#ricardo iorio
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Cuando el humano se hunde, siempre busca un responsable.
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la tierra se iluminará
cuando los hombres acepten la vida impersonal
y no existirá otra ley
que la íntima conciencia
destronando al cerdo sin paz
generación de serpientes, ya reinar no podrá
no habrá velos que te impidan ver
la inmortalidad de tu ser.
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Ricardo Horacio Iorio
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RESALTADOR
DEL BARRIO AL LUNA
Adoro cómo la industria de la música, y para ser más específicos, la del rock argentino, nunca deja de sorprenderme. Ríanse de mí si me están leyendo, pero recién en 2023 me tocó descubrir a NAGUAL.
He aquí mi cobertura del pasado concierto...
El pasado 28 de octubre, Nagual, la banda porteña oriunda del barrio de Mataderos, llegó al estadio Luna Park en el marco de su vigésimo segundo año de carrera en la industria de la música.
Ya se nos habían revelado varios sencillos luego del lanzamiento de su quinto disco de estudio Ciudad de Fuego en el año 2017. Nagual aprovechó la iconicidad y el alcance del estadio para darle lugar a sus composiciones más recientes, las cuales tomarán lugar en su sexto disco, cuyo nombre aún no nos fue revelado.
Sencillos tales como, por ejemplo, TrucoRealidad (2020), Libres, Compañeros (ambos del 2021), La Ilusión y La Memoria (ambos del 2023).
El show dio su apertura con El Whisky y La Luna (2017), no sin antes tocar brevemente el himno nacional bajo una nube de luces ahumadas que tiñeron a los fanáticos de celeste y blanco.
Los momentos más fuertes de la velada fueron las colaboraciones con artistas invitados.
Sin Control (2013) contó con el featuring de Catriel Ciavarella, y Montaña Roja (2006) de La Renga, con la participación del Tanque Iglesias, bajista de la banda homónima.
El más sentido de los homenajes fue la interpretación que dio Nagual de Allá en Tilcara (1997) con la participación del Tano Marciello en la guitarra, dándole al rock nacional el pésame por el reciente fallecimiento de Ricardo Iorio, el llamado “padre del metal” por muchos de sus seguidores.
Los fanáticos colmaron las plataformas con videos caseros del recital en su propio nicho, viralizando en redes el hashtag #DelBarrioAlLuna y así, felicitando a la banda por la autenticidad de su identidad y sus raíces en su camino a lo largo y ancho de la fama argentina.
#prensa#cobertura#nagual#rock local#rock nacional#rock argentino#rock#ricardo iorio#catriel ciavarella#tano marciello#la renga#del barrio al luna
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Like in most starships, and indeed like in any kind of ships through history, the mess hall was the heart of the Johann Sebastian Mastropiero. Of course, most of the rest of the ship was propellant tanks, engines, and cargo bays. But what truly mattered was this place, this sacred place with food and drink where the crew could relax after a long day sailing the aether. They were the ones who kept this old bird flying, they were the lifeblood of the Mastropiero, and the mess hall was its heart. At least according to the crew themselves. The cargo's insurance was probably higher than theirs after all.
“Mess hall” might also have been a grandiose name for it. It was basically a table, some especially uncomfortable chairs bolted to it so they didn't flew away in 0g, several handles to walk through while in freefall, an old booth that seemed -and probably was- taken from an abandoned fuel space station, an old fridge/hydroponics combo, some kitchen essentials like an electric kettle and oven, and a counter bearing the scars of poorly prepared food, because you get tired of instant guiso and mushroom chips after a while.
It was Human spacer tradition for the Captain to have a last dinner with the passengers before landing at the destination, so never mind the mess, in a way, the mess hall also needed to show the ship's history. And it did, with the pictures hanging on the paneling. A faded photograph of the crew during the Machine War, and then newer ones, an old captain giving a thumbs up at a newly repainted ship, a group of people wearing smokings doing a comedy sketch, Beto as a kid sitting on the commands with the hat on, an asado under three moons that legend has it bring good luck, and more. The latest picture was just next to the oldest one, with a lanky, angular-faced human male with a mate gourd on hand, a small shark-like girl wearing sunglasses and doing a peace sign, and a cactus-like man with his leaves in a sarcastic attitude, under that same sky as the three lucky moons.
Freefalling, and yet somehow looking busy while at it, Beto arrived at the mess hall to heat up water for the mate and start up his morning shift. As he rubbed his eyes he saw Ragua hanging by her squalene tail on a handle in the "ceiling", her headphones at a high enough volume to tell she was listening to Hermética. Siusini was sitting conspicuously in the center of the booth table -not that he needed to eat anyways-, while holding a bunch of crystals around him that reflected on his leaves in beams of focused light, like glittering rainbows. Beto wondered if Pink Floyd would perhaps be a better soundtrack in this case.
"Mornin', people." Beto yawned as he turned on the kettle, his weightless body hanging as he waited for the water to heat up -not boil, this was mate after all.
"MORNIN', BETO!" Ragua said from the ceiling, her voice more high-pitched than usual, perhaps because of her usual excitement, perhaps because of the metal screaming that seemed to envelop her. Siusini's chromoplasts shifted into a greeting hue.
"What are you listening to, Ragua?" Beto asked as the water began to heat.
"It's that music you told me about last night!" She answered, perhaps a bit offended that Beto didn't notice. "I love it, though some lyrics are hard to understand..." She noted. Beto nodded thoughtfully. He was amazed at how quickly she had picked up Rioplatense Spanish in any case.
"Yeah, I told you, they talk a bit about the things that happen in my history tapes..."
"Of course you like them because of that." She grinned while narrowing her eyes playfully. For various reasons, perhaps because she was part of it, history just didn't sit well with her. "But that's the fun part. The voices go... like all low and deep like yours..." Ragua did a frighteningly good rendition of Ricardo Iorio, "...and then it goes all like YEEEEEEAHHHH." Ragua did an even more frightening impression of Claudio O'Connor. Beto just smiled, amused.
"I don't sing like that."
"You don't sing. At all." Ragua teased back.
"Shut up." Beto said. It was true, he couldn't sing at all.
"But what I like the most is the controls." Ragua continued as the album rocked on, her fins shifting to the music.
"You mean instruments?" Beto corrected her word use, helpfully.
"Yeah! Those! It's just so AWESOME... Like, I love the sound, the noise, it feels like when prey moves on the ocean, when you're about to just bite on it? You know? So nice." She said, a bit too giddy, kicking her finned legs against the ceiling.
"That's cool man." Beto answered in a monotone as he poured water on the thermos.
Perhaps not wanting to awaken her predatory instincts, he turned to Siusini.
"What about you, you finally gave up engineering to become a table decoration?" Beto bantered in friendly confidence. Siusini didn't seem to listen through his sound translator. His leaf patterns shifted in ways that were difficult even for the experienced Beto to decipher.
"Sius'?" He asked again. The chromoplasts reacted.
"GOOD DAY BETO." The patterns of colors said. Beto knew how to read them, and he'd better, since Siusini was his engineer after all. Not a good relationship for miscommunications.
"Testing out the crystals you bought the other time?" Beto said while pouring himself a mate.
"RIGHT."
"Are they, uh, good?" Beto asked, not sure how to put it.
"VERY GOOD." the leaves answered, as Siusini shifted the crystals to what Beto assumed was a more pleasant light show for him.
Beto sipped his second -always the best one, after the yerba is settled- mate of the morning and watched the crystals dance in Siusini's tendrils. Being a heterotroph himself, Beto didn't quite get what was so interesting about the focusing crystals that many photosynthetic species enjoyed, but visually, they were very striking.
"You know." Beto said with his usual curiosity, "You never quite told me what does that light show feels, exactly." Siusini's color shifted to one of amusement, and Beto sighed, wondering what he was gonna say.
"EXPLAINING IS DIFFICULT. WE HAVE TALKED ABOUT THIS." the leaves said.
"Oh come on. You can explain how a dark-energy inductor works, but not that?" Beto bantered back, knowing he won the argument.
"WILL TRY THEN." Siusini said, his color still in an ironic hue.
The communication leaves of Siusini shifted a bit in some patterns Beto didn't recognize. "IT IS LIKE. GOOD FOOD. VERY GOOD FOOD. NARCOTICS[?]. [?]."
Beto blinked a couple times, trying to understand. The last two patterns looked familiar, but... Then he noticed Siusini's leaves and tendrils shifting in a rather strange way... and he groaned.
"You dirty motherflower, I shouldn't have asked..." Beto groaned again in the tone of someone defeated while Siusini's leaves shone brighter in their amused state. He just grabbed his thermos and mate and decided to go to the cockpit.
Ragua, always up for some good gossip but who wasn't keeping up with the conversation because of her headphones, followed Beto with a teasing smile. "Wait, wait, what did Sius’ say?" she asked.
"Never mind, you don't wanna know." Beto said as he made his way to the cockpit.
"Come on, tell me, what was it?!"
"Ragua, no."
"COME ON, TELL ME!" Ragua insisted as she hovered on 0g after him, grabbing his leg while he grumbled. "BETITO, COME ON, TELL ME, WAS IT FUNNY? I KNOW IT WAS FUNNY!" She was not gonna let it go and he knew it. But never mind, first it was time to do trajectory corrections and get to work.
And so, another day started in the good spaceship Mastropiero, 614 years after Gagarin.
#I wrote this quite fast but it was fun so I hope you like it too#yes Ragua is supposed to be a bit annoying#campoestela#cosas mias#by the way this is written in English but it's perfectly translatable to Argentine (Rioplatense) Spanish that is part of the fun
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⚫️ MURIÓ RICARDO IORIO. Tenía 61 años. Fue figura fundamental del heavy metal argentino y fundador de bandas emblemáticas como V8, Hermética y Almafuerte.
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El Metal despide a "Iorio"
Este octubre 24, 2023 va a quedar marcado en el calendario Metalero. Ricardo Iorio murió a los 61 años. Iorio, uno de los referentes del heavy metal nacional, murió a A A los 61 años de un infarto, según confirmó su abogado en Bahía Blanca, Juan Ignacio Vitalini, al diario local La Brújula 24
El último recital de Ricardo Iorio en nuestra ciudad.
El principal referente e impulsor del heavy metal…
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KAPANGA TODOTERRENO
2009
Una película con Ricardo Iorio haciendo de Dios del Asado, Conan manejando un dragón colectivo, un Chorizo Cantor, un hombre vaca con los Daft Punk, Pedemonti y estigmas de chimichurri.
#tbt #KapangaTodoterreno #kapanga #rockargentino #Asado #música #FarsaProducciones
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#metal#heavy metal#metal pesado#iorio#ricardo#eterno#perro cristiano#orgullo argentino#cerveza#birra#tarde nublada
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Ricardo Horacio Iorio
(Ciudadela, Tres de Febrero, Buenos Aires; 25 de junio de 1962 - Coronel Suárez, Buenos Aires; 24 de octubre de 2023)
#Ricardo Horacio Iorio#Ricardo Iorio#IORIO#Almafuerte#Hermética#V8#V8Band#Heavy Metal#Metal Pesado#Argentina#2023
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Some little author's notes that might or not enhance that little Campoestela story I just posted:
Siusini cannot hear sound by himself, his species does not have 'ears' per se but he does have a mechanic sound translator that works just as well.
He can look at Beto's gestures though, which is good because he gesticulates a lot. Because he's Rioplatense and also it helps to get him understood with species that are more visual.
The "leaves" Siusini uses to communicate are arranged in a stalk that looks like some kind of circular screen, they work like a cuttlefish's skin. Think of it as some kind of sunflower until I draw it.
Given that it wouldn't be easy for a human to understand subtle changes in patterns and colors, Beto must have learned Siusini's language while young, perhaps from Siusini himself. This is a part I'm working on.
Ragua's like for heavy metal is based on a real life study where sharks have shown preference for heavy metal (the band of course is legendary Argentine metal band Hermética)
Beto has a passion for listening to history podcasts. Since it's a bit of a retro universe, they are called tapes (inspired by many many roadtrips listening comedy and music cassettes)
They are all talking in Rioplatense Spanish (yes, even Siusini in a way), I just wrote in English a bit to test myself and to reach audience. Beto's "Mornin', people" is supposed to be "Buenas, gente." "Motherflower" can be translated as "flor de hijo de puta" or "hijo de fruta" if you want.
Beto is about 179cm tall (a bit tall but standard for a human). Ragua is long but her tail does not add height, her body is otter-like, she's about 150cm tall. Siusini is about 140cm tall and a bit wide too, like a bit potted plant (don't call him that). Being small does give you a slight advantage when space is considered, less weight to liftoff and resources to consume, easier to handle tools and structures too.
Ragua can imitate voices perfectly like a parrot, which makes her being able to pronounce any language almost effortessly and also sing... it doesn't mean she understands them though. When this story is set, her handle on Rioplatense is almost complete, writing her slowly picking up the language is gonna be a bit of a challenge.
I'm not sure if Beto has EXACTLY the voice of Ricardo Iorio, but he does have a deeper voice than Spinetta and it's a meme he cannot sing (he is Capitán Beto after all, not Spinetta, despite looking like him)
Where is the triste estampita de un santo and the malvones? in the cockpit of course, that's where the song says they are.
Beto is starting the morning shift, then who's running the ship? there's a couple of little pterodactyl-like aliens, literally a married couple like agapornis birds that can't ever be separated, who work the night shift in Mastropiero, but I haven't introduced them yet.
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