en la ciudad de la furia

The first time I heard the opening riff of En la ciudad de la furia, I knew it wasn’t just any song. That rough, sticky sound, scribbled by Cerati at fourteen, doesn’t just open the track: it defines it. There’s something in that contrast between the silence that follows the first note and the roar that precedes it, as if the city itself were breathing before waking. From the start, the lyrics play with that duality: a narrator flying over Buenos Aires at night, invisible to everyone except one woman, yet feeling part of every face he passes. It’s not a linear story, but an urban dream where fear and fury blend in the faces of those who sleep.

The recording in June 1988 in New York marked a turning point in the band’s sound. Carlos Alomar, the American producer, imposed a more structured working method, far removed from the creative chaos that had defined their earlier albums. The result was Doble Vida, an album where new wave darkens into shadow and rebellion. The video, shot in black and white and directed by Alfredo Lois, reinforces that atmosphere: the city as a maze of cages and shadows, where even Cerati himself appears trapped at the end. The song also has a technical detail that makes it unique: the riff returns after an abrupt silence, as if the narrator—and the city—couldn’t escape their own rhythm. It lasted 5:46 in the studio, but live it stretched, unraveled, and reassembled, especially during the 2007 tour when they played it at every concert. Even the 1996 version in Miami, with Andrea Echeverri on backing vocals, gave it a slow blues twist few expected. And in 1990, the video was among the finalists at the MTV Video Music Awards, a recognition of the myth-and-reality blend that only En la ciudad de la furia managed to capture.