Albert Pla: "If they look for me to shit on the king, I'm no longer going to the talk shows"

BarcelonaThe musician and creator Albert Pla (Sabadell, 1966) is now acting as presenter of Sala 30, a new program from Canal 33 in which he meets with artists who have at some point been linked to the MACBA. A new format from 3Cat that aims, among other things, to celebrate the museum's 30th anniversary.

On social media, you joked that you had been commissioned for this program "by mistake". How did it come about?

— I don't know: this is El Terrat's doing. It was their initiative. They proposed it to me and I found it interesting.

Did you know you were interested in contemporary art?

— As far as I know, no. And I didn't really understand much about contemporary art. I still don't, but a little more, because it was an opportunity to learn.

With the guests you were seen well speaking their language, then.

— We were trying...!

The program celebrates the MACBA's 30 years through conversations with artists, but it is not recorded in a museum, but in a farmhouse. Was it your idea, to chat there listening to the little birds while eating fuet to desacralize art?

— It was also El Terrat's idea to take it out of there. I don't know if Tarradellas sponsored it or what! [laughs]

There was salami and, also, many flies.

— Well, life in the countryside, you know.

Do you go to museums a lot?

— Not much. I had known about the Macba and I have been to some of the museums, but it's not my hobby.

You pose some of the eternal questions about art to the guests. I would like to know what you think about it. For example, you ask Manolo Laguillo: if there were no audience, would we continue to make art? What do you answer yourself?

— At this point, I don't know anymore. When I started, I did things without an audience, out of pure vital necessity. And now... I continue to do them out of vital necessity. Over the years, I do them because I know it's my craft and because I can't help but produce them. In fact, it's the most fun part of the whole process, more than showing it later or receiving inputs. I like that moment when you can't help but start doing something that yesterday you didn't know you would find inside your head.

After talking to about thirty artists, have they contributed anything to your way of seeing art?

— I have learned a lot and yes, I have reconciled myself a little with art.

Reconcile in what sense?

— In the world of musicals, theater, or cinema, there is a professional inertia that leads you to do more things, but, on the other hand, most artists I've met doing the show have a much more interesting point of view than any singer or actor I've met, and yet, they don't do it for money. Precariousness in the art world is like this, and almost all of them do other jobs. And they do art for the same reason as me: because they can't help it. It's the insistence on bringing out this inner world, and in the show, it's very clear that each person has taken a very personal journey. This is what I believe is interesting about art. That when someone opines, and I'm not just saying this in art, at least they give you an interesting, surprising point of view, or one you'd never considered before.

Can everyone be an artist?

— I don't know... I know good musicians, good singers, good actors... but few artists.

Do you consider yourself an artist?

— I am not, I am a comedian.

Why is a comedian not an artist?

— I am a person who does silly things: I set up a circus one day in a city and then I leave.

But you have a very prominent personal vision. 

— Yes, but I don't consider it art.

What would it need to be art?

— Another person, who wasn't me.

And could you make art without being an artist?

— I don't know. It's about dwelling on the word "art" or the word "culture"... Each person understands it as they wish, you know? One of the artists I spoke with told me: "Why talk, if others understand whatever they want?"

The guests come from many different disciplines, but are often united by a phobia of labels. And I would say that this also unites you.

— I understand that journalists do it. Or I myself. When I see something, I immediately give it a name, a label, but that has nothing to do with who does it, in reality. So, when they call me a singer-songwriter, artist, asshole, or genius... I remain very indifferent.

Is there any of these that you identify more with, for that reason?

— Comedian.

You also speak to Laguillo about the martyr artist and ask him if one has to suffer to be an artist. What do you think?

— There are many people who have managed to make art out of their suffering. But there are also people who use love or happiness. Expiation always does good.

With Pilar Aymerich, on the other hand, you talk about struggle. And about whether art can change the world. Can it?

— I think so, of course. It's not that I can change it, it's that he has changed it. He always changes it.

And has it changed for the better?

— Ah, I don't know that anymore: it has changed where humanity is going. Artists come before scientists. Before the scientist invents a rocket, there is always some artist, before, who thinks about going to the Moon.

In the chapters there are snippets that explain the language of each creator and then it is much easier to understand the work. But there is the danger of losing virginity in the gaze. What do you think of this dilemma?

— As a spectator, there is a lot of ignorance within the world of contemporary art, starting with myself. If I see a chair, I see a chair. Either they explain it to me or I know the girl who made it and her intention... or I can't help but see just a chair. However, I think this is my own failing. We have been educated very well to listen to songs and watch Netflix movies, but not in art.

With the program have you tried to break this a bit?

— No, I have no merit. If anything, El Terrat. All I have done is enjoy myself, because I had to study the artists and I tried to enter each of the worlds that were presented to me and, holy cow, it has been a luxury for me. A learning experience and a huge luxury. lujasso. 

With Antoni Abad, in fact, you pose the question of how an artist looks at the world. How do you look at it?

— I do like everyone else! I think the things I think are very good and the things others think... pfff!

Don't you feel eccentric?

— Home, in the end you move in your circles and you look for the company of those to whom you don't seem eccentric. And you make a small bubble inside other bubbles, as there are thousands in the world.

Who did you seem very comfortable talking to was Joan Fontcoberta. Did you know each other?

— No, we didn't know each other, but I really like what he does.

Play a lot with deception. And you, as a comedian, that surely excites you. 

— Yes, I really like what he does with his fakes .

In fact, before succeeding as a singer, you already managed to get into the media, by slipping a hoax to the Sabadell newspaper. They interviewed you because you made them believe you had been in the Ceis sect.

— I really like mockumentaries. In fact, it is one of my artistic failures: I have made five or six, but I haven't managed to get any of them through. I like to invent stories that could have been true.

How would you define your relationship with the media?

— I try to do the minimum interviews. I know that, sometimes, a sentence said in an interview takes up much more space than a song. You can do 80 concerts without anyone saying anything and then you say a silly sentence and you are forever known as the one who said that sentence. And the truth is, with this thing about sentences, I prefer to choose them myself, even though I'm already used to it.

You have a reputation, especially on television, for having put some presenters through a difficult time. 

— Well, sometimes interviews work more this way than the other, don't they? They are accidents that happen.

But do you like creating these uncomfortable moments for these moments to arise?

— No, I don't like feeling uncomfortable! I just think: if I'm uncomfortable, then you should be too.

You have done many segments on radio and television. What do you think they look for when the media hire you?

— It depends. I told Xavi Bundó that I would talk about history and I think we did a great section, although I couldn't continue it because it was an excessive workload. It has been one of my favorite jobs. Like the section I did on the Bourbons with Laura Rosel: this ability to spend days and days talking about the country's history through the kings...

And do you get offers as a pundit?

— Ah, I see where you're going! If they're looking for me to curse the king, I'm not going anymore, to the talk shows. If they want to curse the kings, they'll curse them themselves. Don't bring me into it.

Do you think you've ever been used to say what they can't say?

— Home, I have declined many invitations of this type. Yes, yes.

Do you self-censor on the radio or television? The feeling, from the outside, is that you don't. And that this is your conquest.

— Let's see, these controversies always happen more with social issues, right? But social issues, the truth is, have never interested me. When I give my opinion on this, there's a big uproar precisely because I'm not interested. But I see that there are indeed many people who are interested in them and are affected by the opinions of others or of a third-rate celebrity. I already try to avoid it as much as possible, but, of course, sometimes they ask you...

Are there other television formats you would like to present? 

— Because, at first glance, I wouldn't want to do any show, any movie, or any TV program. What's really cool about this job is precisely that you never know what they'll propose to you tomorrow or in three months. Doing an animal show like Natura sàvia I really liked. Or a segment I did on artificial intelligence, but they shut down the program. Otherwise, I would have loved to keep studying it, it's a topic that interests me. Now it seems I'll do one about myths and legends of Catalonia. This new one, is it called La 2 Cat?

Yes, that's what they call it. So, you let them propose things to you, rather than going to look for them yourself.

— I don't go looking for anyone, ever. I do my own things and have a good time. But I also like it when things are proposed to me, like the show I did with Peyu and entering into someone else's universes. Or when I went with Pascal Comelade, or with Tortell Poltrona. I like working with someone who tells me very clearly what they are doing and what they want me to do. And if I like it, I admire the person doing it and I have time... go ahead. In the end, I don't have anything else to do.

Talking about Hamlet. You and Peyu will have filled the Coliseum for three months with a comedy show in Catalan. That's no small feat. Do you think it gets enough recognition?

— I don't give a damn. 60,000 or more people have come, I've stopped counting them already and now in Manresa we'll do a double show and we're going somewhere else: this is the success of the theatre. It doesn't matter if they don't find out in Madrid. But, damn, it's amazing that suddenly there's this reception.

I wasn't thinking so much about Madrid, but about the theatre establishment. Sometimes it seems that comedy shows are seen as lesser.

— Oh, no. I think it's in serious theater, which is doing poorly. And I think it would be great if people went to see more dramas and more plays in Catalan, because there are some great ones and they have a harder time.

We've talked about your place in the media. But, what about as a consumer?

— I just don't know anything, really. I never watch TV, I never read the press, I never listen to the radio... at most football, Peyu and En Guàrdia. Only when I go on gigs do I then meet people from the city who talk to you about Trump and some damn minister you don't quite know, but I have no interest in it.

And where does your comedy stem from, then? Often, the comedian holds up a mirror to society so it can see itself reflected, more or less distorted. If the media calls you, it's because what you say resonates.

— No, no. I opine about things I have no damn idea about. They tell me: "Ábalos!" And I think, shit, I've already skipped this guy! I mean, I don't know who the Minister of the Interior was the first time I kissed a girl, and I don't think you do either. So look at the importance of that.

Is there any moment you say: I would say this now, but I'd better stop.

— When I go to the media, I don't intend to say anything. And when I do something, I try to censor myself. A song is already an exercise in censorship always, in itself: it is choosing the verses, the acts. Another thing is the themes, of course, and here I try not to repeat myself.

What topics interest you the most, creatively speaking?

— Ugh, a thousand things. We've been recording the album and there are 12 or 15 songs. Well: each one is a different mess and there's no specific intention. Each one starts from a different thought, or from a different place.

“One dead policeman, one less policeman”. Would you write that again today?

— No, but because I've already done it. I don't know anymore how many police officers I've killed, throughout my career! It's not that I'm censoring myself, it's that I no longer have any interest in talking about it. Other things come up.