Que Viva Manolo

We Spaniards have one little problem. Okay, we have a lot of problems, but the one I want to talk about now has to do with protocol: when we want to show our patriotism as our national anthem is played at sporting events, our proud expression is quite limited to humming the tune, as the Spanish national anthem has no lyrics.

You see soccer players from other countries lined up on the pitch before matches begin, looking solemn and serious, with one hand over their heart, mouthing the words (presumably singing) to their anthems. When Spain’s anthem is played, players stand there looking up at the sky, as if expecting some type of inspiration to fall from above and bestow upon their lips patriotic verse. 

We Spaniards are known for finding creative solutions to many problems, solutions that sometimes go beyond the expected, but solutions that work, more or less (solutions that we call in Spain chapuzas).

And we’ve found a solution to the anthem situation. Just as the national flag has a rogue, unofficial version that is making increasing appearances in the grand stands at international sporting events (which bears the silhouette of a bull in the place of the national coat of arms), patriotic sports fans can belt out the words of another song that, although written in Belgium in 1971 and first sung in Flemish, was imported to Spain by a singer who’d already been singing traditional Spanish folk music for ten years: in 1973, Manolo Escobar recorded and performed on TV (on the only station that existed back then) his Que viva España.

We finally had something to sing as we gazed up into the skies with tears nearly shedding from emotional eyes. It didn’t matter that the lyrics were a dull blend of clichés that would make anyone taking the time to listen to them calmly and carefully feel nauseous… we had words to sing.

At the World Cup victory celebration in Madrid, guess what song Team Spain was singing up on stage… ¡Viva España! That was when a magical moment occurred, when team captain Iker Casillas had his photo taken with a man sporting a jacket that teetered on the edge of the esthetically-tolerable zone: a red and yellow piece designed to look like a big Spanish flag. The smiling man, with always neatly combed hair, was none other than Manolo Escobar, an essential figure in Spanish music and in the history of Spain despite what some critics may say. Escobar recorded 70 albums, sold over 18 million copies of LPs and CDs, made 20 movies, and made an indelible impression on the hearts of countless fans from Spain and around the world with memorable tracks like ¿Donde estará mi carro?, which tells the tale of a stolen cart in a romería pilgrimage, and Porompompero, a little tune with a chorus that’s particularly tricky for many non-Spanish speakers. I challenge anyone to find a Spanish person, regardless of how young they may be, who cannot at least hum one of these classic melodies. This is popular culture, no matter how much each one of us likes or dislikes it.

Manolo recently passed away, a man whose voice has become required fixtures at neighborhood parties, fairs and popular Spanish festivals.

As a Spanish teacher, I must admit that on certain occasions I have used lyrics from Manolo Escobar songs in my classes, even if it was just to “correct” the creative license employed by the lyricist “[…] solo Dios pudiera hacer tanta belleza / y es imposible que puedan haber dos…”

But these small grammatical errors don’t matter, because my students from all over Europe can sing in unison ¡que viva España! in moments of Spanish excitement…

Just as the camarlengo announced “El Rey ha muerto, ¡que viva el Rey!” (the king has died, long live the king), I feel obliged to affirm: “Manuel García Escobar ha muerto, ¡que viva Manolo!”

Photo by Joaquim Fonoll.