Quevedo lubricates Sant Jordi with sex, longing, spite and reggaeton

BarcelonaPromises of clandestine anal sex. Memories of volcanic desire. Various amorous heroics. Reproaches from the pit of spite and at the same time youthful romanticism. Longing for life before success. And metaphors, just the right amount, in lyrics that, as it says in How disgusting it all is, come from his chest and are more enunciative than rhetorical, although from time to time they propose sufficiently powerful images, as when in Ocean view proclaims "My mind is empty so why would you move?". With these tools and a melodic reggaeton with lubricating effects, Quevedo triumphed this Monday in the first of the two concerts scheduled at the Palau Sant Jordi.

Two years after filling the Sant Jordi Club twice and performing at the Share Festival, the Canarian singer Pedro Luis Domínguez Quevedo returned to Barcelona with the momentum of the album Good night (2024) and the more than thirty million monthly listeners on Spotify. The Quevedo of 2025 maintains the naturalness that makes him unique: a thick vocal register that is not softened by autotune and a way of moving around the stage that is reminiscent of someone undergoing therapy to overcome stage fright. It is as if, on the verge of turning 24, he were still assimilating four years of overwhelming success. In fact, the concert is structured into three blogs that can be interpreted as three chapters in Quevedo's story. And the staging reinforces this idea, somewhere between confessional and narcissistic: a central stage (as Billie Eilish and Roger Waters) who arrives after walking down a red carpet, no musicians in sight (all the music was canned, like the collaborations with Karol G and Aitana), eight dancers accompanying Quevedo without forcing him to do anything and details like four hammocks in English Beach, defensive press conference microphones in Noemú and the romanticism of the duet of a couple of dancers in DawningAs an aesthetic novelty, a hairstyle mullet that hides the nape of the neck.

In keeping with an elegant stage minimalism that doesn't seek impact through accumulation as is the case with other artists, Quevedo punctuates each block with subtle costume changes. He begins dressed in trousers and a jacket, like someone arriving at a party ready to show off. Dressed like this, he sings. Hard, the spite of Chapiadora.com and February 14th, an ode to the fulfillment of a desire nurtured since elementary school and greeted with shouts of "Quevedo, Quevedo!" by an audience that included many people wearing the yellow Las Palmas T-shirt bearing the name of the Canarian singer. "People with aura wear this shirt," said a spectator at the entrance to the Sant Jordi.

It's the Quevedo who marks his territory and who, in the song Fear behind, shows the generational gap between parents and children that explains Oriol Rosell in the book Killing Daddy: Why You Don't Like Reggaeton (And Your Kids Do). The canary only needs two verses: the one that promises to make a way behind and what he says that his parents do not want to hear his name (a step beyond what Loquillo did in The rhythm of the garage when he sang what "Who is that strange boy you are wearing?").

Despite a very improvable sound that soiled his voice, Quevedo established an unbreakable connection with the audience, especially in the songs where melodic reggaeton rules, which is where he really expresses himself with personality. However, he is also capable of hypnotizing Sant Jordi with Lambskin, a sad ballad about an incomprehensible separation (Quevedo's songs talk about what but not why) and the memory of a night of unlimited sex.

The central group, dressed in pleated trousers and a tank top, was the celebration, the translation onto the stage of the whirlwind of success that the Canarian singer has experienced. It is very irregular, however, because there is too much distance between hits unappealable as Wanda and G-spot and both collaborations with fellow Canarian Lucho RK.

The drop in intensity was made up for in the third section. Dressed in a leather jacket that served as a metaphorical refuge, Quevedo considered the contradictions of fame, singing amidst rage and helplessness. How disgusting it all is and Still luvin', melting into longing in Good night (a bit like Rosalía who suffered from the distance that success imposes), hammering the nail of spite into Tuchat (very Maluma, this Quevedo) and giving himself over to the miseries of self-indulgence Equals while Sant Jordi sang "You shouldn't trust me / All men are the same / We just want to ride a McLaren / Money, women and abs / I know it hurts, but, baby, it's the truth". Right after, and without a jacket, he closed the concert with a reduced version of Stay (the session with Bizarrap). In Barcelona, it will have gathered 35,000 people in two shows.