The music must go on: how to survive without the band's face

Untimely deaths and stormy separations have marked the careers of numerous bands that, despite losing their most significant members, keep alive a musical flame that must withstand the onslaught of comparisons and accusations of acting only for self-interest, while old fans—and some new ones—gather to repeat the longed-for coven around their idols.

Because if they didn't have the public's approval, how could bands like the Beach Boys or the Sex Pistols continue? Both will arrive in Barcelona this summer with significant losses due to the death of members (in the case of brothers Carl and Dennis Wilson, or the crazy Sid Vicious), the retirement of Brian Wilson, or, in the most controversial case, John Lydon's refusal to take back the Pistols' microphone.

But the most striking case among the bands that will stop in Barcelona is that of Lynyrd Skynyrd, the veteran southern rock band marked by the tragedy that occurred in 1974, when the plane they were flying in to Baton Rouge crashed in Gillsburg (Mississippi). Three of its members, including vocalist and founder Ronnie Van Zant, died in the accident, and the remaining members decided to dissolve the group formed in 1964 after leaving behind songs such as "Free Bird" and the well-known message to Neil Young "Sweet Home Alabama" .

Almost 50 years later, however, the name of the Florida band appears as the headliner for the second day of the Rockfest festival, which will be held in Santa Coloma de Gramanet from June 26th to 29th. However, the band does not include any of its founding members among its members, led for almost four decades (1987, to be exact) by Johnny Van Zant, brother of the late Ronnie and vocalist of the group, who saw the death two years ago at the age of 71 of guitarist Gary Rossington, the last of the founding members of the group.

Can a band survive without any of its original members? The Sex Pistols, who are participating in the 15th edition of the Cruïlla festival, have three of them in the original lineup. However, neither the late Sid Vicious nor the band's former voice, John Lydon aka Johnny Rotten, are present. In other words, the two most visible faces of the paradigmatic punk band.

If Vicious died of an overdose in 1979, Lydon's disappearance is linked to his irreconcilable disagreements with the other three band members, Steve Jones, Glenn Matlock, and Paul Cook. Hence, when they decided to reunite for three benefit concerts last year, they opted to invite Frank Carter, a "young" 41-year-old vocalist for The Rattlesnakes, to provide vocals in place of the original singer. The result is Sex Pistols + Frank Carter, an aberration for punk purists (if you'll pardon the oxymoron) that, nevertheless, has received positive reviews from those who have seen their first performances.

And surviving the memory of a mythical figure can be a tough test, although when it comes down to it, the fans have the last word. Jonathan Argüelles knows a lot about that, having accompanied Pep Sala since 2017, filling the void left by Carles Sabater after his death in 1999, which sealed the end of Sau. Almost two decades later, a party for the band's thirtieth anniversary gave rise to Sau30. "They invited me to sing three or four songs from the band," recalls Argüelles, who at the time was part of the tribute band Tornem a Sau. The connection was so good with the rest of the band "that we wondered if what we had done as a small group could be turned into a bigger gig."

In this spontaneous way, a project was born that has resulted in two studio albums with new material and several tours dominated by Sau classics. “At first, there were doubts; some people didn't understand, and that's normal, but I think the transition was always carried out with respect for Carles,” says Argüelles, who highlights the support received from both his colleagues and the audience, which didn't prevent him from having a tough time during his first performances. “Suddenly, I found myself on stage with people I admired and still admire, singing Sau songs in front of an audience,” he recalls. “But the people welcomed me very well, and in the end, it was a journey I was able to enjoy.”

In his case, the key that gives meaning to the current project is the number 30 added to the band's original name, which marks a before and after. "That's why I've never felt like I've deceived anyone; we've had a very coherent discourse," emphasizes the vocalist, who believes that "there's only been one Sau singer, Carles." His conviction stems from his own admiration for the late musician, which led him to imitate him in his early days. "I've never held back; the little I know about singing I've learned from Carles," although over time he's been able to add elements of his own to his performances.

More prosaic were the reasons that prompted Álvaro Urquijo to keep Los Secretos alive after the death of his brother Enrique in 1999. “I quit music for a whole year; I was furious with music, with the world,” the Madrid-born musician recalls. What happened? At just five years old, María, Enrique's daughter, was at risk of losing her father's inheritance if the outstanding mortgage debts and advances from the authors' society to pay the musicians weren't covered. “That's when I changed my mindset and tried to overcome my laziness and make a tribute album,” Álvaro recalls, “because it seemed like the most logical and sensible way to generate royalties and royalties to pay off those debts.”

Their line-up has changed over the years. In the early years, changes were forced by the successive deaths of two of their drummers, first Canito (at a time when the group was still called Tos) and then his replacement, the composer and singer Pedro Antonio Díaz, whom they signed after placing an advertisement on the radio station Onda 2 after Canito's death (both were composers and singers as well as playing drums, and both had a great influence on the group). Over the years, the main core of Los Secretos was the one made up of the Urquijo brothers (1980-1984): Javier (November 5, 1958), Enrique (February 15, 1960 / November 17, 1999) and Álvaro (June 22, 1962) in the first period with three LPs released on Polydor; Later, Enrique and Álvaro joined Ramón Arroyo, Nacho Lles, and Steve Jordan, reuniting the group in 1986 and releasing a mini-LP and an LP on Twins. The current line-up consists of Álvaro Urquijo (vocals and guitars), Ramón Arroyo (guitars), Jesús Redondo (keyboards), Juanjo Ramos (bass), and Santi Fernández (drums). Framed in its origins, along with other bands such as Nacha Pop, Mamá and Trastos, in the renewing movement of popular music that came to be called the new Madrid wave, Los Secretos have revealed themselves through more than thirty years in activity, and thanks to numerous songs considered classics (among which are " width="449">

The result was "A Tu Lado," an album featuring fifteen artists on the band's songs, and it was a hit despite Álvaro's rejection of the opportunity to promote it. "I didn't want it to seem like I was taking advantage of my brother's death," he says, "no one knew that money was going to the girl." He did, however, undertake a small promotional tour of six concerts, which led to the band's rebirth. "We brought six guests, one to each concert. But who would sing the rest of the show? They needed a vocalist, and I sang them," he recalls.

With the confidence built, the icing on the cake was the manager's call announcing they were looking to hire them for a gig, a challenge the band took up. "I could have said I was going to dedicate myself to producing or composing, but the truth is, we were a lifelong band," confesses the younger Urquijo, proud of the band's musical prowess. "After a year and a half without seeing each other, we recorded an album in 15 days, and it turned out pretty well," he says. "There was a lot of underground collaboration on Enrique's songs, supported by Jesús, Ramon, and I, along with the whole band; we were a well-oiled machine." Spurred on by these first steps, they were encouraged to play concerts in small venues, "charging admission to be sure people would come to see us," he recalls, laughing. "That was 24 years ago, and I don't know if it was a thousand concerts."

Companyia Elèctrica Dharma must have similar concert figures, having had to overcome the deaths of brothers Esteve and Josep Fortuny a quarter of a century apart in their 50-year history. “It's very hard because they're everything: work, brotherhood, everything gets out of control,” explains Joan Fortuny, his voice still filled with sadness despite the years that have passed. Esteve, guitarist, “the most musical of the group,” died in 1986 of a stroke during a performance, while Josep, drummer and lyricist, died of a heart attack in his sleep in 2013.

“But whether you like it or not, you're a musician, it's your job,” notes Joan, who recalls how in both cases, Dharma initially opted to disband before eventually re-forming. In Esteve's case, the comeback culminated in the 1989 album “Fibres del cor,” for which they enlisted his sister, Maria Fortuny, a pianist, as her late brother's replacement. To make up for his absence, they used the songs they had left half-finished, “in this way, taking music only from him, he gave us the strength to make the album and return to Dharma.”

With “Fibres del cor” the group’s story continued, “but we all knew it was something else, that group could not exist again without Esteve,” says Joan, aware that in moments like these “you either dissolve and leave it, or if you continue it is with another group, although we maintained the essence of the Dharma, the same way of understanding music.”

Misfortune struck the band again in 2013, with the death of Josep Fortuny. With four decades of work already under their belts, everything pointed to a definitive end, but the invitation to perform the following year at the new era of the Canet Rock festival rekindled the flame. “Josep always spoke highly of the Canet Rock of the 1970s,” Joan recalls of those concerts, where Dharma was one of the highlights. “He was in love with those festivals, and we thought that if he were still alive, he would have loved to be there. Besides, we also thought it was better to continue than to stay home depressed, licking our wounds.”

Have you ever felt like impostors for continuing without your bandmates? “Dharma's music is never more powerful than the people who make up the group,” Joan asserts with conviction, adding, “We are musicians, we love the stage, and we believe the group still has things to say.” Álvaro Urquijo shares this opinion, proud of “having fought for a musical identity, a sound, a personality, and the certainty that whoever comes to see a concert will see something worthy and that it won't fail.”