I attended the party of the 80 perpetrated this September 1 at the Luz de Gas, Barcelona's temple of the night, as a closure of the August feasts and exaltation of the rentrée, an exciting concept that causes hives to more than one.
The parties of the 80s are a classic of the peninsular nights and only some youngster can question their public utility, although –things as they are– I do not remember in the 80s any party of socio-musical exaltation of the 40s.
The room registered a great entrance although there will always be a misconceived person who attributes it to the avalanche of grandfathers and grandmothers affected by August, the grandchildren and the second residence, among whom were notable divorced men and women from Barcelona who wanted to move the skeleton (terrifying expression of the 80s).
To make matters worse, the party had fine print: “Flower power. Bring a hippy detail”. If I had known, I would have invited a cousin from Valladolid who became a hippy and escaped to Kathmandu for a week with a man from Bilbao, although gossips maintained that the initiatory trip was not to Kathmandu, but to Palma de Mallorca and on full board .
Unfortunately, the male attendees understood by hippy detail to wear the white shirt on the outside, a stylistic atrocity that hides the belly and highlights the vital pachorra. They, on the other hand, wore creepy brunettes, floral decorations and even ribbons on their foreheads, between Ibiza and a tribute to the McEnroe-Borg.
And, speaking of sports, it is worth regretting two missteps on the access stairs to the dance floor worthy of a KO in the Grand Price. As the reader will imagine, the victims reacted as is usually done in these cases: what a funny blow I just hit!
The party was a success due to the musical power of the decade, although I missed the criminal wink of playing Los pajaritos and Amparito Roca –not to be confused with Gallito– of the Platería Orchestra, joy of the Barcelona orchard. In short: we of the 80s are not finished.
We are happily finished!
