Quimi Portet: "Life is exciting, it's full of things you wouldn't have expected."

BarcelonaThe musician Quimi Portet (Vic, 1957) has just published Songs in Bell Llemosí, a book that compiles the lyrics to his 130 songs in Catalan. The prologue is by Quim Monzó and the epilogue is by Manolo García, with whom—among many other things—Portet spent a decade of madness with El Último de la Fila. Read without musical accompaniment, Quimi Portet's lyrics are even more fun, delicate, poetic, or metaphysical. That's why there won't be any questions in today's interview. Just verses from his songs that I've selected to keep the conversation going with Quimi Portet.

"Life is a complicated business, we do what we can."

— It seems to me to be such a self-evident fact that it's hard to refute. We do what we can, and that's the most we can do. If you think about it, if anyone does more than they can, they're a monster. People who do more than they can have created great tragedies for humanity. Hitler comes to mind, for example. I think that by doing what we can, we're already covered.

"Humor is anarchy that triumphs for a few brief moments."

— I think it's an excellent aphorism. So excellent that I say afterwards, "I don't know where I saw that, where I read it, maybe I even made it up myself." It seems to me that I made it up, but I found it so insane that that day I must have been either very well medicated or the carajillo, very well prepared. Being a jokester is very typical in our country. In every group, in every town, there's someone who jokes, and sometimes we're annoying. You get motivated; all it takes is for someone to laugh to give you the urge to continue on that path. But in my case, it's allowed me to write song lyrics and take the edge off all the more or less philosophical thoughts, the melancholic side, the passing of the years. Being a jokester is a protection you have, and it's excellent for sociability.

An album title: 'We Kill Tuesdays and Fridays'.

— A lady told me this at L'Esquirol. We went to buy butifarras with Antonio Fidel one Monday at the Can Careda butcher shop, an excellent one that's long gone; it no longer exists. And the lady there: "Oh, Quimi, I'm so sorry: I can't serve you, because we slaughter on Tuesdays and Fridays." I said: "Thanks, I already have the title of the album." I found it delightful that such a pretty, sweet, and elegant lady would tell me: "We slaughter on Tuesdays and Fridays."

Another phrase that is the title of a song: "Charge me what's mine."

— I spent time in the Basque Country, and there, one person pays for everything now, and then someone else will. It's not even talked about. In our culture, I'd even seen a couple kissing on the lips, and when it was time to leave the bar, each person would pay their own way. I found it disconcerting. That people could put their tongues in their mouths and, a moment later, each of them would pay a euro! Thinking about it, as an amateur sociologist, cents, for this culture, are a very different material than they are for other cultures.

"Tell me, Madam Muse, what is better for the song: to make them piss themselves laughing or to be shipwrecked in an ocean of sadness?"

— It's a serious question I ask the muse. I'm writing a lyric, and I'm already an old man; the most lyrical part of my life has already passed. The most lyrical part is when you're in love, you're young, you're tender, you're ready for courtship, for joy, for reproduction. Obviously, the embers remain, but that flame is gone. So, if you continue writing lyrics—which is somewhat unnatural, because popular music was invented for courtship, for finding girlfriends and boyfriends—that doubt arises, and I ask the muse if it's really right to use humor as material for writing. When you're on stage and they applaud, it's very funny, but no matter how badly you do it, they always applaud. Feeling like they're dying of laughter because of something you've said—that can't be faked. I completely understand comedians who do it. stand-up Or whatever you call it. The feeling of making people laugh is spectacular, as it reinforces your presence in society. It makes you feel incredibly useful. I don't consider myself a comedian, but it makes me very happy when people laugh when I say something stupid. It really takes a lot to make people laugh.

"I want to be a singer-songwriter and reach out to everyone. Give my heart to the cause of humanity."

— Here we enter satire, which isn't my natural territory, but which I've dabbled in at times. There's an image of the committed singer-songwriter—very admirable, by the way, I'm speaking figuratively—very politically involved, who possesses a kindness and intellectual and emotional purity that sometimes makes us laugh a little, because the world isn't that simple. It can't be that good. Fortunately, years have passed, and there's a nebula of causes. Causes that seemed very just are now a disaster, and bad causes now seem acceptable. Vegetarians, non-vegetarians, animal abuse, going to the bullfights... Now the confusion is so great that even a pure character makes us laugh more.

"Vegetarians won't have to suffer; we'll kill a broccoli if they come to eat."

— This is from Francesc Pujols. There's a lovely anecdote about him inviting a family from Barcelona: "Come over for lunch any day now." "We'd come, but we have a problem: we're vegetarians." "Don't worry, we'll kill a broccoli." I think it's excellent, and I included it in a song called, precisely: Francesc Pujols.

"I have a beast inside me, toiling and struggling to get out."

— This happens to all of us a little, but we can't forget that this beast is the one that works. The outer shell is the one you're interviewing right now. The beast is the one that writes the songs, in the case of filmmakers, it's the one that makes the movies, with dancers, it's the one that dances... I think we owe this beast some respect. It's uncomfortable, it's very difficult to transport in society, but we all have it inside. Through education, courtesy, and urbanity, we manage to tame it to have a more or less pleasant life among others. I won't talk about the bad side of the beast anymore, because everyone knows what I'm talking about. One day, in your early youth, you overindulge in alcohol, for example, and you see what you would be capable of if they left you without your shell.

"To the so much what is going on singing, a phenomenal mantra."

— It's a typical Catalan phrase from a guy. A guy who comes with a lot of beer, "Hey, al so much what is going on singing" and everyone else should step aside. I've written in Spanish and I love it, but the language to which you are emotionally attached and whose power you know is Catalan. I, who was born in 1957, much of the Catalan I knew wasn't literary, but rather orally transmitted. As a lyricist of popular music, which is a minor genre, it's an inexhaustible source of pleasure, for the person writing it and, it seems to me, for the person listening. The one who writes in Catalan is me and the one who writes in Spanish is me, but I have to become a writer in Spanish, and this person writes without knowing the "al so much what is going on singing".

"I never forget the first names of the priests who beat me."

— This is true, it's scientific. It was a time when both psychological and physical violence were used. You were pretty scared. I went to a school near Barcelona where there was real terror. Smacking, ear-pulling, hitting with the bell... I was a very good kid and didn't catch much. Now they'd be amazed; they'd all be in prison. I didn't experience it as a tragedy, but I remember the name and surname of some people who, if I met them, I'd hit them with the bell.

"There are those who count the years by springs and cheesy ones who console themselves with sunsets."

— When you enter the world of poetry, there are a whole series of clichés and commonplaces that sometimes give rise to satire of your own craft. Creating a connection with the listener to laugh at those who came before you, who were deeply in love, saw a sunset, and burst into tears. A sunset is the sun setting, nothing else happens. It's understandable, because there are times in life when you're deeply in love and very foolish. We've all been there. I've been moved by a sunset, too, at some point.

"I live an experimental life based on the basic principle that everything that goes well now will sooner or later go wrong."

— This is basically scientific. When you get really excited, you eventually get hit with a setback. It's all very well to get excited, we do it so well, it's turned out very well for us, but you always have to keep some gas in the tank for when things don't go so well. Sometimes, you get so excited that you hit a wall. That's what they call being motivated these days.

"Expelled from heaven for sins we have never committed, we have fallen into the most delicious of hells."

— Very handsome. He's very old, and I barely recognize myself in this line. I know I wrote it because I know the song by heart. Catholicism, our corporate religion, is based on this: you're born bad. You have a sin of a few apples or snakes or I don't know what. You're born bad, you go to confession, and if in the end you behave very well and are very, very mean, you'll go to heaven forever, but the normal thing is that you go to hell and have a really hard time. "The most delicious of all hells" is life. Life is a complicated business; we do the best we can, but it's fun, especially for those of us who have had a little luck. Life is exciting, it's full of things you wouldn't have expected. I wanted to be a musician, but if you'd told me it would be like this, I never would have believed it. It's hell, but it has some very attractive aspects.

"We have no illusions, we are dead on vacation."

— This, with all due respect, I find brilliant. When I was little and had a high fever, I understood many things. Later, as an adult, in very remote times, I tried to return to that state with some substance. You had a high fever and you understood what this was, and I've never understood it again. What is clear is that we are here, which is somewhat disturbing, because we don't know what happened before or what will happen next. Most likely, nothing will happen. It's very disconcerting that all this exists. You get up, you shave—those of us who still shave—you shower, you put on some glasses—it's all very strange. I think it was a small discovery, even if it's literary: we are dead people on vacation. It's a fun image. Most of universal time, we are not here.

"My will says only one thing: make me a tombstone that says: this boy is progressing well."

— I really like this. I'm a father, and for a few years, when my daughter was little, I'd come home from school every month with a note that said, "Eugenia is progressing well." It was hilarious. And me? Am I progressing well? I wondered. As a goal in life, progressing well is very nice, because deep down, it's empty... It means another month has passed, that she's had a nice poop. It's a humble and prosaic goal, and having it put on a tombstone is already fantastic.

But one of your latest songs also says: "Epitaph: life is overrated."

— Indeed, seen from the point of view of a deceased person, I would say yes.

Last season, in this interview, I always asked the guests about a song from El Último de la Fila. What's your favorite?

— I'm going to say one of my own to show off: I like it a lot. Ancient SeaIt's not one of the best known, but it's very pretty.

The last words of the interview are yours.

— Merry Christmas. It always feels good.