Felicida, da, da, with an accent on the a | Culture


According to the jargon of that time, Raffaella broke the cord when he arrived in Spain in 1975, but what really broke were the valves of the televisions, many of which stopped being black and white to explode in color and brightness. Valerio Lazarov put it like a thunderous interference in a starched VHF of couplet, yeyé girls and languid and static girls who bragged of rebellion because the world made them that way. Faced with resignation and accepted fate, Carrà’s dislocations and dancing spasms were pure self-determination. An Italian woman came there to teach the Spanish an art they had forgotten: that of doing whatever they wanted. Without morals, without justifications, without doctrine. Raffaella voted communist, as was mandatory for someone of his condition at that time, but it was not noticeable because he did not know how to preach.

Portrait of Raffaella Carrà, in 1984.

Raffaella Carrà, diva of television and music, dies

It was preceded by an advertising caravan louder than that of the Giro d’Italia, what we now call hype. The Vatican had censored her navel, giving her the best promotional campaign a singer could dream of, and Lazarov, who knew a while about navels and optics, took advantage of the wave to promote the romance between Raffaella and Spain. As Cupid’s arrow he used one of his musical specials on TVE, La hora de Raffaella Carrà, issued in 1976. In the first song – coming out of a box and dressed in a fantasy tailcoat with her legs in the air wrapped in stockings – she promised something better than happiness: she said she brought congratulations, da, da, with an accent on the a. He may be reproached for other things, but not that he failed to fulfill that solemn promise made to some Spaniards who at that time were sad and pissed off.

However, he spent almost 20 years without returning to Spanish television, and he did so when the private ones arrived, in another moment of naive euphoria in the country, the 1990s. Despite his lazarovism, he did better on public television, with programs impossible to conceive today, like that ¡Hola Raffaella!, who rediscovered it for generations born already in democracy and who did not bring vices or prejudices in black and white. It seemed that she had set out to be the national cheerleader, the only one capable of reminding the country that the congratulations with an accent on the a was the only aspiration that was worthwhile, the revolutionary, the relevant, the fetén, above any other bullshit.


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