Pedropiedra
Ocho

Pedropiedra: what a funny name, like Pippi Longstocking. And looking at him in certain poses, indeed, he makes you laugh a bit too.

It's understandable, anyway: if my name were Pedro Subercaseaux García de la Huerta, I would accept calling myself Under the bench, the goat dies as my stage name.

Not that Pedropiedra is much easier to pronounce; but by the third attempt, it should be fine. And even if you manage it on the first try, you won't win any teddy bear anyway.

But what I want to emphasize is that, in these last moments of 2016, one can't help but love a man like this.

The reason is all too clear, folks. The air we breathe is increasingly heavy, and the red in the White House is the least of our worries. As I write, terrible things are happening in the world: Giovanni Toti is speaking on TV, Al Bano has two heart attacks (not just one), Masini is returning to Sanremo.

Enough with gossip and superstitions, to be clear. But just by mentioning Masini, this morning, an ambulance passed by with sirens blaring. And in an instant, many of my certainties about life were called into question.

Add to this that Music is tired, and if it was already so in Battiato's time, now a tonic won't be enough. An epidemic of constipated, anorexic, anonymous pop plagues these days. From speakers in downtown to the doctor's waiting room. I almost miss the times of the gym, and that says it all. And almost the least bad, between Mengoni and Laura Pausini's Christmas album, seems to be Alvaro Soler.

Now, the point is this: if you get to the point where Alvaro Soler seems to be the least bad, there's a problem. Nothing against Soler, of course. But still, I would be more grateful if he introduced me to this Sofía he sings about. And it seems that in reality, her name is María. But whether her name is Sofía or María or Genoveffa, I'd like to meet her anyway.

And the second point is this: what is the point of pop if it isn't catchy? Catchiness is a subjective principle; personally, I consider it a middle ground between the anonymous background (which goes unnoticed) and the earworm (which by definition torments): that is, the intermediate path between Lorenzo Fragola and Sofía.

Regardless of the fact that between Lorenzo Fragola and Sofía you would always choose Sofía, even if her name was actually María. And I could understand you.

And here, then, people like Pedropiedra (pronounce carefully) become indispensable for the psycho-physical well-being of the average listener, just like other contemporary Chileans who know how to make Pop the way it should be. Mixing a bit of retro disco, a bit of tex-mex trumpets, a bit of slapped bass, a bit of funky guitars. Without missing the mark for a half-hour album. Some can still manage it.

And while your old friends (comrades) post Inti Illimani on Facebook, adding an "el pueblo unido jamás será vencido", you rejoice with Pedropiedra in your headphones because you know you're listening to the new Chile.

It will make you jump.