Today, Friday, April 17, Chavela Vargas meets ninetieth birthday. Perhaps the solo
born in Costa Rica's increased prominence in the international music scene, went through the same ordeal that many others in the cultural history of our country: the rejection of our hegemonic sectors.
Like many others, had to migrate and build your space elsewhere. In Mexico, hosted the event, and there built his career beyond the destroyed and there was reborn. There
found the love that you were forbidden here, there's accomplices did not have that here, beyond the company that was hidden here, but there too the loneliness of being single again ... Chavela
however, the same way that being quinceañera tied his pants-yes, his pants, not their petticoats, to go from here, in his seventy-rest were returned to tie and donned his blanket to show the world was not finished, but could leave his drunkenness and regain the scenarios that were once theirs ... and he did, and also won the stage to which she had not arrived.
When I was studying the years that one has nothing to lose, Chavela reinvented itself uninhibited, unrestrained, claiming sexual orientation, claiming the popular music, claiming the rebellion that has not lost his ninety ...
consummate interpreter of music in our America mourned, her figure filled theaters and movie screens, like one of those rare specimens that both say Almodóvar.
De Chavela much you can say, but what to hear, so she let it be to sing one of his most representative, Agustin Lara, Think of me.
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