I’m not so sure where the fashion pendulum is, right now, on the matter of “liking your own work”, but I gotta say I’m very happy with that first panel.
Currently, I'm uploading (almost) every monday a new page of Autobiographer, a comic I do with Federico Reggiani that you can start reading here.
“Alfajores” are, according to the Huffington Post, “the best cookie you’ve never heard of“. I prefer to not make any assumptions about your ignorance, so I’ll just let myself strongly recommend them. They’re very common in Argentina.
There’s a book by Sempé titled “Everything is complicated”. At least that’s the English title. The Spanish translation had one more dimension to it, that could roughly be translated as “Everything gets complicated” (or the more direct, but infinitely clumsier: “Everything complicates itself”). I don’t remember what the French title was, so I don’t know which version is more accurate.
Also, translating this comic is hard.
Johny Tedesco was (is) a real singer. He started his career singing mostly Spanish adaptations of Elvis Presley songs and other American hits, which might explain the very peculiar phonetic choices that were made for his stage name. And yes: the very intricate sweaters became his trademark, even getting some people to call him “The Sweater King”.
While some of his peers from El Club del Clan managed to transform their careers and keep themselves somewhat “current” (pivoting to tango or even politics), Johny Tedesco’s name would always be associated with certain corniness of the pre-Beatles local pop music scene.
Previously, we learned about Estela’s enthusiasm for the the TV show that will start airing that same night. We’ll now let her expand on it a little bit:
Perico (Parakeet) Gómez was the stage name for one of the “tropical style” singers of the show. I always wondered about that nickname. Was that how his family called him? Was it given by the producers? Did he find it amusing?
We can see him here on a short number taken from the 1964 Club del Clan movie.
A Colombian immigrant at the somewhat early stages in the popularization of Cumbia in Argentina (and all of South America), he played a role that now seems to be a little forgotten. Interestingly enough, what seems to have been even more forgotten are his later musical endeavors. Changing his name to Pot Zenda, he was probably the only member of the show to successfully involve himself with the more “credible” and art infused local rock scene of late 60s and early 70s.
He recorded on the first Almendra album (now considered a “fundational” record) and later recorded some singles of his own.
As a curiosity, there’s this song, written for him (in english!) by Luis Alberto Spinetta (one of the most important musicians in the country, probably meaning to Argentina something similar to what Bob Dylan means to the USA, if that helps understand things a little bit).
A couple of years after that, he moved to Venezuela, where he kept playing music. There’s this video of a TV presentation from that period where he starts singing on a somewhat french, café-concert style. I think there’s a very special charisma to it.
He died on a car accident on Venezuela in 1988. I wonder if and how he’s remembered over there.