A DESPICABLE EXPERIENCE, by Mauri.

Mercedes always says that I've got a fish's memory, and it's true (for those of you who are not aware, fish have a memory span of just three seconds: how sad. How sad, my existence!). So, trying to remember things that happened during the last twelve years would be a feat of which I'm absolutely incapable. Therefore, I'll limit myself to sketch an absurd series of little stories, thoughts and feelings.

Since I'm lucky enough to be writing this after most of them have sent their texts (lucky, in spite the never ending calls from Juan, pushing me into doing it, and he was right), I think I've got the knack of what I'm supposed to tell. I'll begin with the oh-how-we-fucking-awesomely-love-each-other stuff, but I'll be short, and I'll try not to repeat myself:

Juan is the first guy ever who's said to me during a rehearsal: "Turn up your amp, fuck, I can't hear you at all!". And that touches your heart, what the hell. I've learnt to love Rhythm & Blues thanks to a master, and a better guy.

And, for the rest of them, a joint comment (there will always be different classes): there are a lot of musicians who think that this business is a very serious thing, or that it is a means to reach other things, or that it is an excuse to stand out among the crowds, or that it is a canvas upon which to paint one's ego. Likewise, there are a lot of musicians who think that music is above the people, and all that bullshit that nobody says, but that all of those divine people, deep inside, believe. Well, Los Despreciables have proved to me, for a good amount of years, that what really matters is just the opposite (I'm not going to enumerate it: do it yourself). Those who are not (or haven't been) devoted to the artistic world (my mom still says that I shouldn't be a bohemian, that I should do something useful for a living. And a friend of mine, who happens to be very lazy, says that it must be cool being a bohemian and doing nothing) cannot imagine how hard it is to work with people that do not follow the aforementioned patterns. What's more, if we are talking about a group of twelve persons, we're dealing with a miracle of nature. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Los Despreciables are a "show business" miracle. We get along much more than well, we enjoy tremendously with what we do, and nobody's boyfriend or girlfriend has ever tried to get nosy between us (unthinkable).

This doesn't mean we haven't had our share of rough moments. No, ladies and gentlemen, this ain't Little House on the Prairie (for those of you under 30, please ask some older person for an explanation). Javier has already expounded a bunch of "great moments", but he's forgotten a couple of them (which is weird, given his prodigious memory). I won't name the places nor give the dates (please, for any explanation, see first paragraph). Once we were playing at a venue which had a curtain, and when this was opened, our audience was made up of… seven people? Later, they got quite lively, I must say. Another time, an asshole of a bartender, jumped over the bar with a baseball bat, trying to beat the hell out of us (the working man defending his patron: a classic). Of this story I won't give any details since it meant a little momentary schism in the group's harmony. One that's funnier happened when one of us, Mauri (wow, turns out it was me!) almost left the band due to religious reasons (yes, you've read it like it is). Thank God, the band's atheism won over the divine inspiration. It's something well known: rock & roll is the people's opium (or is it religion?). Now, talking about villages and people, Javier has already told that story in a village near Toledo, so let me forward you to his text (it's excellent). Another moment that left its mark was during a fund-raising gig for a free radio station. Before our performance, it was the turn of a typical singer-songwriter (you know, melancholic and very deep). The poor thing requested his audience, during his performance, to shut up or leave the place. You can imagine the look on our faces (we were among those who were talking, and quite loud). When we got onstage, Javier, quite lucidly, encouraged the people to chat joyfully. Although, with the volume at which we play, I don't think they could communicate with each other in an effective way. We never got a chance to ask that singer-songwriter whether he had learnt the lesson "if your music stinks and nobody's paying any attention to you, maybe it's you the one who must leave" (I don't think he'd ever learn it; those stale singer-songwriters are that way: stubborn). By the way, after that show, I've been able to convince Los Despreciables to play no more than twice "for free". Since, deep inside, they're a bit rancorous, some funny members of the band (I said I wouldn't name names) nicknamed me for a long time Mauri Without Frontiers. No comment.
There are two classics in the "despreciable" terminology. The first one (uttered to the bar's owner) is as follows: "Don't worry about the deafening volume that your ears are noticing, this will change a lot when the audience comes, because they absorb the sound". To tell the truth, no one has ever been really satisfied with such an explanation. They are so incredulous… The second one concerns Ramón. It's become a classic among Javier's introductions of the band. Ramón doesn't make Los Despreciables to sound well, but "to sound the way we sound". This little language juggling (which usually lets the audience quite flipped out) goes back to a gig when Javier introduced Ramón as the magician who made Los Despreciables to sound so well. Once the show was over, Ramón went to Javier and said: "Don't you ever introduce me like that anymore, you fucker. I can't recall any other night when everything sounded so awfully". Ok, so, since from the inside (that is, onstage) you can never perceive rightly how is it sounding outside, Ramón's introduction remains like that. So, may everybody understand it the way they want…

Longevity, the good craft and excellent vibrations among Los Despreciables have a well kept secret that I'm about to reveal. We like to boast that we hardly rehearse. But the true reason for our lack of rehearsals is deliberate indeed: "Rehearsals kill a band" (Juan Antonio Despreciable). And he's right, and, being such an empirical guy, he decided to prove it with Los Despreciables that thesis that reads "the less we rehearse = the better we get along". Honestly, I think he should be honoured with a Nobel Prize for that discovery -something I don't think will happen, because the Swedish are very strict people and our surname wouldn't look very nice on the statuette. This doesn't mean we don't do our homework. Juan always says -and he's right, once again-that those movies that portrait pos and ros bands, only talk about drugs, partying, getting laid and bad vibrations (generally, at the end). However, you never see them working their brains off playing their instruments until their hands are skinned off (those of you who are perverted enough to find sexual hints in this, please go see your doctor). Please, let's be sensible: nobody's born with the skill to do something very well, you have to work hard at it. That's obvious.

Finally, I won't spend much time telling my vast esteem towards this bunch, because I prefer to say it/show it to them, personally (I recommend this as a pleasure activity towards those who surround you, and are worth it; most of all, before you kick the bucket 'cos it'll be too late). Long live those arts which haven't lost their most primary objective: the expression and a deep enjoyment!!

May we keep on seeing each other a lot,

Mauri Despreciable
January 2006