In which I proffer my experience in the service of the East European mafia as a model for helping us help the Aricept generation.

With the Anglo-Saxon plot in tatters and Jewish machinations a non-starter, some strategic paranoia for Mr Zapatero. (Like: Is Mendelssohn’s Elijah a secret weapon of German subversion?)

Hasta luego Edgar León, but what’s the real solution?

Wait, let me check that.

One for your diary: The excellent Martin Hug is presenting his latest super-instrument in a show with the dancer Juschka Weigl this Friday at 19:00 at Hangar, Barcelona.

A not particularly serious assault on Prosper Mérimée.

Its teachers are raging butterflies, says a 16th century music publishing entrepreneur.

From the DCVB, re pato:
—Amagueu els patos, que vénen els músics!: ho diuen per recomanar prendre precaucions davant un perill imminent (Val.). Els músics hostatjats tenen fama de menjar tot quant troben a la casa.
One recalls a barbecue gig where all the meat and beer was consumed before the 50-odd guests arrived in their bus. [...]

Do Spanish speakers get more excited about “defective” accents than English speakers?

Between-wars texts about Zaragoza by Germans who appear never to have visited the place.

A drunk-sounding Peacock Band playing accordions, bones, and mouth organs in a pub in Chelsworth, Suffolk the early 1970s.

Our itinerary, and that of Polo Polo on his Viaje a España.

Mid-20th century Ibero-American hits, state-controlled media, the personal and the public.

An etymological hop from kite-flying with Juan Marsé back to Concha Piquer’s greatest hit.

Some corner of a foreign football pitch that is for ever Bilbao, and I hope they got fed afterwards:

The original strikes me as thoroughly Teutonic:

Let’s not kid ourselves any longer: everything interesting, from nachos to nationalism, was invented by the Germans. Fortunately they tend to be generous about using the proceeds to mitigate the resulting [...]

After years of shilly-shallying, will France finally stand up to American fartpower?

I hope to post interviews and analysis soon.

Gypsy clans living on an old dung heap north of Granada may have the answer.

Moreto’s El desdén con el desdén and Reznicek’s Donna Diana: Vicky Christina Barcelonas of yesteryear?

This is an option now the Casio kiddieboard is dead and there’s not enough time for the barrel organ.