Partying at the Imperator: “For me, it's like a psychologist and a gym combined.”

BarcelonaManel is 82 years old and Maria Àngels is 80. Both are widowed and have been together for eighteen years. They met dancing. On the dance floor at the Imperator, of course. The ritual is repeated every Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday, and the neighbors on Carrer de Còrsega and Passeig de Gràcia witness it with delight. It's a spectacle, a beautiful spectacle. The line in the street, the lively conversation, the jokes, the complicity. They are between 65 and 80 years old and their energy hasn't left them. They share setbacks, absences, health scares, a career already lived, children, grandchildren... Each with their own circumstances and one commonality, a renunciation they are unwilling to make: for all of them, the Imperator is sacred. Manel and Maria Àngels have their gang, and they all sit at the bus stop waiting for the club's doors to open one more day. Maria Josefa (76), Margarita (80), Amanda (76), Manoli (67) and Elena (73). They chat endlessly, joke around, and tell each other about their lives, even though they already know each other's lives by heart. Carles (83) joins the gathering; he lives in Gavà and comes here every day on purpose: "What I like most are the people I meet. I could stay at home, but I love dancing and it's really good for my health." "For me, it's like a psychologist and a gym combined," says Manoli. And Elena: "It's our therapy; no one has sore feet." "We're a loyal group, we joke around a lot, we have a great time. Like a family!" Ah! It's essential to move well, because that way it makes things even more exciting.

It's no secret that the Imperator is a Barcelona institution. A staple of the nightclub scene, it caters to older audiences. "'Third Age?' That's a bit dated, isn't it?" someone suggests. "Outdated and a bit offensive," suggests another. Teresa Cano has been the boss of the business. It was his father, Antonio Cano García, who opened it in November 1983 with his friend and partner Aurelio Moya. Today, four decades later, Teresa is still at the helm and is very proud of having contributed to its growth and to maintaining the unique and beloved personality of a nightclub that is unlike any other and that creates a true addiction among all those who treat it as if it were their home and their trust," Teresa says. The secrets of the Imperator are clear: "Affection and respect." This second is very important. For someone with bad faith, suspicious and mocking glances can be tempting when they see a line of men and women patiently waiting to enter a nightclub. As if the so-called elderly couldn't have a good time, as if prejudices and shattered taboos were blinding us. On the exact border between Eixample and Gràcia, the nightclub has consolidated like no other a festive offering with great personality and a variety of options depending on the day and the audience. Ramón has lived four times there for thirty-seven years and is clear that the landscape and idiosyncrasy of the neighborhood are very well fertilized. for the inimitable spirit of the Imperator: "It gives me a very good feeling, it always has. It's a place full of life and I get the feeling that the neighborhood loves it." "If it wasn't there, they'd have to invent it!" he concludes. The mountain sidewalk of this section of Còrsega Street is a corollary of special establishments that coexist harmoniously and inject authenticity and color. A handful of restaurants, one sex shop, a bingo hall, and the Imperator. The former Convergència headquarters closed a few years ago.

The secret of success

Besides affection and respect, everyone knows there's another secret: music, of course. Rock, country, tango, cha-cha-cha... variety is the key. "Today I want a rock song."What a good rock, eh, Oscar!", La Josefa is very clear. L'Oscar is thirty-five years old that plays music for the Imperator and it's not that it's very clear, it's very clear: "It's the best ballroom in Barcelona." La Maria and Julià are the first day they've come. They are regular clients of the Tango, an altre clàssic Barcelona that They will be arriving indefinitely. They come expressly from Santa Coloma de Farners and they could not wait any longer to taste the musical nectar that so many friends have recommended. It will be the first visit nor of bon tros l'ultima.

Dani is another institution in the room. He has been thirty-three years old and has a very special role, ball professor. Many of the regular parishioners have been advised to see that the initial ball passes and tremoloses are already pure naturalness and a sense of rhythm integrated into the blood and soul. Dani also worked in Tango, Samoa and Marabú, he ran a karaoke in Plaza Espanya and, in the Imperator itself, he sang on the days they had the orchestra. "It's special here, it's hard not to love all these people, it's a joy to see them happy."

"What is it? late?"

Josep Maria and Montserrat have also been coming here for many years. They were separated, and they met here fifteen years ago, dancing. And they got married. "You don't come here to get laid, right? You come here to dance!" she exclaims, convinced. She says this because, again, the damning prejudices, there will be those who think the Imperator is a place where retirees go to cast a line and see if they catch a fish. "No, no!" Wednesday afternoon is the busiest day of the week when it comes to the now-famous concept of late. "What's this?" most people respond. "Oh! Going out dancing in the afternoon? Oh, we've been doing this for years, we don't need anyone to make it fashionable!" Maria's observation is well received; on this dance floor, everyone is a precocious graduate of late, a proposal that in recent years, especially since the pandemic, has multiplied its offering in Barcelona, and numerous nightclubs and party venues rely on it to retain and consolidate old and new audiences. The music vintage, the classics of a lifetime, are safe bets and rising values among age groups orbiting the concept boomer.

Amanda has three children and eight grandchildren and tries not to miss a single dance evening. She separated thirty years ago and immediately started coming to the Imperator. It's a sweet routine that is an important part of her life. Like her bandmates, she would find it hard to give it up. Here, everyone has had different lives, but at the same time, everyone explains more or less the same thing, which is a joy when the time comes to move and travel there. It's quite a spectacle to approach the dance floor and discreetly watch them dance. Manel and Maria Àngels are in the middle of a master class, happy, letting themselves be carried away by the lively chords of a mix of pasodobles and then by the rhythm of Camilo.

Although she's been dancing all her life, she hasn't been coming to the Fulgencio for a very long time, six or seven years. "I was widowed and didn't want to get depressed. Instead of going to the doctor, I went to the dance." He's very clear that this is his best medicine, an unbeatable therapy, a mental and physical exercise that keeps him fit and his worries at bay: "If people knew it worked so well, they'd dance more, doctors would recommend it, and we'd surely live longer." When a few years ago some politicians were selling us sales pitches, assuring us that state structures needed to be consolidated, they probably didn't know that the Imperator's loyal fans have long boasted of having conquered a state structure as rocky as an unshakeable menhir.