Andreu Buenafuente: “I, in Madrid, have never fully adapted.”

BarcelonaAndreu Buenafuente (Reus, 1965) is experiencing a sweet moment personally –with his partner, Sílvia Abril, and a 12-year-old daughter, Joana– and also professionally, with the Nobody knows anything on the radio with Berto Romero, and with Imperfect future, his weekly show on Spanish Television. He just turned 60 and is already thirty years into a media career that has made him one of the most popular, influential, and beloved figures in Catalonia, something he especially appreciated when he returned to live in Barcelona in 2022, after six years in Madrid.

What's the last question you asked ChatGPT?

— The last thing I asked for—we were traveling at the time—was a picture of Christopher Columbus in his underwear, and my daughter said, "Dad, you're immature." She always tells me this. But I rarely go into it; I just look at it from a distance.

The last thing I asked him was to ask me a question for Andreu Buenafuente that included the word lastAnd he asked me this: When was the last time you felt like what you did had a real impact on someone?

— Just yesterday, I swear. A colleague from SER, Mara Torres, who does a late-night program [The lighthouse], sent me a fragment in which a Spanish cybersecurity expert who worked 12 hours a day for Kamala Harris's campaign explained that listening to the Nobody knows anything on car journeys across the United States.

In your X bio, you have a quote from a woman you ran into on the street: "I'm a big fan of yours, but I can't remember your name right now." What's the last episode of that kind you've experienced?

— This is very good because it's like a constant vaccination against the potential stupidity that can come with the public recognition we have. I think at my age that risk no longer exists. We're simply professionals who are seen by more people. One of these things happens to me every day. The other day I was in Gràcia, sitting on a bench with my dog, and a man who I could see was looking for a joke walked by and said, "Tell the dog a joke."

What has it been like to return to Catalonia in recent years?

— Oh, oh, oh, so many beautiful things. When I returned in 2022, I felt like I was falling in love again, especially with the city of Barcelona. We were away for six years, six years that weren't exactly easy: the Independence, Real Madrid won three Champions Leagues, a pandemic... I left wanting to broaden my horizons, to work in another city, because I'd already been working in Barcelona for thirty years. The first few months of returning were thrilling. Recognizing the landscape again, that café I like... You know when you're with a girl you really like? It was very beautiful and made me realize that sometimes, out of tiredness or the wear and tear of life, we despise the place we live in.

Is the change from coming from Reus to work in Barcelona comparable to leaving Barcelona and going to Madrid?

— Of course, I came to Barcelona when I was 25. I arrived in September 1992 to a euphoric city, which had just hosted the Olympic Games. It would be the only time Catalonia was universally happy. Everyone agreed that everything was going very well. It didn't last long, right? Around 1993, we started thinking about how we would pay for all this. Madrid is a different era. I never fully adapted to Madrid. It's a city to visit when you're young, electric, chaotic, always going out of your way, and I was 50 years old and already had a daily program.

In Catalonia, you're a very popular, beloved, and versatile figure. You're also well-known in Spain; you've worked in Spanish for many years, but I get the feeling you're more of a cult figure there, and more of a mainstream audience here.

— It could be; you never know how they categorize you. In Catalonia, we had a very important ten-year founding period, and I'm part of people's almost sentimental memories. It's very beautiful. I don't want to seem affected, but it's really very moving. I notice it and enjoy it every day. In Spain, it's different. They see me as "the Catalan," but I don't fit very well with the Catalan model either, which I don't know what it is. Now, for example, we're having a very good reception on Spanish public television, and I haven't tired of repeating that I connect the two fields: my time on Catalan public television with Spanish public television. I'm on public television doing what I want, without editorial control of any kind: otherwise, I wouldn't have done it. And it reminds me of many feelings I had in Catalonia.

Do you remember the last day of any of your programs that was particularly brilliant or particularly painful?

— I have a very good memory. I think it's because I really like what I do. I remember the last program of Leitmotif. Let me explain it quickly: The Terrat Radio, which is the best project I've ever had in my life, was born in Ràdio Reus, in the 90s. And it was born because I saw a film called Get off at the Moor, which happens on some rooftops. Well, the last program of Leitmotif We did it from the two rooftops where the film was shot. It was nice to close out that era in Madrid, but without forgetting where it all began.

Of the programs you've done, which is the last one you would return to?

— I've been lucky, Alberto, to always do what I wanted. I've pitched programs. I never get offers. Only Antena 3 did. I go and usually they buy it. Sometimes, they don't, eh! So, everything I've done was my own doing.

Why your last program, Imperfect future, do you do it on Spanish Television and not on TV3?

— I think the current moment is terrifyingly interesting. It's terrible because of the tension at the national, state, and global levels. I thought: "Maybe, Andreu, as a comedian, now that you're 60 years old and have a good team, you should explain that." It's true that it's a pretty powerful production, but doing it weekly makes it expensive, and on TV3 it was hard to get there... I don't think about whether I'll leave places or come back. I feel like I'm a bit of a part of everywhere, and that when I have something to do in Catalan, if the TV wants it, I'll do it here. I'm not from anywhere; I'm from my show.

What you've done for the last three years, the New Year's Eve program on TV3, will you also do it in 2025?

— Yes, if I can, yes. I'd like to do it. I don't know if I'll have the time, but I'd like to. In the last one we did, at the Teatre Victòria, there was an extraordinary rapport with the audience. If I do TV, I only want to do this, I thought.

For better or worse, what's the last thing you've noticed about turning 60?

— Wow, you've touched on a delicate subject. Maybe I'm in that 30- or 40-year-old's energy, but I take care of my diet and exercise. At 40, I didn't take care of myself at all. I was a little scared. I'd watch myself on TV and think, "You look awful, dude." For me, the most important thing is being with my daughter. I didn't think I'd ever say this. First, because I didn't have children and because work was a crazy attraction.

Would you like your daughter to be an artist or is that the last thing you would wish for her?

— I'd like her to be one. I'd be thrilled, but obviously she has to do what she wants. The other day she told me she'd like to be an actress, but since she sees it's very difficult, she says, "You know what? I'll study something else and do theater on the side." It's a profession with 70% unemployment. There are so many people out of work.

I was telling you this about age because I don't know if you're more concerned about the physical aspect or having an old-age mentality.

— Berto told me this when I turned 60: "You have to do like Clint Eastwood: don't let the old man in." When you wake up in the morning and everything hurts, there's an old man at your side, about to possess you, telling you to nullify everything, to rest. A reactionary old man can also come in. There are people who get older and become a bit fascist. "They come from outside, they take our jobs, Barcelona isn't what it used to be." This is also an old man coming in.

What are you doing lately?

— Ugh, I draw a lot, I'm a little disturbed. My daughter said to me the other day, "Dad, you're going to get artistically insane." I really liked the concept. It all started because I was bored in meetings. It's a way for me to express myself. I carry notebooks and papers all day long. It's pure improvisation. My wife tells me it's my way of relaxing, like mental yoga. And she's not wrong.

This past week, we've talked a lot about the Ebro fire and the treatment of the regions in southern Catalonia. You're from the south too...

— That south is more south than my south. In Reus, we also received criticism from the regions further south, the famous fifth province, as they called it. Although I love Barcelona very much, I've never lost the awareness of being from outside of Barcelona. And when I move around outside, I feel at home. Now I'm often in Manresa, Súria... We have a project to rehabilitate a farmhouse there. There's a neglected Catalonia that makes me suffer, and I'm a comedian; I don't really know how to take care of it. We have an amazing natural heritage. What's missing: money? Well, let's put it there. Policies? Let's make them.

Good things have also happened in this last year: Lamine Yamal.

— I'm excited. Once again, how life exceeds all expectations.

She's turning 18 now, and I think she's already planning a party in Ibiza. Are you going to Ibiza too?

— Why do you want me to go to Ibiza? The other day I was talking to my wife: "Do you realize that life has been really good for us, that we've accessed worlds we wouldn't have imagined, but we're never from those worlds?" We haven't joined any celebrity social circles, neither here nor in Madrid. We've got nothing to lose in Ibiza. We'd rather be in Manresa eating two fried eggs. Wow, by the way, I ran into Lamine Yamal at the last Gamper, on a program they were doing on the Barça channel, and we chatted for a moment. It occurred to me to say: "My mother-in-law is from Rocafonda." Then the guy, with that imposing face, looks at me and says: "Which street?" And I say: "I don't know." They have a lot of personality.

And we're not used to these expansive personalities like Lamine Yamal's, and now we're already suffering.

— Yes, this is very Catalan. We have an impulse, which I find cool, to take care of what we have. I remember when my Catalan stage ended and my Spanish one began, meeting women in the street who crossed themselves. I swear. People who told me: "They won't understand you." It was the face of suffering. And this is what's happening to us now with Lamine, also justified. He's in a spiral of success and media... These vacations he's taken haven't reassured me: Neymar, Ibiza, yachts... But he has to go through this, the boy.

The last two are the same for everyone. A song you've been listening to lately.

— Look, we have done a very nice project with Litus called All the songs in the world. I've been the producer and he's allowed me to choose versions of songs. I'm very excited about how he does it. Particular love, from Llach.

The last words before the holidays are yours.

— Last words... There are books that compile the last words of famous people. One of my favorites is that of Paris Hilton's grandfather, a multimillionaire businessman. He raises his hand, makes a sign, the whole family comes around, and says: "The shower curtain goes inside the bathtub, not outside." He just said that and died. Joking aside, let me congratulate the newspaper. I think it has a very cool project, you're doing very well, and you're already part of the journalistic landscape. Happy summer, everyone!