"The kids of Today Should Defend Themselves Against the 70's / It's not reality / It's just someone else sentimentality / It Will not work for you "(Mike Watts)
A few days Night of Nostalgia , radios buses have changed their programming to all Montevideo songs associated with the most personal, and somewhat pathetic, their celebrations. Created by one of the most prominent DJs of the dictatorship, the Night of Nostalgia has the strange peculiarity of not responding to general nostalgia models or appropriate for every generation, but of being left-usually-fossilized in a particular musical moment.
The Night of Nostalgia was created during the golden age of the Disc-Jockey-a different species to the DJ-as Lulo, Rupenián Berch, Henry Mullins and Lecueder Paul, the man who invented in 1978, and in some ways has its axis in the music aesthetic that they spent at that time, I do not know what was going Lecueder in the first of these parties, "that is basically disco and pop from the decade of the 70. It was the military dictatorship, and these DJs had taken the musical vacuum produced by a ban on nearly all important local artists, and cultural isolation of the musical processes of importance abroad. It would be unfair to award them the role of cultural rams these disc-jockeys, as the trend was global, but it is impossible to ignore them musical background, perhaps unwittingly, the party that somehow sound and joy hid the horror or ostracism they were reduced national culture. It is also impossible to ignore the general bad taste of what can be considered as a musical subgenre: the themes of the Night of Nostalgia.
In an interview he did recently in Freeway, the director Álvaro Brechner clearly outlining what I think about the Night of Nostalgia, by discussing some features of the film Evil day for fishing. He said: " That has a lot to do with nostalgia, with that awful thing in Uruguay have something like so marked but that is a sentiment that can not come to no good. The Night of Nostalgia, by putting a paradigm, the thing that depresses me most of Uruguay (...) Recently I heard where it comes from the word nostalgia: from "nosteo" and "Haggai". There are two meanings: return home and pain is the idea of \u200b\u200breturning to live the past with pain, wound back to the past. That's something that I find it tragic, because it prevents quite moving: What fantasies are going to have if you live in nostalgia? On the other hand is a feeling terribly powerful, which is difficult discard.
I'm not a nostalgic, really do not spend even one hour a week evoking moments stronger, more intense or more young people from my past. I'm not unhappy with my present and for having to get into a Autistic time machine and try to play like that and I'm not I'll never be again. Much less like I was not. But I have nostalgia? Sure. Many, and I built on them.
I have nostalgia for the rickety pier 24 and stop commands become my cousins, shooting with machine guns invisible among the wooden pillars.
I have nostalgia of going to the movies with my partner class with the wanted out, that space of possibilities before the preferred date another, as he did.
I have nostalgia for the white first snow of Chicago, and not having the slightest idea what he was doing there.
I have nostalgia for the beating that we gave to rugby when he decided that Frederick was too short and he deserved a punch to speak with a girl so pretty.
I have nostalgia for Silvio Rodriguez singing on planes to the most profound and reverent silence that has given a crowd.
I have nostalgia for the range of seagulls flying off at the first sunshine in the rocky headland of Cabo Polonio.
I have nostalgia for P. used my arm as a pillow on the train to Martinez and fell asleep.
I have nostalgia for the last night before he won the vote yellow, when none of us believed in spite of the surveys were living in a place so horrible.
open I have nostalgia about ombú Luis de la Torre, when architects had not surrounded by ugly buildings. I have nostalgia for bicycles and dogs of Pocitos, when they had not been hit by marbuntas modern car.
I have nostalgia for when I did not understand "Desolation Row", but I knew exactly what he was saying.
I have nostalgia for that unknown blonde who separated me from the dreaded trail of a quince, which revolved around shyly and kissed me tongue. I have nostalgia for their boobs, let me touch over her black dress.
I have nostalgia for falling off a stool in an Irish pub in Brooklyn, listening to "If I Should Fall From Grace of God", and the Polish beauty Michelle, who fell from his elegantly minutes later and made me feel better.
I have nostalgia of my T-shirt Dead Kennedys hand painted.
I have nostalgia of Mike Tyson biting Evander Holyfield's ear, as he encouraged them yelling at the TV between the tables of Periplus.
I have nostalgia for launch into skate down the slope of 26 March.
I have nostalgia for the silhouette of Florence in a bathing suit in a pool between the mountains of Córdoba, and my classmates finally acknowledged that he was right and that there was no other in high school that was so strong.
nostalgia I have to go on stage without having the slightest idea what he was doing, with appliances on teeth and completely sober.
know I have nostalgia for the Panama in a bar in Los Botes, while both were trying to get up at M. and looked at us suspiciously. I have nostalgia for how to get drunk, dying of laughter when the bitch was left with a surfer, and become instant friends and colleagues of frustration.
I have nostalgia to win the pool.
I have nostalgia for wooden raft in the middle of Iporá artificial lake, and losing countless matches colossal trick to local opponents.
I have nostalgia of my aunt swearing like a trucker to motorists to be crossed by Roosevelt, and telling me not to repeat those words in front of my grandmother or my mother.
I have nostalgia of watching a group of children throwing in the dunes of a Mediterranean island in the film Kaos, while I was comfortable in the uncomfortable seats Cinemateca Pocitos, convinced of seeing the perfect staging of all my dreams .
I have nostalgia for almost all the women he was.
propolis I have nostalgia about my terrible sunburn in La Paloma, refreshing hand, spending days without food between surfboards, without a handle or any concern. I have nostalgia of sitting with Denise, totally exhausted and half-asleep in a bowling alley and starts to sound "Sympathy for the Devil." I have nostalgia for it to rise in spite of fatigue and saying, "we have to dance the song of the devil."
nostalgia I have to sleep in my arms to my nephew, listening to "Andalusia" by Yo La I have.
I have nostalgia for drinking beer on the lawn of Villa Biarritz, examining underground magazines and planning to destroy the aesthetics of Montevideo.
I have nostalgia for the Zitarrosa voice as only sound in the vast supernatural evening in a field Tacuarembo.
I have nostalgia for a nap.
I have nostalgia of listening to REM in freshwater, and suspect that perhaps I had broken the Third World War. But we did not care because we were good, does not it?
exaggerated accent I have nostalgia Denise Buenos Aires and Belgrano walk long blocks to drink better wine, penguin, you've made in my life.
I have nostalgia for my last birthday, just a few months ago. I have nostalgia to find the next day happy and messages scrawled drawings on paper by my friends, under the Magnet my refrigerator.
I have nostalgia for the couples dancing lambada in the afternoon on the beach of Arraial D'Ajuda, slowly, like fucking with infinite tenderness, the sound of "Walking down the street" from the Gypsy Kings.
I have nostalgia of seeing a burning house on the night of Punta del Diablo. I have nostalgia for when there was nothing to do at the spa.
I have nostalgia for the spell created by a Japanese playing the Ave Maria with an electric harmonica in one of the subway stops from Park Avenue.
long I have nostalgia for smoking joints in Parque del Plata and then empty a loquat tree, unexpectedly turned into the most delicious of fruits.
I have nostalgia of sitting alone at a table in La Ronda, returning from a concert in tribute to a dead friend, and first heard Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt", feeling that every word and every note I passed through small holes as pure emotion.
I have nostalgia for the cicadas.
nostalgia I have someone translate "Kentucky Avenue" while listening, and her weeping before the astonishing evidence that there is such a sad song.
I have nostalgia for the ominous gloomy Jail Punta Carretas, obscuring the neighborhood like a monster's castle. I have nostalgia for the arms that waved from behind bars.
Darn I have nostalgia for receiving as the gentleman who was my companion to the concert for which he had given me two tickets.
nostalgia I have read Tropic of Cancer thinking it was a porn book and realize that I was not alone.
nostalgia I have to go see The Wall with my mother, because the film was not suitable for children under 18 years, and I was far from that age or similar form. I have nostalgia for his joy went out, glad I could share something, even a movie anti-mothers, teen and volunteer your touch.
I have nostalgia to find P., radiant and still single, on the beach in Punta Rubia. I have nostalgia for the overnight trip with Jorge oscillating along the beach to La Pedrera, falling into wells in the sand, fully fitted and could not stop laughing. I have nostalgia to return to find something drunk at the closing ceremony of a restaurant, and getting rid of its many suitors, grant us your company and your amazing grace.
I have nostalgia for my rituals of silence in the church of Gonzalo Ramírez, to be there thinking first time in a long time in the right way, with a prayer on my lips dedicated to a God who does not think so, but whose liturgy seems to appease some parts of my brain and my chest.
I have nostalgia of my dog's big head peering down from the bend of the staircase, and the noise it made its tail hitting the wall when he recognized it was me.
I have nostalgia for the fear of walking the night streets of Nazareth, with a supposed guide that took us into a trap. I have nostalgia for the perfect ass Simone, half hidden by her long brown hair, moving to the rhythm of the sensuous clay drums ilyë Aye.
I have nostalgia for when you were the measure of all things.
All these belong to a world nostalgia extra-territorial and extra-temporal, impossible to define an aesthetic, a certain date. Are Proustian madeleines memories of my heritage and I am happy to be with me, never occur to me to try to revive any of them staged or returning to the same place to repeat, something that any sensible person knows that is both impossible and rejuvenate. None of those moments have to do with the dance floor with balloons mirrors, Boney M., with nostalgia mimetic of other lives that are not mine, and some have happened in Uruguay is totally irrelevant. I am aware that the Night of Nostalgia, fed in batches of new generations, has been changing, and today begins to look more like what Halloween in Manhattan is a good excuse to dress up and drink like a Cossack, or what would be a carnival in which there had erected a wall between participating and observing. And any excuse to have fun, say a guy getting a piercing in the head.
But I do not go out Nights of Nostalgia, did not evoke any of my worlds or what seems to me vital and fun. I do not cooperate with imitation curriculum of joy or the location of it in the past. And I go to drink the days when it comes to the palomaje that contains the rest of the year. Fuck You and the Horse You Rode On .
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