Morat

The sound of Morat emerges from four voices intertwining like the branches of the same tree, with folk dressed in pop and ballads breathing between acoustic guitars and warm arrangements. They don’t sound like a group that arrived to imitate, but rather one that found its place amid the chaos of influences: Joaquín Sabina, Eric Clapton, the Bacilos, or the Red Hot Chili Peppers left their mark on their songwriting, yet their essence lies in that balance between the intimate and the universal, where lyrics speak of loves that hurt and moments that slip away. From the start, their songs feel like confessions recorded in a lost farm near Bogotá, where rehearsals smelled of coffee and fresh ink.

The turning point came in 2015, when "Mi nuevo vicio" —that song that feels like a sigh with a guitar— pulled them out of obscurity by sneaking into radio stations in Mexico and Spain. The curious detail is that it wasn’t a solo release: Paulina Rubio’s voice gave it that unexpected shine, propelling them to sell more than they ever imagined. But before that stroke of luck, there were rejections that now sound like anecdotes. At their first meeting with manager Malaver, they were told their music had no place on the radio; however, when he heard them play live at La Tea —that bar where the first to applaud were the security guards—, the same man who had dismissed them changed his mind. Sometimes, fate is written in the smallest places.