12 de junio de 2008

EL CLUB DE LOS CINCO

Segunda entrega de El Club de los Cinco, pero en esta ocasión he invertido la proposición y he pedido a mis estupendos y desinteresados colaboradores el ranking de obras fallidas, es decir, aquellas que no responden a las esperanzas que despiertan. O lo que es lo mismo, los cinco peores.

Pablo Soler, responsable del mejor festival español, Primavera Sound, y jefe-mentor de la Sala Nasti, (Free Nasti forever) es una de las personas más generosas, encantadoras y cariñosas que ha parido madre. A día de hoy es el soltero de oro más cotizado.
Si a Pablo no le molan, es que no molan. Sin paliativos.
"Sin orden alguno y no sólo por los discos... en general los grupos me parecen muy malos."

Ok Computer de Radiohead
The Wall, the Pink Floyd
Zooropa de U2
L.A. Woman de The Doors
Brothers in Arms de Dire Straits


Estela Aparisi, periodista científico-musical, integrante de las desaparecidas Subbuteo, divertida pinchadiscos (este viernes estará pinchando en el Automático de Córdoba) y vividora irredenta. Es una de los personajes más rápidos, ingeniosos y con sentido del humor más original que conozco, y sus críticas son siempre certeras. Su vida y sus desternillantes hazañas dan para una (o dos) novelas.
"Pelis malas que he visto en el último año:"

1. Transformers. Porque consigue que dejes de ser fan, para siempre, de los bichitos. Algo intolerable para el pajero al uso.
2. Hard Candy. Porque de terror psicológico tiene tanto como UNA ganas de ser madre. Y ya puestos, una no puede evitar, recordando los diálogos entre agresor y víctima, sentir escalofríos de pudor y cierto sabor amargo a vergüenza ajena. Me quedo con Ellen Page por mujer y lista).
3. Little Miss Sunshine. Porque se limita al topicazo y aburre, el padre que da cursos sobre el éxito con estrepitoso fracaso, la madre no da abasto, el tío se recupera de un suicidio frustrado al ser abandonado por su novio, el hijo adolescente lee a Nietzsche y se niega a hablar, y la hija pequeña, Olive, gafotas y ligeramente gordinflona, que quiere ser una belleza... Facilona y previsible.
4. Entre Copas. Eso de liberar los demonios interiores con la excusa de la ruta de vinos suena pelín pueril, ¿no creen?.
5. Chuecatown (por poner algo español y bueno, aunque no la he visto, seguro que es una mierda).


Adrián González es “it” estilista español. A él se debe el oportuno cambio de look de La Mala y los más refrescantes, coloridos y joviales estilismos del EPS y EP3. Está preparando el lanzamiento de una revista, Buffalo, que verá la luz en septiembre. Amena compañía de gran verborrea, sus recomendaciones en cualquier campo son siempre acertadas.
"Cinco peores diseñadores, no necesariamente en este orden:"
 
Agatha Ruiz de la Prada
Miuccia Prada
Frida Giannini
Penélope y Mónica Cruz
Javier Larráinzar

Javier Montes, escritor con un futuro prometedor y un presente consolidado: ganador del Premio Anagrama de Ensayo de 2007 junto a Andrés Barba con La ceremonia del porno, acaba de publicar su primera novela, Los penúltimos, en la editorial valenciana Pre-Textos. También hace críticas de arte para el suplemento del ABC. Todo en él hace presagiar una larga y feliz existencia en los laureles literarios.
"Después de arduas deliberaciones conmigo mismo, aquí van algunos de los libros que más odio:"
 
Rayuela, de Cortázar
Herzog, de Saul Bellow
On the road, de Kerouac
Mortal y rosa, de Umbral (es sólo lo primero)
El mar, el mar, de Iris Murdoch

Madame M. es un mito social inventado a sí misma a través del autodescubrimiento que mejora día tras día. No sé si ella es muy consciente del poder personal y místico que está adquiriendo. Madame M. ha recorrido medio mundo hablando de tú a tú a príncipes y reyes, presidentes, multimillonarios, artistas famosos y homeless... Cuando le pedí esta atípica lista, ni se le deshizo el tupé ni vibró su enlacada melena; displicente, pero no molesta, jugueteó nerviosa con el collar de perlas de múltiples vueltas y, con su habitual serenidad y temple de conquistadora, me contesta: “el rincón de Pintón, es mi vida”. Y con esto, dice todo.

Julio Medem
La China Patino
Rafa Doctor
Mario Vaquerizo
Carlos Diez Diez

Y como bonus extra, la polifacetica y atractiva Eva Solex, recién llegada de su triunfal gira japonesa (que ha levantado mi más sana envidia) con su combo Los Caballitos de Dusseldorf nos repasa lo (in)evitable. Y la cosa no se queda aquí, que estos caballos galopan a mano derecha y a mano izquierda directos a la conquista de Noruega. Arre, arre.

Eye of the tiger de Survivor
Cualquiera de Dover
Cualquiera de los Corrs
Facto de fe y Las flores azules
Died laughing pure de Keith Caputo

5 comentarios:

Nancy Reagen dijo...

Lord Davies arrived late in Spain. He should have arrived when being a “Lord” still meant something, but he arrived in late 80’s, and he has gamely joined the spirit of the place. Still referring to his car’s side mirrors as “looking glasses” because he was brought up to think the word “mirror” was common, and still believing that because he is a British Lord the Costumes’ officials( I mean, La Guarda Civil), should bow and raise the barrier instead of rudely pointing out his car has exceeded its temporary import status; and Andrew, I mean, Lord Davies, wings it through Spanish officialdom, raising an eyebrow over his sapphire-blue eyes which were his passport to the best parties and occasions in England twenty-something years a go.

Lord Davies, who is without doubt one of the wittiest people I have ever met, veered towards a more cultured life, becoming friends with the very-smart Lucy Sky-Cazanny and the brilliant and charismatic countess Nicotra. Through them, he met the ravissante Ro-Ro Rein (an ex flea- girl). The daughter of a handsome well-off Jewish father, and an aristocrat Spanish beauty, Ro-Ro (as they call her at home), had been brought up to be beautiful and gracious and to marry well. She had to sisters, Monique and Alessandra, indeed married well, and a brother Phillip, a young very-good-looking financier with immense fortunes.

The best thing about Lord Davies doubtless, on the whole, was that Ro believed in him. She was often fantastic, but she knew a humbug, and no, Lord Davies wasn’t that. He had a short time in the House, on the Tory side, but had lost his seat on the first opportunity pointed to nothing; which was very possibly just a sign of his real cleverness, one of those that the really clever have in common with the really void. Davies family, pretty as they may look, has to deal with the crazed ancestry of the English castle linked to Macbeth. Lord Davies lived in this family’s estate, near London, and the great historic house has, for Ro, as the centre of an almost extravagantly grand Watteau-composition. Lord Davies’s father, a baronet, at first was horrified at the impeding marriage (a Spanish girl????) and even appealed to the British consul but everything changed when he new that Ro-Ro was a Rein and somehow a distant cousin of his intimate friend, Juan Carlos (the King).

It is obvious that if the great possibility had come up for them it had done so, to an exceptional degree, under the protection of the law of contraries. Any deep harmony that might govern them would not be the result of their having much in common – having anything in fact but their affection. It is nothing new indeed that generous young persons often admire most what nature hasn’t given them- from which it would appear, after all, that our friends are both generous. Ro-Ro invariably gave way to feelings, and feeling had popped up in her of the advent of Lord Davies. The way the cat would jump is always, in presence of anything that moves her, interesting to see; visibly enough, it hasn’t for a long time jumped anything like so far.

Settled in Barcelona, the newlyweds moved into a substantial town house in a chic neighbourhood, extensively refurbished by Lord Davies’s doting mother during their absence, which became a focus for the flea-set who want a hotel and can’t afford it. Everything from England was transported by container including the remains of a wonderful wine collection. Also, linen sheets, china and glass to fit a palace. Lady Ro Davies, as she nowadays is widely known, wants to be a grande dame and, trying to impress the Barcelona’s haute-bourgeoisie, has just started being enthusiastic sponsor of art and artists (without any money, I must say). Our Lucian Freud, George Diezma, for example, has just been commissioned to paint an enormous six feet by four feet portrait of Ro-Ro, as a real english Lady. Incroyable! And on the top of that, now she wants to be a decorator, I mean, THE decorator. One designer who is a master at creating a timeless, undecorated look is Lady Ro Rain. Her interiors are elegant yet comfortable, a bit timeworn but never shabby. They're rather like the Dorian Gray of interior design- the rooms don't seem to age. But what I think is most important about Ro's work is the appropriateness of it. The design is a perfect fit for the surroundings. And this was very much on the mind of Lady Davies as she decorates her home. In describing the sitting room of her new house, the inimitable Ro-Ro quipped "I won't put Chippendale mirrors in this room with no cornice. That would be like having pearls in a pigsty." You can't argue with the master.


But, my dear friends, you know, Ro-Ro used to be a flea-girl (pulgosa). The flee-set is a group of twenty-something men and woman- fast, rackety and pleasure seeking- sometimes known to the blogers who write up their goings-on as “the younger set” but more often filed under the name by which history will remember them:” the flea-set”. She also used to love interracial liaisons and scandalized her mother and much of polite society by living openly with an extremely handsome black actor. And then she became an elegant(osa). I really miss her as a flea-girl. Oh, very much!

Are you there, Ana? You have never been a flea-girl, darling. Indefatigable and omnipresent, obsequious when the grandeur of the occasion demand it, imperious when her professional dignity is at sake, St. Dominguez combined in the upmarket Society magazines with a steely determination to move beyond them. El Rincon de pinton is very well, but St. Dominguez has his eye in VOGUE and in particular its lucrative American edition. she wants to replace Anne Wintour. Isn't she crazy? But, I mean, we never know.As ever, social and professional triumphs march side by side. And Ana ST. Dominguez is a social locomotive.

Nancy Reagen de Braganza

Theodora dijo...

Hace mucho que no visitaba este blog. Me gustan y me disgustan los peores iconos;y adoro, eso si, a Nancy. ¿Como puede ser tan lista?

I'm in a rush but I’ll be back

Theo Goulandris

Anónimo dijo...

He de puntualizar que yo enumeraba la lista de "los 5 peores diseñadores", lo cual no necesariamente implicaba que no los usase yo nunca en nigún estilismo, porque de hecho los he usado todos...
A.González.

pintón dijo...

Tomo nota, Adri, y rectifico. Es lo bueno que tiene estas publicaciones on-line que no tienes que esperar al siguiente número y hacer una fe de erratas. Se cambia directamente y punto.

Paloma dijo...

Miuccia entre los 5 peores diseñadores???!!! Adrián... Eso son ganas de provocar.