Where does what we experienced in the second—and also the first—of Silvio Rodríguez’s concerts in Buenos Aires begin to be told? Where is the epic digested (because it was nothing else)? How to classify perhaps the most difficult and, at the same time, the most loving night in more than half a century of scenarios for the son of Algeria and Dagoberto?
Perhaps it is best to start at the end. For that photo that I didn’t manage to take: the one of Silvio, after the last chords of “Unicorn”raising his guitar with both hands as if he were raising a collective trophy. The broken and cold voice, the overwhelming applause, a “thank you, Silvio!” multiplied in the fifteen thousand throats of the Movistar Arena. That image—which escaped me in amazement and tears—summarizes something bigger than music: shared love.
Or, perhaps, I would try—so as not to forget it—to tattoo the closing on my soul with ““Only love”. A song outside the repertoire rehearsed for weeks in Havana, converted into the most symbolic gesture of the night and an explicit thank you to its audience. Because only love can explain what happened on this side of the Río de la Plata. There is no other way.
There was, however, another gesture—among many—that said it all, or almost everything (which is not the same, but it is the same). I did take that photo. It happened when saying goodbye at both concerts. Silvio placed his hand on his chest, close to his heart, smiled tenderly and stayed for a few seconds looking at the audience, as if he were not the cause of so much emotion. As if there, at that moment, he found himself facing a presence greater than his own figure.
I lowered the camera and joined the applause: enormous, deep, unanimous. I wasn’t the only one. On one side of the stage, the musicians also applauded, some with tears in their eyes. Further back, a group of workers—rough men with helmets who are waiting for the end of the concert to dismantle the entire set—were also applauding and crying. That scene, although without artificial light to take the photo, shone with all the humanity that was breathed that night.
What had happened, beyond the songs? What had been lit in that packed venue, where the Cuban troubadour met again with an audience that has followed him for more than four decades?
Silvio came on stage with the flu. A virus had attacked him days before, leaving him with muscle pain, congestion and an affected voice. At the first concert, with an obvious nasal tone, he apologized and immediately joked: “Well, anyway, I’ve never had a voice from the other world.”
The laughter and applause dispelled any worries.
Even with discomfort, that first night he completed more than two hours of concert. With a clean guitar, after almost thirty songs, he gave ““Cloud Tail” and “History of chairs.
He rested the entire next day, but the flu did not let up. Still, he returned to the stage. Barely after the first minutes of the second concert, it was evident that his throat was not responding. After “Hummingbird wingshe was sincere with the public: “As you will notice, today I am worse than yesterday… so I invite you to sing together.”
And the miracle happened. Since then, a collective tenderness flew over the stadium and did not leave until the end, when the curtain came down.
With “I dream about snakesthe second song of the night, an unusual complicity began to emerge between the audience, the troubadour and the band. People were silent, they did not ask for songs, as usually happens.
And when the high notes demanded more than necessary from Silvio, thousands of tuned voices, in a lower tone so as not to overshadow them, rose up to accompany him. It was a sonorous hug, a network of love supporting the man who so many times supported us with his songs.
This is how the more than two hours of the concert passed: on the verge of breaking down, but sustained by emotion. Silvio, loving, did not give up.
Almost at the end, when he left the stage for the first time and we all already believed he would not return, he asked the production how long the recital had lasted. “Two hours,” they replied. Then he smiled and went on stage again: in other countries he had sung more, and he did not want the Argentine public to be left with less.
The repertoire covered his classic and recent work. “Eve”“Who was it?“The fool”, along with songs from his most recent album, ““I wanted to know where they are”““So as not to throw away the sofa” and “Our after”. And, true to his custom, he included songs outside the program, guided by the inspiration of the moment and the complicity with the public.
“That was tremendous, a great gesture of gratitude. He rose above the indisposition and the people showed that they care little about whatever predisposes them; the feelings are enough. In the end, he ended up accompanying the public, needing it,” a friend told me at the end of the concert.
That communion, however, has deep roots. The relationship between Silvio and Argentina is now more than forty years old. In April 1984, together with Pablo Milanés, starred in a historic tour: twenty-one concerts in full democratic recovery, when their songs were just being played again after being banned by the dictatorship. In Mendoza, the crowd was such that hundreds were left outside the theater. Silvio stopped the recital and asked that the doors be opened so that everyone could listen.
Since then he has returned numerous times. The last one, in 2018, was before one hundred thousand people at a free concert in Avellaneda. The Argentine public does not forget: neither his work, nor his dedication, nor his coherence, nor his generosity.
What we saw at the Movistar Arena was more than just a recital: it was an act of reciprocity. Silvio, sick and exhausted, sang to the limit. The public, aware of this, responded with respect, with silence when necessary and with singing when necessary. There was emotion, tenderness, admiration. In the end, a choir said goodbye to him with shouts of “Thank you, Silvio!”, “We love you!”, “Olé, olé, Silvio, Silvio!”
The flu will remain an anecdote. What really lasts is the impact of his songs, the strength of his dedication and the love of a people who feel it is theirs. The press also understood it that way.
The diary Clarion public:
“For more than two hours Silvio reviewed classics, presented new songs and dealt with a throat condition that did not overshadow his talent or his dedication. And this must be said: if we even stripped the show of its symbolic and socio-political weight, if he did not perform any of his classics, if he did not connect with his audience in the way he does, this would still be one of the best concerts heard in Buenos Aires so far this year.”
The Nation noted:
“It is difficult to describe what was experienced, and for those who were not there to understand the mix of emotions.”
AND Page/12 highlighted:
“Each song resonated in the key of the era, with a timeless, invincible and eternal voice.”
Other media spoke of “the increasingly scarce magic of music in its purest form” and that “no flu can against the force of poetry and perfect melodies: only Silvio is capable of, under these conditions, making a packed venue vibrate.”
The networks were filled with testimonies. Some said:
“You have to hug him until eternity. With a raspy voice and loved by time, he has already given everything. All that remains is to give him eternal gratitude.”
“I’m hoarse from shouting thank you so much and I love you.”
“My brother, who is not a fan and accompanied me to the concert, was crying. He said that what he saw was a lesson in commitment. Until yesterday Silvio was my idol. Today he is my hero.”
“After last night’s show I feel like he is a supernatural being. Eternal love for our beloved Silvito.”
“What a wonderful recital. What a lesson in life and humility.”
The virtuosity of the musicians accompanying him was an essential part of the evening: Trovarroco —Rachid López and Maikel Elizarde—, Niurka González on flute and clarinet, Jorge Aragón on piano, Emilio Vega on vibraphone, Jorge Reyes on double bass, Oliver Valdés on drums and Malva Rodríguez on voices and piano. They also resisted the tension of those intense nights, holding each chord, each breath with skill and affection.
At the foot of the stage, when the troubadour closed with ““Only love”Everyone burst into excited applause. Because that song sums up everything that happened: perseverance, tenderness, gratitude.
And what a wonder what happened at this Argentine stop on Silvio’s tour of Latin America. The dysphonia, nor the fatigue, nor the sick body did not matter. The will, the dedication, the humility of an artist who continues singing as if each concert were the last mattered.
Silvio could have chosen to suspend the show, for silence or to let the audience do the work. He could have victimized himself. But then it would not have been Silvio, nor the pen of all those songs that arm us in this broken world.
That’s why he chose to sing, take risks, expose himself. He did it with naked humanity, sustained by the love of his people. What happened was not simply a concert: it was a mutual healing.
It is not by chance that he began by quoting José Martí and ended with a song inspired by him. Between both extremes, everything was coherent: poetry, commitment, vulnerability, love. Only love breeds wonder.
There is still a concert pending in Argentina, on October 21, after the presentations in Uruguay on the 17th and 18th, where the troubadour should arrive quite recovered after a few days of rest.
Forty years after that first time, Silvio once again embraced the Argentine public and vice versa, overcoming pain and a broken voice with the same conviction as always: the song is still necessary and healing.
