By the Zonagirante.com team @spinning zone
By the Zonagirante.com team @spinning zone
Cover art by Zonagirante Studio
Starting next year, everyone born in 1970 It risks reaching 55 years of existence on this planet.
Yes, my friends nearing old age, you were born in a period that brought a rollercoaster of varied emotions, where the hopes of previous years, your spirit of peace and love, and all the dreams of a radiant sky and an eternal smile died before the decade even turned. The cataclysm occurred. December 6, 1969, in full the Altamont Speedway Free Festival, where they would play Santana, Jefferson Airplane, The Flying Burrito Brothers and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and, of course, the organizers, The Rolling Stones. All the cordiality that existed in the rock scene of those times was brutally disrupted when Meredith Hunter, An 18-year-old African American man was stabbed five times and kicked to death in an altercation with some members of the notorious gang. Hell's Angels. Other experts go so far as to point out that the disillusionment reached its peak a few months earlier, more precisely on August 9, when the actress was murdered. Sharon Tate and four other people, at the hands of Tex Watson and three other members of The Manson Family, who, to celebrate, wrote on the wall with blood Helter Skelter, in an unfortunate tribute to The Beatles.
Anyway, that's when the Seventies began. All the contrasting colors and wild, crazy things. Times of the worst dictatorships experienced in our Latin American continent. The worst part of the Vietnam War. The terrorist attacks at the Munich Olympics. Watergate. Apple and Microsoft emerge. A new product is released. Star Wars. The first test-tube baby. The largest mass suicide in history occurs in the Guyanese jungle. The Islamic Revolution in Iran. The perfect 10 of Nadia Comaneci In Montreal, Perón returns and dies shortly after. The electoral fraud of April 19th in Colombia, with its violent consequences. Turbulent days, each hour bringing a surprise, humanity constantly witnessing what it is capable of, for better and for worse. Some claim that, amidst all this turmoil, the best rock music of all time could be heard., And that everything changes for music from that moment on. Just by mentioning The Dark Side of the Moon y The Wall (Pink Floyd), Hotel California y Greatest hits 1971-1975 (The Eagles), Rumors (Fleetwood Mac), IV (Led Zeppelin) and Bat out of Hell (Meat Loaf), we have over three hundred million copies sold (we're talking about legal copies, back when fans bought records in music stores, without trying to pose as hipster collectors of unfairly expensive vinyl). A time that saw the end of the Fab Four from Liverpool, a brilliant era for Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, and the ever-rebellious presence of... David Bowie in Berlin. And in Latin America we weren't far behind. We listened to Los Jaivas, to all the groups of that time of Charly García and his friends, all the bands from that decade of Luis Alberto Spinetta, the rise of Sandro, and other phenomena that were massive on the continent.
From there, we played at nostalgia fiction (a term coined by our friend Eduardo Arias), and imagined, , More than a playlist, a radio station that broadcast, for a little less than an hour and a half, The reinterpretation of the spirit of five decades ago through covers made in the last thirty or forty years within our borders. In organizing this compilation, we accumulated a lot of feelings that were worth experiencing: We danced to the Caribbean interpretation of Roxanne by The Police, with instruments and vocals by La 33, We cried remembering the missing one Maria Gabriela Epumer, whom we loved so much, singing a Spinetta ballad. We discovered the Brazilian couple Prema Yantra with his version of Across the Universe, We feel nostalgia for the defunct Mexican band I Want Club interpreting A horse with no name, of America. Anyway, enjoy this mock radio broadcast in list format, and hopefully you'll have a day as varied as the one we had putting all these tunes together.
