Leiva: The Paths of the Giant

The real heat has only just begun a few days ago, and the world is moving slowly. It's three minutes past nine at night, and the entrance to the old Wizink ice rink is still blocked.

On the other side of the queue, and after ten minutes of courtesy, a Leiva waits, having just released his best solo album. "Gigante" is very rock-and-roll and catchy, something difficult to achieve, and its lyrics sound like the first warning of a suicide, whose exact date is unknown, but known. Since Pereza's death, Leiva has been determined to transcend, and each album he releases seems better than the last. In this crusade, he has sacrificed his soul, saying "yes" too many times, taking the "second-to-last" one many times, and falling in love with the only one who didn't want him back: it's impossible to explain why, but it shows.

Today, with no twinkle in his eye and a sparkle in his pen, he kicks off his first concert at the Movistar Arena with "Bajo Presión," the first sign of how delicate his style is becoming. There are many nuances, both on the album and live, and the whole thing is an exercise in dynamics that would have been unthinkable years ago.

Next comes "Cuarenta mil," the homegrown version of the love that funk and disco shared in the late 70s. In "Gigante," which gives the wound its title, he takes out a harmonica and the song revolves around a great guitar riff (Zeppelin?), showcasing many different registers in 10 minutes of concert.

It's strange that the audience isn't jumping; there's a guy right here in front of me who seems to be falling asleep, and no one around me is singing. Is this the mass reaction to creative success? Leiva has just released an album that sounds like La Pena would have. Is the creator condemned to always be three steps ahead of critics and audiences?

So, back from everything and less naive than the chronicler, Leiva abandons the new album and begins another concert, the "hits" one, the one implied in the ticket.

The first popular segment features the hard-hitting pop "Lobos," the more predictable but equally effective "Terribilidade Cruel," the cheesy "Superpoderes," and "Sincericidio," one of his best compositions. Despite his young age, Leiva has already mastered multiple registers and, along with an eight-piece band (winds, percussion, drums, guitar, bass, and keyboards), presents a live performance that feels more like a journey through the rock 'n' roll family tree than a mass-produced spectacle.

After another new song, "Cortar por la línea de puntos" (Cutting Along the Dotted Line), and a couple of hits, the big moment of the night arrives. With an acoustic guitar, the Madrid native slows down time and calls for a general cell phone blackout; silence fills the air. Our Quixote from the suburbs, heir to those singer-songwriters who stirred skirts and started brawls, proceeds to transcend with "Vis-a-vis," another song in which he pours his heart out in pursuit of something greater and intangible.

At the end, the silence is broken by the sound of "The Call." Some hips are elegant, others clumsy; some are sensual, and others are herniated like mine. Each one is different, but all move to the rhythm of a broken heart. Watching from my seat, I think, "Is this transcendence?"

Before the encores, "Como lo tiene tú" and "Estrella Polar," hits by Pereza, play. Leiva's backing vocalists grow on Wiz… Movistar and he officially bids farewell, in an atmosphere difficult to describe, with "Lady Madrid."

He returns for the encores and leaves, this time yes, with "Como si fueras a morir mañana" and "Princesas", which already transcended some time ago.

As they leave, as if the sacrifice had worked, a few drops of rain fall on the embarrassed city. Then the sky opens, and the road once again stretches out beneath their feet.