Lluís Llach: “It pissed us off that Serrat sang in Spanish and told us we were closed-off people.”

BarcelonaLluís Llach was 27 years old when he starred in the first major political event in Catalonia after Franco's death: his legendary concerts on January 15, 16, and 17, 1976, at the Palau d'Esports in Barcelona. Half a century later, Llach—now 77—is the second guest in this interview series. 2 x 100Two people talking and 100 readers and subscribers of ARA in the audience. In this conversation, Lluís Llach compares the concerts of January 1976 with October 1, 2017, explains why he got angry with Serrat, and admits that perhaps he himself has already become like Grandpa Siset.

What do you remember about those recitals in January 1976?

— When people talk to me about what they consider to be the greatest recital of my life, which is the one at the Barça stadium, sometimes I don't say it so as not to contradict them, but I always think that the one in January 1976 was very special.

So, for you, those three concerts in January 1976 are more important than the one at Barça's stadium in 1985?

— There was this illusion that the dictatorship was over and that we were about to regain the freedoms we had heard about but had never actually experienced. Then we realized that Franco's death wasn't the end of Francoism. There was a whole range of wonderful hopes that Spanish democracy itself has gradually destroyed.

What emotions did you feel from the stage of the Palau d'Esports?

— Many, many. The truth is that day was very difficult because, in addition, I was witnessing something that had never been seen in this country before. And those were, for example, the first esteladas, the first flags. The flags were brought in by compressing women's breasts or wrapped around prominent bellies. We always wonder who the woman was who wrapped a 25-meter Catalan flag around her waist; she was quite the spectacle.

And on the first day all the politicians were there, back when there were no political parties yet, but also Salvador Espriu or Antoni Tàpies, Xirinacs, Raimon...

— It was, and perhaps that's why it had a special significance, the public presentation of everything that was the anti-Franco movement, the Assemblea de Catalunya, the reorganization of the parties... It was the first time it had been shown in public.

The live album from those concerts, Barcelona, ​​January 1976It's in many homes. My parents and my brother listened to it when I was ten years old, and I was very impressed by those shouts of "Amnesty and freedom," those "Long live Catalonia," your flamboyant way of singing the lyrics... Perhaps it's the first time I think: "Something's going on here."

— It was very special. The most emotional moment, I think, was a song called SilenceIt had been banned, and for the first time, people started singing it. I remember choking and having to stop. I looked at Laura, my beloved guitarist, and she was crying her eyes out. It's unrelated, but I hadn't heard such a powerful empowerment of people until October 1st. The feeling that each and every one of us had the power of others, which is something very important: feeling like part of the people.

You always explain that your first political song wasn't The stake, but My landYou sang: "My land never knows when to go backwards or forwards." Connecting that to your saying that in 1976 everything seemed possible, 50 years have passed...

— We've gone backwards.

You can't say we've gone backwards since '76.

— Those of us who lived through that era had so idealized the future that we thought a real democracy was possible and that we could be, even for Europe, an example of coexistence in a plurinational state. And this hasn't turned out that way. The worst part is that socialism is the one destroying it, which for me is an extraordinary disappointment. That it's Felipe González who's destroying the project of a freer, more democratic, plurinational, confederal Spanish state, or what his platform said when he was a member—I suppose he was, anyway—of "the freedom of the peoples of Spain"..."

This February marks 40 years since you denounced Felipe González for failing to deliver on his campaign promises. You essentially said: you ran for election promising that Spain would leave NATO, and you have failed to do so.

— And the worst part is that the judge accepted it. We were facing a first-rate democratic fraud: we delegated our power through voting, and then they lied to us and contradicted themselves completely. The ruling was studied for years at the Sorbonne University. The judge divided the costs between us, something unheard of because it essentially said: you have a valid legal basis, but I've searched Spanish and European legislation and there's no law that allows me to grant you legal standing. But the persistence of actions like this might eventually lead to a situation where every legal basis corresponds to a valid legal basis. And that's why he ordered us to pay half the costs.

Have you ever had the opportunity to discuss that with Felipe González?

— I've never spoken. When I want to vomit... It's just that of all the politicians, and there are quite a few in Spain. castI think thattricksterHe is the most impressive con artist.

Could someone file a complaint against the 2015 Catalan independence leaders for failing to deliver on their campaign promises? Specifically: they promised to take us out of Spain, but they haven't done so.

— Of course, they already have. They've done it electorally, you know? Besides, all of us who participated in it, I think we engaged in a very intense self-criticism that lasted a long time, despite imprisonment, exile, convictions, and so on. One of the lessons learned after these years is that we must stop beating each other up. It's all well and good, but that way we're not going to get anywhere. Someday we'll have to forgive each other. We'll have to say: I'll never vote for you, I don't know what about the other one, but we can't go on like this. We must continue working together because we have no other way to win.

How would you define the emotional state of the country right now, or at least of that part of the country that wanted to be independent?

— I think he's still processing the disappointment, and at the same time—and I notice this as president of the ANC—it seems to me that we're at a point where many people are starting to make a change. The change of saying: we can't go on like this. We must regroup. We made mistakes, of course. Big ones. And each of us in our own way, right? Everyone has a responsibility. Even the people. Why did we leave on October 3rd? We shouldn't have gone home when they told us to. Why did we believe them? Why did we have too much faith in the politicians? Well, next time, when they say we're going home, we're not going. Do you understand? These are all the advantages we have, and somehow, I hope that the young people will kick all of us who are still around out on the backside.

The last time I interviewed you was far from here: in 2014, in Senegal. You told me you were peacefully retired there, that you wanted a quiet old age, and that's why you'd given up music. The following year, you were the lead candidate for Junts pel Sí in Girona. You really outdid yourself, didn't you!

— Completely, haha. Completely. It was Junqueras and Marta Rovira who told me—I wouldn't say they were meddling, because I was so wholehearted—but yes, yes... A lot of us wholeheartedly pitched in and did what we could. But in 2007 I wanted to retire and I had planned my life to be writing, doing things I'd never done before. Observing, growing old. I find it an incredibly difficult profession. I think it's a daily learning process that enriches you, because accepting decrepitude and moving forward and understanding all of this is an exercise in wisdom.

Why is it that now, to give me the headline, Lluís Llach is suddenly called Grandpa Siset?

— Hahaha, I suppose so, because I still tell the stories I was told. The thing is, I do it here, on days like today, and Grandpa Siset was fishing on the Ter River, with some beautiful trees. But yes, of course, Catalonia is full of old Sisets. There have been old Sisets for 400 years, passing on the torch.

Listen, and with Serrat, what about him?

— With Serrat, what can I say? Sexually, nothing.

No, because we had records by both of them at home, we liked them both, and it seems like they have to make you choose. What happened?

— What happened was that the Sixteen Judges had a mandatory rule of being monolingual. And besides, Serrat is a very likeable person. Let's just say that wasn't my experience, but I know many people who love him dearly. There were people who loved the Sixteen Judges very much. He, for whatever reason, started singing in Spanish, something that gave us all a lot. What angered me most were the explanations. That this way you were bringing the Catalan problem to the world's attention, that he had a point, that they would see there's another language, that too, and that we were all closed off and all that, etc., etc. And I tried to contradict him by singing as best I could and going—now I have to sound pedantic—to France, and to Germany, and to Switzerland, and to everywhere, even the best theaters. Music, song, has that secret: there's rationality in the lyrics and irrationality in the music. Music penetrates you with codes you can't control. So, I think that precisely to defend a language and to popularize it, even in France or anywhere else, melody, music, is a magnificent tool to reach people and make them wonder what it's saying, right? And the fact that we sang in Catalan because we were stuck-up provincials really annoyed me. And we were always arguing about it.

Did it ever come to a personal discussion?

— No, because we were both very clear about it. On the contrary, whenever we saw each other we were always friendly. We met at TV3 marathons, and then he was sick, and I remember we were talking about how he was feeling; he was a bit sweaty. Personal relationships with people are easy. The problem is when we humans become like men, and then there are interests, conflicts, and so on.

Can you imagine if we could have experienced a Serrat-Llach-Raimon concert together, the three of us? It would have been...

— Yeah.

Not one Barça pitch, no; ten, I could have done it!

— Yes, it's true, but no... It's just that everyone was... This is another thing that perhaps we didn't know how to do. We singers didn't collaborate particularly well. When the Sixteen Judges disbanded, precisely because of this, everyone went their own way, respectfully.

Luis, what awaits you around the next bend in the road?

— The truth is, I'd like to achieve my dream of dying peacefully. The thing is, it's also wonderful to kick the bucket while still active and fighting for things. But I have a dream from 2007: to live my old age to the fullest. To try to die serenely, peacefully, accepting my role as a human being, in a world where you are merely a commodity... Our civilization has forced us into a fear of death that is absurd and which I find completely coercive to our freedom to live.

From what you're saying, I understand that this peaceful death is incompatible with presiding over the ANC.

— Presiding over the ANC is like dying of nerves. I can assure you of that. No, but I'd like to write. Look, it's making me talk about the past. I've never thought about the past. That's why, when they suggest celebrations now, I sometimes wonder what they're for.

Well, for the people who have followed you.

— Yes, but if we give these people a role tomorrow, they'll be happy. And what we should try to do is give them the leading role tomorrow and not leave them on the sidelines.