The Amaya

Delfín Amaya has died, a member of the duo Los Amaya, the two brothers who came from Oviedo to Barcelona and revolutionized Catalan rumba, creating a unique and claimable style. The authors of Vete.

If I speak of them today, it is because my generation grew up with those compilation cassettes called Gran premier. They came out once a year (and had the year's name in the title) and contained international hits, mixed with some Spanish hits. For example, in Gran premier 80, which I owned, there was In the navy, by Village People, or Un mundo de hombres niños, by Demis Roussos. There was Shake your groove thing, by Peaches & Herb, which radio announcers translated as “move your soft things”. Some song titles, like this one, were left in the original language. Others were not. In that Gran premier 80 there were two artists who have recently died, and who have been important to all of us. One is Los Amaya, who sang Decirle a ella que vuelva on that compilation. The other is Bonnie Tyler, who sang Married men. They didn't translate that one. I listened to music like this and also Esquirols and Ovidi and Serrat's Res no és mesquí, what a great album, which I think La Caixa was giving away.

Los Amaya, who were family of the great Carmen Amaya, created a style of music linked to Catalonia and Barcelona, like Peret, like El Pescaílla, giving it a modern flair or –as we call it now– fusion. When I heard the cassette, those melancholic voices carried me away. Decirle a ella que vuelva. I didn't fully understand if they meant Digueu-li, colloquially, or Dir-li. They sang it without much enthusiasm, a bit like Junco with Bella sin alma, which was also in Barcelona, and that was utterly fascinating. I would give anything now for that cassette, and for that ceremonial way of listening to music, when cassettes were advertised on TV and given away for Christmas, so many years ago. Los Amaya, how good they were.