A few weeks ago, a TikTok went viral in which a girl explained to us everything that could be done at the MadCool festival, apart from, of course, seeing concerts. There were brands that put cream on you, others that did your makeup, others that gave away a trip to Punta Cana —the 2000s are back, it’s official—, a couple invited you to give it your all in their beach bars… The companies, then, were not content with occupying a space in the venue for advertising purposes, but had sought to give the user (previously known as the public) an experience. We’ve been going through this for a few years now. Those who have two festivals left before hanging up their boots see it with a mixture of anger and resignation; those who will only stop going to the gym to go to another festival if they are given more trips and are given more hats with the logo of some Inditex brand, hope that next year the space that is now occupied by some stage will be a park of food trucks and specialty coffee. Everyone who is about to leave tends to complain about what they are leaving behind, something that does not bother those who stay.
After seeing the reel I remembered a talk about the future of the music industry to which I was invited about six or seven years ago in Bilbao. I am rarely invited to these things. I do it poorly and, above all, the public and the organizers really dislike me. I have had to attend four of these events. And I have never been to any of them again. Anyway, at the end of the round table during which I tried to contribute content (the issue of creating it has caught me older now), a member of the audience told me that, okay, everything was very nice, but that, from his point of view, music had a viability problem that had to be solved urgently if it aspired to maintain its centrality in youth leisure, and that was its inability to generate experiences. I dismissed him with the nonchalance of someone who was always convinced that what was seen in the distance was not an iceberg, it was the shadow of our immensity.
In 1995, the magazine Tennis He sent David Foster Wallace to the US Open. The writer was passionate about this sport. In his chronicle, Wallace initially debates between narrating what is happening on the central court of Flushing Meadows between Pete Sampras and Mark Philippoussis and acknowledging the enormous corporate festival that is the professional tennis circuit. After a moment in which he formulates a brilliant analogy between the tennis of both players (the first an American of Greek descent, the second an Australian of Greek origin) and the Peloponnesian War between Athens (Sampras) and Sparta (Philippoussis), the writer succumbs to the temptation of listing the sponsors of the championship and the problems of incompatibility that can be foreseen in the future between two brands of sanitary pads that are fighting to enter the tournament. He describes in detail the consumption of food and drink in the stands, detailing everything from the prices to the morphology of the hot dogs. He ends by recommending places in the venue where you can enjoy your meal without being overwhelmed.
I love music above all legal forms of entertainment, and every time I read the poster for a festival I want to go. Then the day comes and I stay home playing records, eating pizza and getting pissed off at TikTok. I love tennis above all sports. This year I went to the Mutua Madrid Open. I recommend, above all, the oyster stand. What an experience.
