Today I had the best hangover possibleI wrote on Instagram, under the best photo of my life, on June 27, 2018, where I have him by my side and I hug him with my right hand, while with my left I hold a glass of beer.
That night I was coming from having a few drinks with the journalist Florencia Chicano Ramos, when I received a message that said: Confirm if you come that one is about to fall.
We were exactly opposite, so, less than five minutes after receiving the message, we entered the Wecabbeer Random Bar, on Gorriti at 5615, almost on the corner of Fitz Roy.
The place was easily identifiable. A Palermo mansion from the mid-20th century, with the name of the bar in giant letters, illuminated on its ceiling, which gave it an aura of grandiloquence and eccentricity. In the middle of its facade, like a belt of pipes and iron, a French balcony gave off flickering lights, which made it difficult to ignore.
Below: the people, the hubbub, the tables, the bronze-plated door, the staircase, the paintings with artistic icons of all time, the feeling of being in a place suspended in another time. A funk rhythm that emerged from within. With Florencia we greeted people we knew in common, and we entered.
I immediately recognized the owner, Matías Capeluto, responsible for those miracles having their perfect geography. As soon as I was able to greet him I noticed that he was tense, as if in charge of a responsibility greater than the usual one of running a business. He went from one place to another giving out brief, impersonal hugs.
The visual and sensory proposal of Wecabbeer, I insist, was infallible. Perhaps that is why it was the place where so many stars chose to stand out in private.
Set with an aesthetic steampunk, merged the nineteenth century with elements of the first and second industrial revolutions. Gears, pictures, surfaces like metal sheets with huge rivets.
The background of the bar referred to early cinema, fantasy, art deco, modernism. In front of her, while we waited for her to tell us what to do, we could see a giant bicycle with a cyclist pedaling on a human scale. That kind of automaton set in motion the enormous set of gears that covered a good part of the bar, realizing, in its metaphor, how absurd the fight against time is.
Minutes later, a man and a woman, forms in hand, approached to ask our names. As soon as they confirmed that we were on the list of those blessed by one’s partner, They asked us to turn off our cell phones.. We did it and then the man opened the gate of a prototypical elevator from Buenos Aires in the 1940s, and we entered the VIP.
Cover of Blocked Contacts, new book by Gonzalo Unamuno.The space was decorated with soft armchairs, burgundy carpets, paintings with images of iconic national rock characters, barrels that served as tables, benches scattered without any order.
Searching among the tumult, I finally spotted it.
So there it was, so that was it. He was six feet tall, slumped over an armchair, all wrapped up in a leather jacket, in jeans that looked old but weren’t. Under a dark hat, his eyes were alive, covered by black glasses, almost impenetrable. The mouth was somewhat sunken due to the lack of teeth, the unmistakable two-color mustache, a smile that was not quite so.
It took me a while to greet him. I did it when one of his assistants, sitting next to him, stopped to go to the bathroom. I immediately took his place and shook hands with Matías as if to see if he wasn’t overstepping me. To my surprise he “introduced” me to Charly, who paid no attention to anyone.
A cigarette languished between those fingers so familiar to my eyes; fingers like roots, like three phalanges. I quickly realized that I had the best musician Argentina has ever produced., the most legendary, sitting next to me in a random bar in Palermo. Without a doubt it was him, who barely interacted with his surroundings, abstracted, absorbed, as if suspended in a whim or an impossibility.
Just like in the distant tours of Say No More -where the recitals started later than announced- also that time their magic was long in coming. He spent almost two hours in silence, half-drinking drinks, with no idea of his surroundings. Until finally the miracle happened. Something seemed to be reborn in him and, like a boy in a fit of hysteria, he demanded that they bring him a keyboard.
Immediately Zorrito Von Quintiero went to Charly’s house to look for a keyboard. Since then nothing was the same.
Half an hour later, Charly’s hands, which until recently could barely hold any object, were now levitating over the keyboard. That half-dead man to my right could interpret Chopin or Bach with astonishing naturalness. Never, until today, did I feel so certain, so intimate, of being in the presence of a genius.
At a certain point it became impossible not to order their classics. The atmosphere had stopped being one of disbelief: it was one of euphoria. Charly did not disappoint: Passenger in a trance, The dinosaurs, Seminare, Promises on the bidet, Close to the revolution. The Wecabbeer VIP was now a parallel, liminal reality, where a handful of privileged people enjoyed the outbursts of genius of an outlier, singing choruses, and many, crying with emotion.
From that night until the pandemic stopped making it possible, Charly and the Wecabbeer established an unbreakable bond. For two or three years his VIP became the refuge of his genius.
Matías did not take long to buy a keyboard and several instruments so that everything would be ready if the lamp wanted to burst forth. Almost without intending to, he was achieving at Wecabbeer something quite unprecedented in the nights of Buenos Aires: that Charly García chose a bar as his favorite, where he received friends and where he even wrote some lyrics that, who knows, will or will not become songs someday. day. Of all those nights, I was able to go see him about seven or eight. Since then, Wecabbeer has had mythical and immortal status in my memory.
And it wasn’t just Charly who chose to spend many nights there. Graciela Borges, Marcelo Moura, Fernando Noy, Bernard Fowler, Lidia Borda, among others, also did so.
I can only talk about when I met him. From that bar in Palermo that allowed me to understand that a person between lost and overwhelmed, threatened by the evils of health that he took care of so little, can, nevertheless, have abductions of such immense talent that they make their everyday, earthly part laughable. He dominates the heights.
Perhaps for this reason, the impression that persists in me is that I was in front of someone without parallel, connected with everything else in such a unique way that it prevented me from continuing to go see him at his recitals. I don’t want another Charly than the one who accompanies me every day in his songsthose that I saw him play exclusively, sharing a few drinks with him in a random bar in Palermo.
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