Luz Casal: "I have a nose for dishonest music."

BarcelonaThe Galician singer Luz Casal (Boimorto, 1958) lets loose without prejudice to I'm going to allow myself (Universal, 2025), the album he has just released and which he will present on a tour that will include stops at the Auditori de Girona on April 18 and the Gran Teatre del Liceu on May 3. He speaks with ARA in a room at the Nobu Hotel in Barcelona.

How are you?

— Very well. With the nerves of a newborn baby, waiting to see how it develops.

Do you still get nervous when you release an album?

— Oh, yes, yes. I think more so than at the beginning.

Is this a good sign?

— I don't know, I haven't really stopped to analyze it from that perspective. But maybe I have. I always have that feeling of unease, wondering what's going to happen. People from other professions say, "You can't possibly be nervous before a new concert." Of course you should be, when you don't know what to expect! It's a constant adventure.

Artists experience this dual feeling: on the one hand, the incredible impact of having the attention of thousands of people and receiving their ovation at a concert, and at the same time the fragility of that moment when you miss a note or realize you're not doing well.

— It's the ultimate exposure, complete nakedness. I'm not a singer who always sings with the same inflections or says the same things in the pauses between songs. This gives you a lot of freedom, but it also leaves you completely exposed on many occasions. However, this exposure, this evidence of fragility or of making mistakes, doesn't bother me.

Does the new album feature all the possible facets of Luz Casal?

— I hope I still have some to discover. But yes, there are quite a few. For example, there's the observer, the one who puts someone else in the spotlight. There's the macaroni Some don't give a damn about anything. There are those who see what's happening around them and talk about it. There's the unexpected feminist, I suppose because it comes out naturally in The onion bluesAnd one that I hadn't removed before: the one that's put in place of my followers [the one from the song] What have you done to me?They are also different ways of singing, even though there is more rock and roll.

There are also versions by artists as different as Luis Demetrio, Amália Rodrigues...

— Yes. There are. BravoLuis Demetrio's work expresses hatred in a special way, super-restrained rather than unrestrained. And Everything changes [by the Chilean Julio Numhauser], which is a tribute to an important voice, that of Mercedes Sosa, through whom I discovered this song. In the case ofSheThe Charles Aznavour song—I think I got carried away. Elvis Costello did an unbeatable version for the film. Notting HillBut what convinced me to do it was that there was a Spanish version. Listening to the lyrics, I realized that if I did it, it would be a song sung by one woman to another, and it seemed relevant to me to put myself in that situation. That's why there's another woman, another voice, in the song: Carla Bruni. In the case of Tear"La Fado," another heart-wrenching song, this one truly sung from the depths of emotion, is a fado I discovered at a tribute to the centenary of Amália Rodrigues' birth in Lisbon. I wanted to sing it, but I realized I wouldn't dare sing it live in Portuguese, much less on a television program with so little time to prepare. So I adapted it into Spanish. It's one of the most raw and emotional performances I've ever given.

In What have you done to me? He talks about the relationship between the public and the artists, but from the public's point of view. "You on stage, me in the crowd, what you evoke in me is supernatural." Which artists have made him feel this way?

— Lots! I remember a Tina Turner concert in Cologne. Sting, Metallica, AC/DC, Bob Marley, Nirvana... I'm a huge fan of certain bands.

Rosendo's, too?

— I've probably seen Rosendo in concert twenty times. He's a master, a guy who makes something original out of language. In fact, in the song I'm going to allow myself There's a simple phrase, just three words: "I hope I'm not bothering you." And every time I said that, Rosendo's image appeared. I like going to concerts, I like enjoying them, and when I'm a fan, I'm a fan. Besides, when you're a big fan, you don't have time to analyze things.

I know a musician friend who went through a period when he didn't enjoy concerts as an audience member because he constantly overanalyzed the artist.

— Yes, you have to be careful. Sometimes I get furious when it happens because you're more focused on whether the singer is doing this or that, or whether the brass section, which is so heavy, could at least stay still... At concerts, we should go to enjoy ourselves.

Speaking of metals, Nothing is impossible It culminates with metals that convey drive and give hope.

— Exactly, that was the intention, and I think we've achieved it. Initially, I wanted to do something with the vocals, like a coda. The Beatles were definitely present, and the horns gave it that feeling of fluidity and hope.

Nothing is impossible It's dedicated to Noah Higón, a woman who continues to live with seven rare diseases. To what extent do you project your own story into that song?

— When I sing "I've been on trial since I was born," I take it as my own. After all, we're on trial from the moment we're born. One of the things I love most about music is that I have the ability to imagine situations and stories that don't correspond to my own personal life, but that I can feel as my own. That's why I defend the voice as an instrument that can express many things, not just personal ones. And that's why I like to sing songs that don't reflect me, because how boring would it be to spend your whole life explaining that you prefer savory things to sweet ones?

And you identify with You deserve love, the song by Vivir Quintana?

— Yes, it's on the album, because it describes love in a way that's like a continuation of You were everythingThe song that Vainica Doble wrote for me. I remember perfectly Carmen Santonja calling me on the phone and saying, "Luz, we've just written a song that will drive you crazy." It was You were everythingwhich describes the discovery of love with beautiful words. "You are my day and my night, my death and my resurrection." And You deserve loveIt is a more naive, beautiful and naive continuation.

What's your best music-related memory? And which one would you like to forget?

— I have a kind of instinct for recognizing dishonest music: music that's copied, music that isn't genuine, music where the performer or composer isn't working with truth but rather as if they were an AI. I can smell when it's a lie, and then I'm not interested. As for my best memories, I have many. For example, the first is when I realized that music has a physical impact on me—not emotional, but physical. And then, with practically every album, I've had a profound sense of fulfillment, even before facing the public's test. For me, music is nourishment, a pure necessity. It's essential in my life.