Sílvia Pérez Cruz i Salvador Sobral: "Music is the best invention there is."

BarcelonaThere are people who are musical by nature, like Silvia Pérez Cruz (Palafrugell, 1983) and Salvador Sobral (Lisbon, 1989). They are also obsessive about work and devote everything to their projects. Pérez Cruz gave his all to A lifetime, one day (Sony, 2023) and on the corresponding tour, which left historical milestones such as concerts at the Tivoli Theatre. Sobral did the same in Ring (Warner, 2023), which he presented at the Liceu. Freed from pressure, but equally self-demanding, they have done together Silvia & Salvador (Warner, 2025), a dialogue-album between them, with composers such as Jorge Drexler and Lau Noah and with poets such as Miquel Martí i Pol. They talk on the rooftop of the Hotel Me in Barcelona, ​​​​where they also recall anecdotes related to music, the New York subway and giving birth.

Are you happy about Monday's concert at the Palau de la Música?

— Salvador SobralIt's funny, because we were both a bit distracted. We hadn't seen each other in two weeks, which is a long time in our current relationship. Traveling and giving a concert isn't the same as doing the concert at home.

— Silvia Pérez Cruz: It was hard for us to understand that we had a concert. But then we went out and the audience was very supportive from the start.

— H.H: And Drexler's song unlocked everything. We looked into each other's eyes and realized we were together at the Palau de la Música.

Heart first It's Jorge Drexler's song. How did the idea to perform it come about?

— H.H: I was the one who wrote it to him. Silvia wrote to some composers, and I wrote to others. I told him, "I'm making an album with Silvia." "How cool, my favorite singers in the world." These were his words. He told me he had a couple of songs in the drawer. And the next day he sent one in English and one in Spanish.

— SPC: I ran into him at the Grammys shortly after. And I said, "Thanks for the song." And he said, "I regret it now, I really like it."

When did you decide that you would make an album together, and that it would be of this type, with many compositions by others?

— SPC: The key moment was when we were invited to sing at last year's Goya Awards gala.

— H.H: This was the epiphany.

— SPC: We'd already shared songs on each other's projects and had been friends for years, but suddenly, it was obvious we both had the desire. Then, I think I called you and said, "Would you like to make an album?" And you said yes...

— H.H: I was scared. I've admired Silvia for a long time, and all of a sudden she said, "Shall we make an album together?" I thought maybe it was the heightening of friendship the day after a performance, and then...

— SPC: We were clear that we wanted to unite our voices, but we also thought it was wonderful to pay tribute to each other's composers, friends, and contemporaries, like Leo Aldrey, who wrote a song with him, and Carles Monfort, who had worked with me.

Indeed, Salvador, there's also Luisa, your sister, and Jenna Thiam, your partner... And the Brazilian composer Dora Morembaum, who is very interesting.

— SPC: Because Brazil is very important for both of us, and now there's a batch of brutal composers.

— H.H: If there were as much oil as musical talent, Brazil would be very rich.

— SPC: Now there are young people, 27-28 years old, very inspired.

Does making this album, which stems from a long-standing friendship, relieve you of your responsibilities? Is it like a brief pause in your individual careers?

— H.H: Completely.

— SPC: Yes, it is much lighter.

— H.H: I feel that sense of peace very strongly. The other day I was at the Palau de la Música, which is impressive, but since I was with Silvia and we helped each other on stage, it takes a lot of responsibility off my shoulders. I wasn't nervous at all, and neither was she. I leave the concert not sweaty or tired at all. It's incredible.

Does the same thing happen to you, Silvia?

— SPC: Yes. It's true that I do feel a degree of responsibility, because I put a lot of effort into artistic direction, and I really enjoy doing it. But everything is a family way of doing things, even the interviews. Everything is easier. It's not as tiring as the concerts we do individually. Well, I'm recovering from pneumonia, and I can tell, and I felt a certain fragility. Yes, even emotionally.

— H.H: And the voice, too?

— SPC: Sometimes with the wind. Yes, I have a harder time putting up with it.

— H.H: I haven't noticed, but...

— SPC: It takes a while. But if it weren't for that, which is a temporary thing, it's a different kind of tiredness, different from the gigs we do alone, both because of the type of repertoire and what it means to be up front, because being up front is a different energy. In fact, it's very nice to put yourself in another place to understand the roles as they are. And when you're on the other side, you want the other person to be very well because you know they're right there in front of you. We both care a lot; we want the other person to be well.

There's a song that says, "Taking care of what's close to us is the revolution." What's closest to you that you like to take care of?

— SPC: It could be your friends, your family, the song you write, the interview you do... And it's the only revolution I think we can make, each in our own way. There are people who have more connections or are more of a leader, and there are people who might be in their own backyard, but they'll take care of the lettuce. That's why, in the first song, which is precisely the one about the Goya Awards, Remember youJuan Berbín, the co-producer who accompanied us, recorded some of our conversations, and this came out of one of them: Caring is the small revolution we can make.

— H.H: Yes, I've learned a lot from her, about caring for the people we have close to us. I'll give you a very specific example. At the Goya Awards, precisely, the three of us were there: Silvia, Marta Roma playing the cello, and me. And on TV, they only showed Sílvia Pérez Cruz and Salvador Sobral. And she didn't rest until they added Marta's name. She said, "You have to put the name of the cellist, Marta Roma." It's a very specific example of caring for the people you have close to you.

It makes perfect sense because the sound of Marta Roma's cello is very important on this album.

— SPC: Yes. Choosing the instrumentation for the album was another matter. We had the vocals very clear. As for Marta, she was at the Goya Awards and we understood each other very well; I felt that Salvador was comfortable, and that Marta was comfortable with Salvador.

— H.H: This is the main criterion when you think about a band: the person. And Marta is a light. Everyone who plays with us has some special human quality. I think this should be the main criterion. Obviously, they have to play well.

— SPC: The cello is like another voice. So we had to think of someone to play the backing track. A guitarist. Besides, you told me your mother really wanted to hear you play the guitar.

— H.H: My mom always tells me, "I just want to hear you play with a guitar. I don't know why you have saxophones and pianos and whatever. I just want a guitar." And now I've done what she wants.

— SPC: We thought about Darío Barroso, who was a friend of both of them. Sebastià Gris arrived later, because we tried them both first. You have little —the song with lyrics by Miquel Martí i Pol for the film Very far, by Gerard Oms—inspired a little by theApril 74 by Lluís Llach. And I tried out how it sounded with the cello, guitar, and voice. It was very nice, but something was missing. And then Sebastià Gris appeared with the banjo, mandolin, and acoustic guitar.

Someone to sing me to sleep, Lau Noah's song, made me think about what lullabies he has sung to his daughters before going to sleep.

— H.H: I have a different philosophy when it comes to songs because I don't want her to fall asleep when I'm singing. For me, music is about stimulation.

— SPC: Really?

— H.H: I've never sung a song to lull him to sleep, because I wanted to sing to stimulate him, but I did receive a CD from a friend with lullabies from all over the world. I never sing to him to sleep.

Had you done it, Silvia?

— SPC: She's 17 now, but I remember singing her the songs I imagined were going to sleep, but they didn't work. They only worked if it was a sound, like a vibration, like a car. And—this was really geeky—if I sang her Bill Evans songs, because when I was pregnant I did the tour. We sing Bill Evans with Joan Díaz, which are complex songs, and they relaxed her. Maybe because I did the whole tour pregnant.

Uterine memory?

— SPC: I don't know if it's possible, but it happened.

Salvador, you now live in Barcelona. Since when, and why did you finally decide to live in Barcelona?

— H.H: I've wanted to come here for a long time. Well, since I left in 2012. Because I didn't leave voluntarily. The doctors told me I was going to Portugal because my health was complicated. I was worried about Barcelona because I feel at home here. And well, the years go by, I meet Jenna and then Aida arrives and we go to Paris, because in Portugal culture is very bad; there's no money for culture and theater is even worse. She worked in the theater and in Portugal she couldn't afford it. And we go to Paris. But I get terribly depressed, I'm very sad, because that city is horrible to live in. And well, if we wanted to continue together, we had to find a solution between Lisbon and Paris. And there's no other in between but Barcelona. And we came in September. I also have to tell you that I don't really like being famous, and in Portugal I am famous. And I don't feel good about it; I feel watched, I don't like it. People aren't annoying, but I don't like being stared at. And in Barcelona, ​​I can relax. I go to daycare every day by bike. I play soccer three times a week. We go to the beach... It's my city, and Jenna is happy. She still works a lot in France, but she travels by train; she loves taking the train to Paris.

— SPC: You also really like the musicians here.

— H.H: Yes, the music scene here is alive and vibrant. There are many very talented young people. Like Brazil, a bit. Catalonia is the Brazil of Europe, in that sense.

What's your best music-related memory? And what's the one memory you'd like to forget?

— SPC: Of good things, I've had many memories, and of bad things, of people you think you'd rather not have met. For me, music is the greatest invention there is. It comes from the tavern, from being able to tell my father what I couldn't tell him, from playing with my mother, or from being able to clear an emotion, and here a thousand memories come into play because so many things happen: from going to sing at the hospital, to prison, to the nursing home, to the psychiatric hospital... Or specific encounters with people. It's my whole life. My memories begin when I was 3 years old, singing. It's my whole life.

— H.H: I thought about my daughter's labor, which lasted a long time. I had the disc in. Come Sunday by Charlie Haden and Hank Jones, but, of course, the labor took a long time. The album ends, and on Spotify, this fucking algorithm starts playing cocktail jazz.

— SPC: To childbirth?

— H.H: Yes, but she grabbed me and I said, "Jenna, our daughter can't be born with cocktail jazz." She wouldn't let go because it's all so intense, but one moment when she left me for a second, I ran to Spotify and put on Keith Jarrett, the album. The melody at night, with you. And Aïda was born with Blame it on my youth. I can never forget this moment Blame it on my youth. I love the song. And "Bad Memory" is a song by Rui Veloso. When I was little, I sang one of his songs at a school festival, and the pitch was so low, so low I couldn't sing... Everyone was looking at me, and I couldn't sing. And I stopped singing for three years!

— SPC: I remembered a bad moment. I had gone to see a boyfriend of mine in New York. I played the sax, and we were going on the subway to play long notes. His friend was a trumpet player. I was 18. And suddenly, a guy dressed in military clothes with an alto sax got off the subway. We were in the spot where he was playing, and then he started fighting me with the sounds. I felt the worst musical argument of my life. I didn't want to fight and ended up crying on the floor.