.info

a friend comes true when he meets his new neighbour, Eli. But Eli is a mystery: pale, solemn, she only leaves home at night and her arrival in the neighborhood is followed by a series of unexplained disappearances and murders... A prize-winning film in which beauty and horror go hand-in-hand, a love story between two unusual beings.” 20:30h • Castillo Montjuïc s/n • 5€ salamontjuic.org

Thursday 22nd Concert / Renaldo & Clara Named after the disastrously unsuccessful 1978 film directed by Bob Dylan, Renaldo & Clara’s timid and soothing approach seems to lie somewhere between ‘60s folk pop and contemporary twee. Special emphasis is given to allowing each song plenty of time to grow and slowly entice the listener, while also taking advantage of the intimacy in the band’s minimalistic arrangements. It would be difficult to find a more appropriate setting for this quiet engagement than the cozy, hushed basement at Fantástico. 21:30h • Fantástico Club @ Passatge dels Escudellers, 3 • Free myspace.com/fantasticosound

Friday 23rd

Monday 26th EXPERIMENTAL-ELECTRÒNICA / DAY OF THE DROIDS Before Niu closes for the summer (Feliç estiu!), the Barcelona collective Day of the Droids invites all to a breakcore-inspired mini-matinée with Sickboy (Antwerp / Hawiian beag beat tweencore guettotech), Captain Ahab (US / Electroclashpunk happy hardcore avantgarde duo), and DJ Skullvomit (US / Electrogrindpsychodubstep from hell). 19:00h – 22:30h • Niu @ Almogàvers, 208 • 3€ niubcn.com // myspace.com/milkplussickboy

Tuesday 27th Concert / Vivian Girls Sometimes all-girl rock bands get graded on a curve, but the Vivian Girls need no help assaulting your eardrums with their extra-loud live show. The three-gal ensemble teamed up in 2007 in Brooklyn, NY, and has garnered a following without much of a publicity apparatus. Sweet three-part harmonies paired with ample guitar fuzziness and a tinge of female angst makes for much satisfaction. 21:00h • Razzmatazz 3 @ Pamplona, 88 • 15€ salarazzmatazz.com // myspace.com/viviangirlsnyc

Wednesday 28th Exhibition / THROUGH LABYRINTHS // 09.01.2011 There are countless situations that are very easy to get into, but more difficult to extract oneself from... Labyrinths have been given a wide array of meanings throughout history, and the CCCB makes them the subject of its new exhibition that runs until January of next year. It reviews the historicity of labyrinths and distinguishes between the single-path labyrinth (that should be an easy one, right?), mazes, and labyrinths with a choice of paths, whilst looking for different practices and uses today. Lost? Yes, please. Tuesday to Sunday 11:00h-20:0h, Thursday till 22:00h • CCCB @ Montalegre, 5 • 4.50€ cccb.org

Concert / Adam Green Adam Green owes his recent resurgence in Saturday 17 popularity to the movie Juno. Allow me to New Art Space / Espai Veintisiete explain: the song that Green wrote while part There’s a new art venue in town! It’s located in of the duo The Moldy Peaches, “Anyone Else La Rivera, on Sant Pere Més Alt, and run by two but You”, was featured prominently in the film. lovely ladies, Anaÿs La Riva and Verónica Gon- This sparked interest in Green and led to some zalez Amor, who want to give up-and-coming reunion appearances with his Peaches bandartists a platform to present their photos, illus- mate Kimya Dawson. Green’s songwriting trations, paintings, stories and performances. comes with a sharp satirical edge and even a Thursday 29th Until the end of summer, Maria Cuadrado ex- jazzy riff or two. hibits photographs and, come autumn, a col- 01:00h • Razzmatazz @ Almogàvers, 122 • 15€ Exhibition / Papeles pintados // Until 31.10 lective exhibition and various performances adamgreen.net // salarazzmatazz.com Wallpaper can be a gorgeous interior design are planned. And if you’re on Sant Pere Més Alt element or the ingredient that entirely dealready, check out Bar Pasaje, an old-school Saturday 24th stroys the ambiance. This exhibition at the joint run by a new team that offers “sábado Concert / Dee Dee Bridgewater DHUB in Born shows a bit of both, the wallvermút” (AKA brunch) from 11am to 3pm on Dee Dee Bridgewater wears many hats. As a paper of the future as well as the most repreSaturdays. radio host, esteemed actress, jazz singer, and sentative styles from the 19th and 20th cen11:00h-15:00h + 17:00h-21:30h • Espai Veinhumanitarian, she pretty much does it all. A turies, ranging from Neoclassic to the 1970s tisiete @ Sant Pere Més Alt, 27 / Bar Pasaje @ dynamic and accomplished star should be revival. Sant Pere Més Alt, 31-33 • Free enough, but this show has an added dimension. 11:00h-19:00h Tuesday to Saturday / 11:00hLECTURES DE CONTES / Punkies Bridgewater will be performing selections from 20:00h Sundays • DHUB @ Montcada, 12 • Free While most cultural venues in the city have Lady Day, the musical where she played the dhub-bcn.cat already entered summer “hibernation” phase, role of her childhood idol, Billie Holiday. Dee the Arts Santa Mònica is kicking it up a notch. Dee is also best known for her role as Glinda Friday 30th During the month of July, under the title “Con- the Good Witch in the musical The Wiz. Tonys, Concierto / Moon Duo + The Lions Constellation tes Estripats” the gallery invites all to short Grammys and ambassadorships, oh my! Trying to hide markedly catchy vocals behind story readings. Organized in collaboration with 22:00h • Teatre Grec @ Pg Santa Madrona, 36 menacing layers of heavy organ and fuzz guiAlmazen, this session is dedicated to “Contes • 25€-48€ tar may seem like a pretentious way of shootPunkies”, read by Mon Mas. deedeebridgewater.com // barcelonafestival.com ing yourself in the foot, but that seems to be 18:30h • Arts Santa Mònica @ Rambla, 7 • Free Concert / Eddie & The Hot Rods + The Bite exactly what Moon Duo had in mind when artssantamonica.cat and The Tamers they threw together their excellent debut LP, The extended career of Eddie & The Hot Rods Escape. The primordial and obscure tendenSunday 18th can be called turbulent at best. They reached cies of Wooden Shjips’ guitarist Erik Johnson Taller / Acercamiento al graffiti their creative pinnacle over thirty years ago and are on full display when he teams up with San Learn from the maestro, streetwise Zosen, have since experienced never-ending lineup Fransisco’s Sanae Yamada to create a psychewho’s currently showing his work at Galería changes. After years of hiatus, the old gang’s delic experience that draws from the likes of CMTV on Sant Pere Més Alt. He’ll share his back together yet again to give their faithful Suicide and early krautrock. accumulated knowledge about the “how” and fans another dose of noisy pub rock. While 22:00h • Heliogabal @ Ramón y Cajal, 80 • 6€ “why” of urban art during a four-hour work- their vast repertoire merges genres like vintage heliogabal.com shop at the gallery. R&B into a more aggressive punk rock sound, Sala Montjuïc / The Gold Rush, Charles 16:00h – 20:00h • CMTV @ Sant Pere Més Alt, their shows have gained notoriety for being Chaplin, (1925) 36 • 45€ rowdy affairs in which audience participation The Charlie Chaplin classic plays up on is more or less a requirement. Montjuïc accompanied by an ensemble conth Monday 19 22:00h • Estraperlo @ Carrer d’Isidre Nonell, 9 ducted by Guerassim Voronkov in a live perfor/ Badalona • 10€ advance /12€ at the door Sala Montjuïc / Vals Im Bashir, Ari Folman mance of the original soundtrack. myspace.com/eddieandthehotrods 20:30h • Castillo Montjuïc s/n • 5€ (2008, V.O. S.E.) salamontjuic.org “One night, at a bar, an old friend tells director Concerts / Festival Detakon IV: Así no hay Ari about a recurring nightmare in which he is quien baile chased by 26 vicious dogs. The two men con- Detakon es un colectivo formado por cinco Saturday 31st clude that there’s a connection to their Israeli personas con la intención de sacar discos y A bit of everything / experimental folk by Army mission in the first Lebanon War during montar conciertos y esta será la cuarta velada Seward + dance & performance the early eighties. Ari can’t remember a thing que celebran, siempre en el Tube II, una sala Seward is an experimental folk band, a team about that period of his life, but as he delves justo al lado de Verneda (L2). Los conciertos of musicians (voice + piano + upright bass + into the mystery, his memory begins to creep empezarán por las tardes y finalizarán a las 2 de cello + all kinds of percussion-drums + banjo up in surreal images... A unique work, some- la mañana. Animo! It’s dead cheap, something + guitars) who playfully sound out the limits of where between comedy and documentary, different from Sidecar and Monasterio and the the genre. Harmonies are not their foremost which brings home to us all the horror of war. lineup is eclectic if not to say experimental: Tu concern, but don’t fear noisy freestyle. These Nominated for the 2008 Oscar for Best Foreign Madre (BCN), Bèstia Ferida (BCN), Bura (Maguys like to break with rules and regulations, Language Film of the Year and for the Golden drid), Piero La Rocca -Oper’azione Nafta- (Sicilbut they know what they are doing. The venue, ia), No Band In Berlin (BCN), Ahno Drei (Madrid, Palm at the Cannes Film Festival.” the gallery space La Pan, has recently opened, myspace.com/ahnozwei2), Isards (Els Pirineus). 20:30h • Castillo Montjuïc s/n • 5€ and sharing the stage with Seward are con19:00h – 02:00h • Sala Tube II @ Carrer del salamontjuic.org temporary dancer Sheila Ferrer and performer Terç de la Mare de Déu de Montserrat, 53-59 Aisaboaa. Tuesday 20th (1a planta) / Sant Adrià del Besòs / L2 Verneda 21:30h • Galería La Pan @ Marina, 68 • 4€ (a 1 minuto del local) • 8€ Talk / DisPlay pantocratorgallery.com myspace.com/detakon Arts Santa Mònica again: a new wave of video Nitsa / TokTok production is occupying the spaces dominated Sunday 25th God bless friki electro/techno/house and the by the mass media. Web documentaries, fan beautiful Berliners that do it so fucking well. fiction, videologs and videogames are among Concert / Johnny Winter Tok Tok is at once grimy, gutteral and also the genres being developed in the context of Muddy Waters declared Johnny Winter to quirky pop hop. Dance in circles. Do it, bitch. digital convergence. The new audio-visual probe the best white blues guitarist he’d ever Also blessing this lovely night in Apolo, Soffy O ductions have their own languages, tools and heard. ‘Nuff said. After a wild ride of a life deserves a hand (¡olé, olé!) for Swedish pop that channels of dissemination, created out of an and some near death shit as well (the blues, is actually good, and happy but not too happy, ongoing dialogue between different cultures. drugs and alcohol too often go together), and just the right amount of dance. And postToday is the second out of three audio-visual Winter is back on tour with his new album concert keep going with Dj Fra. screening and debate sessions that focus on Still Alive and Well. If you’re an avid blues 00:30h • Sala Apolo @ Nou de la Rambla,113 • 15€ the videocratic society, self-representation, brother (or sister) then this should go on sala-apolo.com your list. and identity. 18:00h • Arts Santa Mònica @ Rambla, 7 • Free 21:00h • Sala Bikini @ Av. Diagonal, 547 • 35€ artssantamonica.cat bikinibcn.com th

To look forward to in August ’10 Sunday 1st Inauguration / “DUALITY” ZACHARI LOGAN // Hasta 20.08 You’re an ancient Greek. It’s all about your strength, your prowess. It’s all about how far you can throw, what you can wrestle down, the mythological beasts that you can, so to speak, slay. Your body is your source. Zachari Logan sets historic themes of male bravado, heroism and narcissism alongside mundane realities. If you can handle a lot of cock and a bit of blood, check out modern day Davids and Daniels. 20:00h • Artevistas @ Passatge del Crèdit,4 • Free artevistas.com

Tuesday 3

** Gandules Wanda, Barbara Loden (1970, V.O. S.E.) Restored this year, this film, directed and starred in by Barbara Loden, who was Elia Kazan’s wife, is a cult classic and Loden’s one and only directorial credit. Shot in a radically independent way, without lighting or wardrobe, it’s been unavailable to the general public for more than thirty years. This harsh, Cassavetes-like road movie, one of the most striking feminine portraits of North American cinema, is about the neurotic and aimless journey of a woman that has left behind the monotony of family life.

Wednesday 4

** Gandules Alphaville, Jean-Luc Godard (1965, V.O. S.E.) The famous agent Lemmy Caution is sent to exterior planets: dehumanized cities of cold winters, huge buildings and incomprehensible rituals, where feelings -and their expression- are banned. Godard on how to transform Paris and the cinema into a science fiction world. Sala Montjuïc / Gomorrah by Matteo Garrone (2008, V.O. S.E.) “A portrait of the Naples mafia through five stories woven together to depict a cruel, violent world in the film adaption of Roberto Saviano’s book.” 20:30h • Castillo Montjuïc s/n • 5€ salamontjuic.org

Thursday 5th Festival / International Buskers’ Festival From now until the 8th of August, put a jar aside in your casa and every time you come home let your spare coinage rattle into the bottom. Resist the urge to collect it (in the meantime) for hand-off beers, and, on the 5th, 6th, 7th and 8th of August, take it with you down to Barceloneta for the 6th Annual Buskers’ Festival. Musicians of all shapes and colors, all musical styles and genres, will get down in the streets of BCN’s beachside ‘hood and play for your pennies. Support this shit, people. Music is for everyone. Music is for everywhere. La Barceloneta s/n • Free buskersfestivalbarcelona.org ** Gandules / Banditi a Orgosolo, Vittorio de Seta (1961, V.O. S.E.) A shepherd is accused of theft and assassination and sets out on a journey whose style swings from lyrical to the harshest reality. At the hands of De Seta, fiction and direct cinema form a unique, beautiful, and tortuous shape.

** Gandules The Exterminating Angel, Luis Buñuel (1962) “A mundane party becomes an enclosure that reveals bourgeoisie’s hypocrisy and its grotesque forms. After a conventional dinner, the guests seem unable to leave the house, as if they were in an invisible labyrinth. Buñuel, again, destroyed the social forms to turn the bourgeoisie into savages. While the film you are about to see may seem to you enigmatic and incoherent, so is life. The author claims having had no intention of playing with the symbols, at least not consciously. The explanation that may be given of The Exterminating Angel is perhaps that there is no rational explanation.” (L. Buñuel)

Wednesday 11th **Gandules / Fox and his friends, Fassbinder (1974, V.O. S.E.) “An unemployed young man, played by Fassbinder himself, wins the lottery and introduces himself to the most sophisticated homosexual circles. There he meets a boy, son of a good family who had come down in the world that will cruelly take advantage of the man of humble origins. The decadence of a middle class already in decline, an intense and very sensitive study of the oppressive social circles, this is one of the starkest and most ruthless films by the German director.”

Tuesday 17th **Gandules / Toby Dammit, Federico Fellini (1968, V.O. S.E.) “When he was commissioned to adapt a Poe’s tale, Fellini imagined a story about an actor arriving at Cinecittà to shoot the crazy project of the first catholic western, and setting out for the most frantic and amazing journey (on a convertible) never seen before around the city of Rome.”

Wednesday 18th **Gandules / Lost Highway, David Lynch (1997, V.O. S.E.) “In 1997, after some failures, Lynch’s reputation was at rock bottom. Then, the first shot of Lost Highway appeared: the camera frantically moving forward down a dark road to Bowie’s “I’m deranged”. Lynch was leading us to the “psychogenic fugue”: a journey around desire, jealousy, sensuality and the rhythms of imagination in freedom.”

Thursday 19th **Gandules / La père de mes enfants, Mia Hansen-Love (2009, V.O. S.C.) “Grégoire is a cinema producer: he lives fast between his family house and his film company, Moon Films, in Paris. He is a passionate and charismatic man, full of life. But the company goes through some severe financial problems: he decides to go on with his projects and dreams. An emotional story about the fragility of life and ideals, relationships and survival.”

Tuesday 24th **Gandules / White Material, Claire Denis (2009, V.O. S.E.) “In a country at the heart of Africa, shaken by an imminent civil war and barbarity, Maria (Isabelle Huppert) decides not to go away and to withstand in her coffee plantation. Claire Denis offers a new view of Africa, her childhood territory: a hypnotic and harsh film, full of energy where the cinema is a furious rhythm.”

Wednesday 25th

Friday 6th Sala Montjuïc / Last but not least… This is the last chance to enjoy a feature film on a massive screen, open-air, up on Montjuïc, where the air smells of pine trees and temperatures are below 30 degrees. As every year, it is up to the audience to decide which movie will close the cycle. On their web you can vote for either 25 kilates by Patxi Amezcua (Spain, 2009), El truco del manco by Santiago A. Zannou (Spain, 2008) or Smoking Room by J.D. Wallovits and Roger Gual (Spain, 2002). 20:30h • Castillo Montjuïc s/n • 5€ salamontjuic.org

Saturday 7

Excursion / Bosc Vertical You can either a) have a really nice and feel-good five minutes watching YouTube vids of people having fun and cagandose de miedo in the Bosc Vertical (vertical forest), or you can b) grow a pair and go do it yourself. We recommend Plan B. Spend a summer day in a shady forest swinging from the trees, walking the planks and ziplining into massive nets. Um...AWESOME!! Go, young adventurer. Get yer Tarzan on. 10:00h-20:00h • El Bosc Vertical @ Canyamars (39 km from Barcelona) • 10€-24€ boscvertical.com

Tuesday 10

**Gandules Sans Soleil, Chris Marker (1983, V.O. S.C.) “From Tokyo to the San Francisco of Vertigo, from Cape Verde to Iceland, from GuineaBissau to Paris, Marker frees our imagination so that we “compose” the instants of happiness and “the things that quicken the heart”. Fascinating and visionary, this film is a voyage through the rhythms and the spirals of time, a love letter, an essay on revolutions, an elegy to the cinema, a science fiction documentary. No film seems to contain as many films in itself.”

Thursday 26th **Gandules / Little Fugitive, Morris Engel, Ruth Orkin and Ray Ashbury (1953, V.O. S.C.) “Joey, a seven-year-old boy, thinks he has killed his older brother and runs away from home to Coney Island beach, in New York, to live his own adventures, between melancholy and humour. Morris Engel designed a 35 mm portable camera to capture the sensation of spontaneity and truth of this original film that opened up new spaces of freedom for the cinema: ‘Our French New Wave would never have get more come into being, if it listings at hadn’t been for Little bcnweek.com/ Fugitive. (F. Truffaut)

listings

Straight from the horses’ mouths

Music

Film

Art

Theater

by The Bankers

by Joan López Lloret

by Lucía Jiménez

by Rafaela Rivas

Barcelona, mediados de julio, aunque todo parezca normal, falta poco para que llegue ¡la estampida! Como cada año nos quedan quince días para aprovechar todo lo bueno de Barcelona, ya que la ciudad se va a quedar desierta. Es interesante y totalmente normal el fenómeno veraniego en las grandes ciudades ya que imagínate pasear por la Diagonal ¡a 40 grados y de resaca! Por esto, el 16 pasaos por el Sidecar donde nos esperan los Tarántula, con su rock con ciertos aires de noise. El mismo día los Chicks on Speed aterrizan en la sala BeCool para hacernos bailar hasta deshidratarnos por completo. Para los oídos de Radiofórmula, el 17 podréis degustar a los Pereza y Sidonie compartiendo escenario y fiesta en el Poble Español. En cuanto a la visita de Kings of Convenience del día 22, lo mejor que os podría aconsejar es que buscarais dónde tocarán ya que saber, sabemos que tocan pero gracias a la falta de neuronas y de riego sanguíneo no me acuerdo dónde. El día estrella será el 23, en el que los más carrozones/as os podréis deleitar con el somnífero Mark Knopfler, mientras que a los que aún nos gusta que nos sacudan musicalmente podremos continuar silbando el “Dance with me” junto a Adam Green en el Razzmatazz. Ya lo sabemos, conciertos había más y mejores, pero señoras y señores esto es lo que hay. Para acabar, un consejo para el mes de agosto… ¡¡huid de la ciudad!! .

Com els últims estius, des del 6 de juliol fins el 6 d’agost torna el cine a l’aire lliure als jardins del Castell de Montjuïc. Cada dilluns, dimecres i divendres a les 21h hi ha un petit concert de música com a aperitiu i a les 22h comença la sessió. Vull destacar la projecció del divendres 9, El Verdugo (1963) de Luis García Berlanga, una intel·ligent pel·lícula de denúncia que amb el seu humor negre va poder superar la censura franquista. No us podeu perdre el dimecres 14 La naranja mecánica (1971) de Stanley Kubrick per revisar un dels films emblemàtics dels setanta. De la següent setmana destacaria el dilluns 19 Vals con Bashir (2008) d’Ari Folman, un innovador documental en format d’animació que narra la guerra del Líban el 1982. El darrer divendres de juliol es projecta amb música en directe el fantàstic film clàssic de Chaplin La Quimera del Oro (1925), amb la que tornarem a gaudir de la famosa seqüència de les sabates. Finalment recomanaria el dimecres 4 d’agost Gomorra (2008) de Matteo Garrone, una de les millors pel·lícules que s’han produït a Itàlia els últims anys. Recordeu que totes les pel·lícules es passen en versió original subtitulada. Podeu portar el sopar en forma de picnic i l’entrada són 5€ (3€ més si voleu gandula). De la plaça Espanya surten busos especials per l’activitat. Per a més informació visiteu salamontjuic.org, on podreu trobar la resta de la programació que també val la pena. Mentre seguim esperant que un dia tornin els autocines dels setanta no és mala alternativa pujar a la muntanya a veure cine a la fresca.

Llegaste a Barcelona sin saber muy bien por qué. Era agosto; al bajar del tren sólo sentías calor y la extraña sensación de que lo único que tenías era la maleta llena y la mente confusa. Pero el tiempo empezó a pasar y tú a caer en las redes de la ciudad que, entre otras muchas cosas, cautivó tu atención poniendo ante ti nuevos espacios y artistas que saciaban ese interés que siempre tuviste por el arte. En estos meses, no has parado de descubrir sitios, es imposible no hacerlo. Lo último: Visions, en Gràcia, un espacio dedicado (¡por fin!) a la ilustración. Visions es más que un centro didáctico que ofrece cursos y talleres para enseñar a dibujar. Han escuchado nuestras súplicas y han creado su propia galería, donde hasta finales de julio se puede visitar la obra de Mikel Jaso. Sorprende la intensidad con la que el ilustrador navarro nos grita a través de sus composiciones, sencillas pero cargadas de connotación. Cambiemos de barrio. En el Eixample, ADN galería acoge todo este mes la exposición Nowheristan, de Igor Eskinja. Fotografías que juegan con la percepción óptica intrigando al visitante para, al final, mostrarle a través de dos instalaciones el secreto del proceso de creación de las imágenes. Y por último, Poblenou. Porque merece la pena acercarse a los cuadros de Luciana Mariani en su Macroorganisme, una reflexión sobre nuestra individualidad que acoge el Niu hasta el 31 de julio. (Aprovecha que estás en el barrio para caminar dos calles y visitar la galería Art & Design Barcelona, muuuy interesante). Y ahora... ¿te vas? Sí, en el mismo tren, pero dejando atrás muchas cosas y algunas personas importantes. Te vas contenta, con la maleta llena de arte y otra extraña sensación: que te estás marchando para volver.

Con los termómetros por encima de los 30º es prácticamente imposible estar en la calle. Por eso, este mes más que nunca, os recomiendo ir al teatro, porque así además de estar fresquitos podréis pasar un buen rato sin estar delante del televisor… Primero, y así le damos la bienvenida al panorama teatral de la ciudad condal, hay que felicitar a los cines Alexandra por su nueva iniciativa. Además de programar películas alternativas ahora el Alexandra Teatre será un nuevo escenario para espectáculos tanto musicales como teatrales, sobre todo de humor, como el que dará comienzo a esta nueva etapa: Hermanos de baile, un híbrido de tap dance, hip hop y flamenco (¡¡¡una mezcla explosiva!!!) que se podrá ver hasta el 1 de agosto, de miércoles a sábados a las 22h y los domingos a las 20.30h. Si las mezclas no os sientan bien, don’t worry, siempre podéis ir a La Caldera. Los días 23, 24 y 25 de julio a las 19h la actriz Teresa Arroz interpretará en L’home estampa (Un espectacle bodegó) la historia de amor del Asno y la Mujer, una fábula contemporánea sobre hasta a qué punto nos transformamos para encajar, o cómo las relaciones con los otros tienen el poder de hacernos cambiar radicalmente (¡seguro que a más de uno le ha pasado!). Y por último, por si esto os ha sabido a poco, no os perdáis en el Polvorí de Montjuïc y en el marco del Festival Grec de Barcelona La trastienda del polvorí de la compañía “Teatro de los sentidos”. Tenéis hasta el 1 de agosto, de jueves a domingo y con dos pases diarios, de 20h a 22.30h. Creedme, ¡¡no os dejará indiferentes!!

Otro año mas The Bankers se van de vacaciones, así que nos vemos en BCN a partir de septiembre. Sed buenos/as y ya que no dejaréis de descargar música, al menos id a los conciertos que si no esto se acaba.

Joan López Lloret és director de documentals. El darrer any ha estrenat als cinemes Verdi i Maldà els films Hermanos Oligor i Utopia 79.

Rafaela Rivas es periodista, actriz y en sus ratos libres (y sólo con sus amigos más íntimos) “asesora espiritual”. Según ella, el teatro es la mejor terapia, así que lo practica a diario y no se pierde ni uno de los estrenos de la “ciutat comtal” .

Lucía Jiménez confía en que el amor al arte pronto le permita sobrevivir. ADVERT

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se fue al otro barrio

El silencio de laS puertas cerradas by Jordi Corominas i Julián and Nil Bartolozzi (ilustración) trial. A las cinco opté por coger el metro y abrazar mis sábanas como expediente de reposo antes del instituto. Funcionó, y aprendí la lección del goce que significa sentirse pequeño por la gracia de los edificios y el aura urbana, reina poderosa que oculta muchos misterios cuando brilla la luna y Morfeo campa a sus anchas por lógica horaria. Por aquel entonces mi relación con bares, discotecas y otros garitos era escasa, de novato sin grandes aspiraciones ociosas. Tres lustros después tengo una opinión formada y varias preguntas, tormentos con interrogantes imposibles de resolver por culpa de llaves, respetos y pudores. ¿Qué hay detrás de todas esas puertas cerradas a cal y canto? A nuestro paso somos vírgenes para con los portales por normas de convivencia y el malestar de asumir esos pequeños ruidos contrarios a la ausencia de sonido. No penetramos los accesos y aceptamos la energía de balcones cargados de música y risas, fiestas privadas que llegamos a intuir por ese resquicio violador de la privacidad. Las voces retumban, pero hay muchas más que abandonaron la fiesta. La poética del bar huérfano de clientes es fascinante. El otro día pasé por delante del punto ciego, un tugurio de Gracia que cerró casi por decreto. Tenía dos plantas y en la segunda era aconsejable acomodarse sin prejuicios. El vicio y la perversión eran la ley omnímoda, selecta clausura de la que sólo queda un triste candado y una obscena pintada que alienta al consumo de cocaína. ¿Cómo debe ser su interior? ¿Se acumulan las telarañas? ¿Acude alguien a lim-

piar el antro? Las tres es la hora bruja. Te doy cinco minutos más, no quiero multas. Venga, toma un vaso de plástico. Hasta luego. Fregonas danzando, ojos rojos. Cuando los camareros abandonan sus puestos de trabajo dan pie a fallecimientos temporales, como cuando éramos niños y pensábamos que las ocho horas de sueño eran morir para renacer. Las cuatro paredes respiran y el extractor carbura. Los insectos pululan y los olores impregnan maderas y logos de diseño. Esa existencia de la nada es una de las grandes bases poéticas del universo al marcar un grado diferencial muy potente entre interior y exterior desde una tenebrosa premisa que la leyenda ama romper para activar nuestra fantasía; de otro modo es imposible entender las maledicencias que tantos arrojan sobre el tramo comprendido entre Drassanes y el obelisco de la Diagonal. Los sótanos de Barcelona, pues antes la burguesía prefería el entresuelo al ático, como territorio de orgías y depravación, sexo de lujo y refinamientos erótico-festivos. Este ejemplo es un botón del traje, plagado de recovecos porque cada habitación contiene en su esencia el don de la posibilidad. Lo bueno de sus barreras prohibidas es constatar que la ciudad siempre será una balsa de imaginación donde navegar y perderse, porque por mucho que crezcamos debemos mantener la inocencia que nos permite ser malvados.

Ilustración: Nil Bartolozzi / bartolozzinil.blogspot.com

Una de las experiencias más hermosas del arte de pasear es hacerlo solo en un sentido totalitario, cuando las calles se han vaciado y unos pocos reductos sobreviven al ritmo que teje la ciudad con su sinfonía colectiva. Cuando era adolescente decidí salir un martes a la aventura del desconocimiento en un viaje iniciático imprevisible. Cerré la puerta de casa. Era medianoche y Barcelona vivía de su resaca post-olímpica siendo todavía una urbe del siglo XX, con un cierto toque folklórico que lo neoconservador ha sepultado para siempre. Recuerdo caminar por la avenida Gaudí envuelto en un silencio sepulcral, virar hacia la Diagonal, acariciar el Arco de Triunfo y sentir que las luces eran las reinas porque muchos dormían y los demás permanecían en el anonimato. Lo divertido de la efeméride es que iba a tientas, ignorante absoluto del nomenclátor, desorientado por falta de referentes visuales. A medida que transcurren las décadas nuestra experiencia se amplía y el espacio se agranda. Cuando alcancé plaza Cataluña me sorprendí al ver cómo unos pocos turistas jugaban al fútbol. Eran las tres de la madrugada y chutaban incólumes, sin ningún tipo de amenaza municipal, gritando libres entre estatuas y estrellas. Observé el panorama y descendí la Rambla, que aún mantenía sus señas de identidad. Cerca del Liceu me abordó una prostituta. Era rubia, tenía bigote y seguramente algo colgando entre las piernas. Le dije que no y proseguí mi marcha hasta Marina por inercia, pensando que la fiesta era infinita y nada podía cerrar los locales de esa antigua zona indus-

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the back door

Astrolona*

Veo Veo Sorteo

W in!

by Lady Ondina Osborne ARIES Quadrennial sporting events

bring out the rabid fan in even the most apathetic of spectators. All of a sudden, people who might normally be kind are fighting with you about utterly retarded issues. Chairs, tables, drinks, headroom... it’s like a return to the great preteen days of pulling hair and teeth. No wonder it’s so dangerous to mix sports and politics. Your recent athletic ventures have been more of the extreme-bedroom-sport variety, but don’t let the seeming privacy of your games fool you: the personal is still political.

Taurus There is a time for dreaming

and a time to get real, and you are squarely in the latter period, my friend. Like Icarus, you’ve been letting things melt and slip, and while we all like a sloppy ride now and again, it’s not really a good long-term policy to just wait and see what happens. Whatever fears you have about confronting life’s challenges head-on, channel Steve Jobs and go wreck some corporate heads.

Veo, veo... ¿Qué ves? Una cosita... ¿Y qué cosita es? Un arbol blanco y negro que guarda una casa okupa en el barrio de Sant Antoni. ¿Dónde estará, dónde estará, dónde estará?

Libra Look, honeypants, I hate to be

cruel, but you’re in for a serious verbal smackdown. You’ve been coasting on the wings of a dove, and the happy time is up. This end of summer and beginning of fall are going to be about reparations for the worminess you’ve caused in the communal anthill. See what happens when you let the wrong one in? Confusion and sadness in your ant friends, the kind that eventually leads them to abandon your dehydrated body along the edge of a grassy knoll.

Scorpio A few years back, Marks & Spencer tried to sell a USB plug-in toy pole dancer for Christmas. It didn’t go over especially well, which I guess is unsurprising in the hip but petrified urban London market. Like M&S, you have badly misjudged your audience to be more relaxed than they are. This ain’t no disco. It ain’t no country club either. If all you want to do is have fun, you’re in for a rude awakening.

SagittariuS Only recently you incorporated the thoughts of AC/DC and Nelshould work in the summer? If we all son Mandela in your daily. Rockers both, had a mandatory vacation period of two but you have forgotten to absorb their months, in which we were forced to go crowd appeal as a part of your New Deal. and do nothing but lie under a beach What they did, essentially, was to deliver parasol all day, every day, wouldn’t the a message saying, “Hey, listen up, this is creative juices start flowing again? The how to better yourself, or salute those neurons need a break, and so do you. you respect.” Little dwarfs can’t dunk, but Winter into spring has been non-stop at here goes your Nerf (sueldo), and there the grind – it’s time to reflect on all that lies the little lo-rim kitty (stuff ya gotta pay you have accomplished. And if it turns fo’). Like the rest of us, squeeze and enjoy. out that you have accomplished nothing, bow your head in shame, like Tiger Woods, Capricorn No one ever points it out, but the corn in your cap is no coinand change your tack. cidence. This month you’re like the invaCancer You’ve been pushing buttons sive corn plant taking over the world. You lately and, before continuing, you should have no room for carrots. No tolerance probably assess the damage that’s been for tomatoes. It’s all about you for a while. done. Ross Perot was not a country fa- Corn, corn, corn. And when it finally ends, vorite, no matter how much money he you’ll realize that your precious cornbrought to the table, because his antics self does not bring the vitamin content made him unlikeable and untrustworthy. you’re really needing. You’re starving the You don’t have to look any further than little planet that is your life and while it other US presidents to see that there’s may seem fructose for a while, it’s really been a lot of that, but maybe you should bullshit. try to shine a little Clinton on and make Aquarius It’s good to have a thick like a friend, at least for a little while. skin, but you can’t expect hard-heartedLeo This is going to be a summer of hot ness from other people. Just as the BBC cakes and hot peppers. Someone’s about homepage apparently thinks it’s fine to to brand her name on your ass and you’re refer to children stranded in a tree after a going to like it. Unlike the days of yore, flash flood as “Mexican flood children”, so you don’t need to worry about giving in; you too aren’t really picking up what senthis one’s gonna be like a good S&M rela- sitivity is laying down. It’s time to test the tionship...giving in to give it up and get it waters on a new personal PR campaign; on. The universe is proud of you. You’ve one in which you’re not the king of the turned over a new leaf and the caterpillars assholes. You can handle it. Reinvention are chompin’. is the name of the game.

You know where to find the squatted house? Pues, send us an e-mail to veoveo@bcnweek.com with the name of the street. Everyone who sends us the correct street name will take part in our raffle (closing date is June 30th, 2010). We’ll give away:

3 x 4 Cajas de 12 botellas De Bionade Con los sabores de Saúco, Litchi, Hierbas y Jengibre-Naranja.

Gemini Who was it that decided adults

Virgo A wise man one said that you

should never get married, but your recent history is belying the adage. It turns out that getting married, and then swiftly divorced, is like a warm piss bath followed by a frolic in an ice jacuzzi: refreshing and life altering. Where would you be now if you didn’t know how to give a Valler a hummer and a Merdilla a what-for? Like making out with a dirty little Catalan cop, life is all about the experiences you write up the next day.

Pisces Maybe you should spend less time typing “slap that ass” into Google and more time looking up the vibrating crotch pole that I saw in an SMBD video. What are those called, anyway? Regardless, they’re dangerous. That’s what you need to know. It’s time to inject a little speed in your vida, even if it means laying your usual caution by the wayside. The cats are looking to jump your bones, and, though we all know the pussies are dangerous, they’re also finger-lickin’ good.

L a b e b i d a re f re s c a n t e ú n i c a . Producido a partir de recursos naturales de calidad biológica con un gusto ligeramente ácido y afrutado.

I saw yous + Personals El otro dia bajaba las escaleras del metro de Sagrada familia y tú ibas con las mecánicas. Cruzamos la mirada y nos giramos varias veces. Cuando llegaste arriba te pusiste como de cuclillas para observarme. Subí pero ya estabas demasiado arriba y llegaba tarde. Mi intención era besarte, espero hacerlo la próxima vez. sanimoroc@frikerpajillas.saf Eras una sombra en esa sauna llena de chaperos. Cuerpo esbelto, sonrisa de ensueño.Me gustaría comerte enterito. pasionpasiva@organya.com

You forgot to ask that princess last Friday for her number? Idiot! At least don’t forget to write her an I SAW YOU! Email us your missed encounter to info@bcnweek.com

Sit on my face and tell me you love me. Do you care if I’m not original? I saw you at Sara’s rural house and your physiognomical talents amazed me. Also your ass. sbd199@yahoo.es

You ran up behind me at the C3 bar the other day and goosed me. What the fuck. That hasn’t happened to me for at least 15 years. I can’t exactly say I liked it, but I would like to get you back. Know what a frog eats for dinner? Flies. unarubiadesuenos@gmail.com

El otro día gritabas en un recital de poesía e ibas con un vestido de marinerita. Me pareciste una soberana imbécil,pero tal es mi magnificencia que quiero pegarte un polvo. delaceba@onionsoup.uk

Si te quitaras tus gafas de pasta y dejaras de usar terminología cool ganarías muchos enteros. Quiero pigmalionizarte. ssdedosendos@decadencia.org

You won’t talk to my avatar Sweet Stevie any more, so I feel I have to hunt you down a different way. Come on, we can play games in real life, too. sscamewest@hotmail.com

M’agrada que portis un tauler d’escacs, perquè és la única manera que tinc de mirar-te els ulls, la timidesa em venç per culpa de la teva bellesa. ojosdeloca@embrujada.cat

Acabo de matar una mosca y eso me permite entender lo pesada que he sido contigo, con tanta llamada. Me has borrado del facebook y siento nostalgia de tu cuerpo. Te esperaré en la pensión habitual el próximo jueves. iriacazurra@intimido.it

Because it’s just too damn hot, I made a promise to myself that I was going to lay off sex between July 1st and September 10th. But your perfect dick is making me reconsider my resolution. Even if rubbing up against your chest hair is like getting into a jacuzzi with ten labrador retrievers, other parts of your anatomy keep bringing me back.

Rum Raisin was always my favorite flavor of ice cream, but, according to you, it’s gone out of style? As far as unsolicited opinions go, yours was okay, and you were right: the Macadamia Nut Brittle is delicious. If you’re down for more extracurricular cone lickin’, let me know. stvalentines@hotmail.com

Clara, I‘ve never been so pleased to be squeezed into a closet. It recalled dirty 13-year-old games, and my penis reacted accordingly. Let‘s do it more often. garywenttogary@gmail.com

Obits V

yakov September 2007 –

June 2010

¿Qué haremos sin ti? ¿Cómo sobreviviremos? ¿Quién va a mirar despistadamente al techo en vez de trabajar? ¿Quién va a ir corriendo del despacho con las instrucciones – saca fotos de las que están en castellano – y volver con las que están en catalán? ¿Quién va a tener 7.000 ventanas abiertas y una de ellas de trabajo pendiente? ¿Quién va a ser el más chill-out? ¿El más informado sobre todo lo raro y (casi) completamente inútil? ¿Quién traerá el maiz frito, tío? ¿Quiéééééén? Te echaremos de menos...a ti. A tu productividad, no. Pero a ti si. Beso, guapitón.

Jean Michel Cann July 2005 – September 2010

Take your little yellow furgoneta, point it at Montpelier, pay your péages and find a good crowd. You‘re French. You‘re leaving. You‘re my friend. I‘m gonna miss you. On behalf of all your MSF friends, we wish you and the señora well. Once you establish and find your way to Addis Ababa, or elsewhere, keep the Villas, Palmas, Roddys, Pascuals, and de Vecchis updated. Peeps gonna miss your true-good nature. In the meantime, show the fuck up to work on time and stop drinking your coffee like a whinny incapacitated bitch with a limp.

greg tomano January 2008 – July 2010

Greg, baby, you‘re outta here! Barcelona, wooooo! I wanted you sooooo fucking bad for like 6 months and I only got to have you for one of them. Well, I can‘t complain much. Thanks for the hotness in the sheets. If you were still here now it would be almost intolerable. I don‘t know if we could do it. Seriously, it‘s like 5,000,000 degrees. I‘ll always remember that nervous kiss on the FGC to Sant Cugat. It doesn‘t seem right though that your Mum still calls me asking for children. Ha! Skype me and we‘ll find middle ground?

Heinz Becker June 2008 – August 2010

From one northern foreigner to another: I think we made the most of our Barcelona experience. Perhaps we didn‘t get to the beach every day like we thought we would, perhaps there really is no point to starting a surf club when it turns out there‘s no surf. But, at least we can say we tried. Best of luck in the new old country, my friend. I cannot say I envy you, but I do think the Spanish cows will miss your special flavour.

Next BCNWeek will be released on 16. September

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