They had finally achieved it. They lived off music, it was their job. There was no longer a need to complement recordings, rehearsals, trips, concerts, with something that would make it possible to earn a salary. A group of eleven friends from Gandía (Valencia) had achieved the impossible: that their songs – conceived from a self-managed project – reached every corner of Spain. That anyone knew them, that their gigs were packed, that Valencian rock set venues and festivals on fire in its wake. And then, at the height of their career, they said goodbye.
Today, almost six years after that break, La Raíz is preparing to give the second concert since their separation, and three of its members receive elDiario.es in the hours before the show in the dressing rooms of the Wizink Center in Madrid. They are Pablo Sánchez, his ‘frontman’; Julio Maloa and José Carlos García – nicknamed Sen-K -, vocalists. They wear dark street clothes, rehearsal clothes, and settle into black faux leather armchairs around a low table. At times they relax, they smile. At times, the tension can almost be palpable in the atmosphere.
“I have been asked so many times why we have returned and people have given so much opinion about our reasons that, why am I going to say anything? I already told it in a podcast,” says Sánchez, who will take the lead for most of it. of the conversation, reluctant to dive into a first question that he will not have stopped answering since they broke the silence in February, provoking a flurry of reactions on their social networks.
Afterwards, he will soften the gesture and say that they never completely disconnected, that they have been life partners for more than 20 years. That, although their paths separated, they were friends and he thought that at some point they would play together again. “From time to time we meet up for lunch and, in one of those moments of intimacy, the idea of returning with La Raíz on a year-long tour began to mature and, the other day, -November 22, 2024- we gave a first concert that had been in the works since March 2023,” he explains.
17,000 spectators
That November 22nd, still close, was almost a test for the band. “We didn’t know how we were going to experience it,” says Maloa. And he adds, “it was a disaster that we are still processing.” “Emotional!”, his companions interrupt with laughter. They also brought together 17,000 people at the WiZink Center in a concert whose tickets sold out within 30 minutes of going on sale.
“There was a certain energy, a certain mystique in the atmosphere. It was like some oppositions that you prepare for 10 months. We wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible,” says Sen-K, “the first concerts of a tour are always the most difficult, it’s where tension builds up. And imagine after so much time!”, he continues to confess half laughing that he had never peed so much in his life. The nerves. “I pissed myself alive! We had everything ready and I had to run,” he says.
The passage and weight of time
“We were very different ages,” recalls Sánchez, “I was the one who couldn’t take it anymore, I had just become a father, I had other projects in mind [Ciudad Jara] and I couldn’t take it anymore. We were a group with a very wide age range. I was 38 years old, but there were 28-year-old kids. We were at different vital points. Furthermore, our show has always been very energetic and, as you get older, it is more difficult to keep up,” he adds. His companions nod in silence, their gaze fixed on the ground.
However, despite the six-year absence, despite the hole, his music has not stopped playing for a minute. In all the festivals in the country, ‘Between poets and prisoners’ or ‘In the shadow of the mountains’ have been played, without fail. Two of his most famous titles.
“It’s true, we play it at all the town festivals!” Sen-K exclaimed so that, moments later, his face darkened: “When they played our music at the festivals, I would get out of there.” “I was different,” Sánchez adds seriously, “our music is festive, you listen to it when you are in a specific mood.” He started playing La Raíz’s music to his daughter recently, when he finally decided to approach her again.
Maloa, on the other hand, seems to be the one who has handled it best: “When you live in Euskal Herria, that’s what you have, we sounded a lot!, and people like it. It’s nice to see others enjoying your music,” he smiles.
Valencia
Historical memory and political demands are a constant in his lyrics. Also a style feature. “Everything is politics, it is impossible for art not to be crossed by that gaze,” says Sánchez, pointing out that, as Valencians, it is something that has been in their blood. “We are from a land that has been stained for many years by corruption, by those who leave the people unattended. And we were very tired of having Rafael or La Pantoja brought to the parties,” he explains to continue that, in Valencia, a very powerful current of alternative music with a protest and countercultural character was formed. “That’s where we, who are normal people, come from and we talk about the problems of normal people,” he points out.
They, furthermore, were 30 kilometers from Benetúser when the Dana destroyed everything. “We have many friends who are from the area. Our press officer is from Paiporta and Jano’s family – our DJ – has suffered a lot. Another colleague, Tony Macías, a sound technician, has lost everything. He has lost his home. And what is most annoying is that today we still do not know what happened that afternoon. “Where were those responsible,” he ditches.
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