Clonazepán y circo

The song Clonazepán y circo sounds like a quick trip between the intimate and the chaotic, where the guitar intertwines with lyrics that seem written on the fly. It's neither a ballad nor an epic track, but something closer to an accelerated monologue, as if the narrator were trying to tell a story before it slips away. The rhythm never stops: the drums set a steady pulse, and the melody moves forward with that mix of boldness and precision that often defines Andrés Calamaro's style. Something in the way he sings—between whispers and restrained shouts—gives it an air of urgent confession, as if the words were pills to be swallowed quickly to avoid choking.

Calamaro arrived at this song with the baggage of someone who had already played in all kinds of bands, from rock groups to blues formations. Before recording it, he had been part of projects like Raíces in Uruguay, where he started as a keyboardist, and later joined groups like Chorizo Colorado Blues Band alongside his friend Augusto Gringui Herrera. Later, in Buenos Aires, he moved between session bands and fleeting groups like Stress, where he crossed paths with Gustavo Cerati and Héctor Zeta Bosio before the latter two went on to form Los Estereotipos. But Clonazepán y circo doesn’t sound like a rehearsal from those years: it has a different urgency, as if it were made in a hotel room with a borrowed keyboard and the need to say something before the night runs out.