Héroes del Silencio - Aragonese Gothic

Héroes del Silencio, from Saragossa, are the most famous rock band in the history of Spanish music. Their sound takes shape during the final era of new wave, steeps itself in the dark tones of gothic rock, and often takes on the muscular edge of hard rock. Put this way, the Spanish band's formula might find a precedent in that of London's Cult, but the comparison would do a disservice to a sound and lyrical approach that are truly unique.

First of all, the Latin culture that seeps into their melodic inflections and delivery gives the band's songs warmth and epic tension. Then there's the voice and lyrics of Enrique Ortiz de Landázuri, aka Bunbury. The voice is powerful, deep, yet supple and capable of theatrical flourishes; the lyrics are cryptic, dense with symbolism, fascinating, and tied to the singer's passion for the French poètes maudits, as well as for Oscar Wilde, Pablo Neruda and Mario Benedetti.

No less distinctive is the style of guitarist and principal composer Juan Valdivia, a tireless weaver of complex, flowing arpeggios and an obsessive seeker of effects and distortions. Completing the lineup is a rhythm section made up of bassist Joaquín Cardiel and drummer Pedro Andreu, imposing in the best tradition of late post-punk.

The band was formed in 1985. At the time, Saragossa, capital of the autonomous community of Aragon, was anything but a crucial point on Spain's musical map. While sprawling Madrid, thanks to bands tied to the cultural movement of the movida madrileña (Alaska y Dinarama, Radio Futura, Nacha Pop and many others), and Barcelona's Último de la Fila, were setting the trends, Saragossa did have a rock scene, but none of the bands that were part of it seemed to have what it took to bring the city into the spotlight.

Everything was about to change, though. In 1984 Valdivia invited Bunbury, who at the time was on bass and vocals in Proceso Entrópico, to join as bassist in Zumo de Vidrio, a post-punk band he shared with his brothers, Pedro on drums and Javier on vocals.

The first of the Valdivia brothers to leave the lineup was Javier, who was thus replaced by Bunbury, already used to playing bass and singing at the same time. Shortly afterwards the bassist left too, and was succeeded by Pedro Andreu. Joaquín Cardiel was then brought in on bass to ease the load on Bunbury, who was burdened with the triple role of bassist, singer and lyricist.

At this point, though, it was effectively a brand new band, one that needed a new name. When they were invited to play on Radio Zaragoza to promote their first demo, they decided to introduce themselves using the title of one of the four tracks on the setlist, which was later changed to "Héroe de leyenda" – the other three titles being "Olvidado", "Sindicato del riesgo" and "Hologramas".

Having their songs aired by Radio Zaragoza was a true baptism of fire, marking the start of a period of high exposure and growing demand. The band also entered numerous competitions, which allowed them to hone their live attitude, one of their strong points from the very beginning. After clearing the regional rounds of the Festival de Benidorm, they reached the finals of the Nuevo Pop Español contest.

Given the explosive force of their performances, capable of forging an immediate connection with the audience, Bunbury and his bandmates soon landed the role of opening act on tours by successful acts such as Alphaville (the Spanish band, not to be confused with the German group of the same name) and the aforementioned Último de la Fila. By 1986 Héroes were already the sensation of the Spanish underground; all they lacked was a record label behind them to allow for the big leap forward. Among the many interested parties, the one who succeeded was Gustavo Montesano, an Argentine musician and producer who had moved to Spain a few years earlier in search of greater success in the record industry, and who pitched the band to Emi. Montesano, already a member of Crucis (a hugely cult prog band in Argentina), was at the time the guitarist of the successful synth-pop act Olé Olé, and he carried a fair amount of negotiating leverage.

The Spanish division of the British giant immediately signed the band for a four-track EP, which sold 30,000 copies and thus led, in 1988, to the recording of their first proper album: El mar no cesa.

Partly disowned by the band itself due to the overly glossy, pop-leaning, radio-friendly production adopted by Montesano, the record consists almost entirely of songs already written in the past (an aspect that certainly contributed to the album's lack of cohesion), including those performed at Radio Zaragoza and those featured on the EP.

While it's true that Héroes del Silencio would never again sound so soft, and that the sound they are remembered for took shape on the following album, El mar no cesa still contains a few worthwhile moments, showcasing many of the compositional dynamics we would hear in the future, as well as the frontman's great flair for showmanship.

Thanks to roughly 100,000 copies sold in Spain, the record would go on to allow the band to embark on their first major headlining tour across the country. An exhausting, mammoth and triumphant tour of about a hundred dates, straddling 1988 and 1989, which would establish them as a band of the first rank.

The album indeed opens with a track that would never be missing from any anthology of the band, "Mar adentro". Valdivia's guitar is sparkling, flowing irrepressibly in a shifting stream of silvery jangle arpeggios, the piano punctuates the verses loading them with epic grandeur, and Bunbury dominates the scene, repeatedly shifting mood.

"Hace tiempo" and "Fuente esperanza" carry on in the same vein as the opener; the former, however, features a harsh, psychedelic guitar coda, while the latter unfolds more relaxed, leaning on a sugary, radio-ready rock sound. Equally catchy is "No màs lagrimàs", though it suffers excessively from Montesano's pop varnish – another track with the same issue is certainly "Agosto".

"Olvidado" brings the record back up to speed thanks to a punchy, snappy riff and a refrain that's rather easy to memorize. It's undoubtedly one of the songs that led Italian audiences to repeatedly associate the band with our own Litfiba; a superficial comparison, mostly due to the fact that we're not used to listening to rock bands singing in languages other than English (or our own).

"La lluvia gris" relies on an adamantine jingle-jangle arrangement, with the guitar especially nimble, which Bunbury nonetheless tops with a full, virile voice, hard to reconcile with an indie pop song. The interplay of contrasts comes off brilliantly, and the song is a classic. It's followed by "Flor venenosa", a dark, tense new wave track the singer uses once again to show off a range of registers, yelps and howls.

"La visiò de vostra alma" and "Isla de las iguanas" also draw on post-punk principles, though they flavor their origins with Latin aromas and a generous dusting of mystery.

The album ends as it ends, that is, with a masterpiece. A "Héroe de leyenda" set in motion by guitar and bass arpeggios that intertwine and thicken, generating palpable tension. Over this unstable musical terrain, Bunbury sings of epic heroes, of chosen ones destined for great deeds – it's a lyric that, brought down to a human scale, seems to foreshadow what was about to happen shortly afterwards:

Always in the dark,

the voice makes no sense,

silence is everything.

The hero in his own oblivion,

in his lifeless eyes

there is an eternal punishment.

The hero of legend

belongs to the dream of a destiny"

The more militant Spanish critics, however, show no kindness toward the band, who get panned with unwarranted hostility, particularly because of Bunbury's angelic looks, accused of being a mere pretty face put there just to attract teenage girls. Sadly, the music itself is barely discussed.

For the recording of the second album, unhappy with Montesano, the band manages to recruit Phil Manzanera, former guitarist of Roxy Music. It's a surprising choice: Manzanera had by then become a much sought-after session musician in English-language rock, but had never found room to work as a producer. In 1989, though, he had ended up producing an album for an obscure Spanish band, Mosquitos, who were based in London at the time. That probably caught the attention of people at Spanish EMI, in particular manager Ignacio Cubillas: once the arrangements were made, Manzanera set off for Spain.

Partly thanks to his experience, partly due to the band's own growth - having had the chance to tighten up live and, for the first time, write material aimed at one specific project - Senderos de traición stands as one of the masterpieces of Spanish rock. The leap forward in formal terms achieved within a single album is staggering.

“Entre dos tierras” opens with an echo-drenched arpeggio and kicks into a gallop in which the guitar keeps refracting into new mutations, which continue right through to the end, in a gradual piling-up of filters, now ethereal, now distorted. A minute goes by before Bunbury starts singing, yet this doesn't hurt the song's commercial potential, which is backed by a legendary video directed by young Catalan filmmaker Alberto Sciamma, alternating footage of the band performing with a violent physical clash between a man and a woman.

The same lyrics, which in the first verse seem to address the power dynamics surrounding a public figure (“Ti puoi vendere, qualsiasi offerta va bene, se vuoi potere, ed è facile aprire la bocca tanto per commentare, e se pensi di fare marcia indietro hai già molte orme da cancellare”), in the second verse seem to shift focus to the story of a couple in crisis (“Perdi la fede, qualsiasi speranza è vana e non sai cosa credere, ma dimenticami, che nessuno ti ha chiamato e sei qui un’altra volta”).

The track serves as a blueprint for the whole album, which boasts a very cohesive sound, thanks to Manzanera's choice to record all the instruments live and simultaneously, giving the record more impact than the debut. There are, of course, a few overdubs, mostly in terms of electric guitar effects, which Valdivia deploys across the board: fuzz pedals, delay, echo, chorus, phaser and anything else you can think of. The occasional acoustic guitars, on the other hand, are played live by Bunbury, and can be heard in particular during the imposing midtempo grooves of “Oración” and “Con nombre de guerra”.

While most of the album moves at a brisk pace (“Maldito duende”), if not a frantic one (“La carta”, “Hechizo”, “Decadencia”), the tempo defines the songs' power but not their atmosphere, which has more to do with tone: when the guitar softens, a jangle-pop sensibility filters through, while sharper tones veer toward gothic rock, without the band ever settling into just one lane (it's precisely this refusal to be pigeonholed that makes them so distinctive).

However, despite drawing on genres born in the Eighties, the impression is that the album perfectly captures the turning point between one decade and the next. The dry, clipped drum sound already looks ahead to the Nineties, and more broadly it wouldn't be wrong to point to this dozen songs as one of the birthplaces of Spanish alternative rock (tellingly, at more or less the same time, Argentina's Soda Stereo were detonating the genre across Latin America).

Senderos de traición came out in November 1990, and from there it began its climb up the charts, reaching number 1 in February of the following year. It stayed in the top fifty for 28 weeks and by 1992 had sold 400,000 copies at home. In the long run, though, its impact proved to be international: the four musicians decided to tour Belgium and Switzerland. It was a decision that initially put them at odds with their label: rather than keep filling big arenas in Spain, they chose to play small venues across Central Europe, where they were complete unknowns. And yet it worked: starting out in bars where there was barely room for the drum kit, they began building their live cult following (the four of them still recall those shows today as the most exciting and happiest moments of their career).

At that point they decided to try their luck in Germany, where they were invited by Johnny Hauesler, leader of German rock band Plan B, to play an anti-racism festival: "Ich Bin Ein Ausländer" ("I Am Not a Foreigner"). The concert took place on 26 October 1991 and got TV coverage. From that moment on, German record executives began seriously considering distributing the band locally, which in turn set off a snowball effect across the surrounding European markets.

By July 1992, Senderos de traición had thus entered the German charts, reaching number 17, staying in the top fifty for 42 weeks and eventually topping half a million copies sold. The countless live dates that followed saw thousands of German kids singing complex Spanish lyrics in unison, in a thoroughly surreal atmosphere. In Switzerland the album went platinum, with 50,000 copies sold, and even Italy took notice, pushing it to number 23, where it spent 11 weeks in the top fifty. Not a result comparable to Germany's, but still another 100,000 copies.

Success across the rest of the Spanish-speaking world was by then more predictable, though the band took a long time to actually play in Mexico, where they didn't appear until October 1992. There's no reliable data on local sales, but given the band's stature and the size of the Mexican market at the time, the figure was certainly above 100,000 copies, a number that at least doubles once the rest of Latin America is factored in.

The album also proved important in establishing Manzanera as a winning producer: from that point on he would go on to produce records for some of the most important Ibero-American artists, including Gabinete Caligari, Antonio Vega, Paralamas do Sucesso, Fito Páez and Aterciopelados.

After the success of Senderos de traicion, attention on the band, including internationally, is enormous. The numbers racked up by the second album speak for themselves: the band is by now a heavyweight of European rock. Few Spanish bands or artists can rival the Zaragoza outfit, whether in terms of record-sales appeal, fandom, or critical reception (which outside Spain proves far more enthusiastic than at home).

In such a rosy context, taking a misstep that could worsen their standing is a very real possibility. Where other bands would have trodden carefully, banking on a new record not too different from such a lucrative formula, Héroes del Silencio react by renewing their ambitions and betting on an album markedly different from its predecessor.

Recorded in 1993 at the Chertsey studios (Surrey), again under Manzanera's supervision, El espíritu del vino runs over seventy minutes, features the most cryptic lyrics Bunbury had ever written, and favours hard rock over post-punk. Not only does it have a much heavier, more rock-leaning sound than Senderos de traicion, it also features longer tracks, sprawling guitar solos and moments steeped in psychedelia. Unlike on the earlier records, the songs' influences are rooted more firmly in the rock of the Sixties and Seventies.

Given the sheer amount of guitar parts, Valdivia needed support both in the studio and live. Manzanera himself played the rhythm parts on the record, while Alan Boguslavsky, the Mexican guitarist who took part in the South American leg of the subsequent tour, later officially joined the band.

While the covers of the band's first two albums prominently featured the quartet, El espíritu del vino differs here too, instead presenting Zaragoza's Calle Alfonso distorted through the glass of a bottle and immersed in a red sea of Eastern imagery.

The album's title primarily references a poem by Baudelaire, while also implying it was chosen at a moment when the whole band was in a state of inebriation. Both the period leading up to the record's release and the one that followed were in fact marked by excesses of various kinds, from alcohol to assorted drugs, which often strained the band's cohesion. Another shift that took place around the release of El espíritu del vino concerned the look of Bunbury and the rest of the band, who moved away from the rockstar stereotype towards something more refined, closer to a dandyish elegance.

The album's commanding opening is entrusted to "Nuestros nombres", a genuine guitar whirlwind in which riffs and solos pile on top of one another without a break. In this earthly inferno, Bunbury's voice soars with a macho vocal performance, full of depth and battle cries.

Other tracks are just as strong. Like "Los placeres de la pobreza", on which Andreu pounds the snare like never before, kicking off a song that sounds like a cavalry charge of Native American warriors. Or the blistering "El camino del exceso", marked by a syncopated riff and an emphatic, urgent vocal. Another trial by hard-rock fire is certainly "Sangre hirviendo", while "Culpable", though still rocky and driven by a powerful riff, is more fluid, melodic and romantic.

The most fascinating, exotic and psychedelic surprises, however, come in the slower tracks. Across the nearly seven minutes of "La herida" we witness a striking marriage between a Latin acoustic-guitar strum and the warmth of the harmonica, which then breaks into a vibrant unison solo with the electric guitar. "Flor de loto", meanwhile, sets to music all the Eastern imagery that had been swirling through Bunbury's mind while he was writing the lyrics.

Excellent confirmation also comes from the tracks more closely tied to the band's recent past, such as the melodic, leaden "Tesoro" and the equally shadowy but sturdier "La apariencia no es sincera". The album closes on a note of versatility with "La alacena", swollen with orchestral arrangements that seem conceived more for the theatre than for rock arenas.

All things considered as striking as its predecessor, even if perhaps a bit unfocused due to the very long tracklist, the album came out on June 3, 1993, achieving excellent results pretty much everywhere: number 1 at home, number 5 in Switzerland, number 9 in Germany, number 19 in Italy, gold record in Mexico.

Titled after the track "El camino del exceso", the tour that followed the album saw the band play 134 dates across Europe, the United States and South America. The stress and excess that repeatedly rocked the tour put the band's very existence at risk, worn down by exhaustion and recurring clashes, especially between Bunbury and Valdivia.

With one more album still owed under their contract with EMI, even though the signs of a rough split were already evident, the band found itself forced to take stock of its situation and figure out how to deal with its obligations. So the five of them retreated to the Pyrenees to find some calm and, as much as possible, the cohesion that had been slipping away. It was precisely during this retreat in Benasque that most of the demos were born that would go on to make up the fourth and final album, Avalancha.

Unlike the previous albums, recorded between Spain and England — in Europe, that is — this time the band made use of the equipment at Soundcastle studios in Los Angeles. To achieve a sound even harder, more direct and more powerful than that of El espíritu del vino, production duties were handed to Bob Ezrin — a storied name who had worked with Pink Floyd, Alice Cooper, Kiss, Lou Reed, Peter Gabriel and many others.

On the album cover, meanwhile, the faces of the four musicians took centre stage once again. Although Bouguslavsky had also taken part in writing the new songs and was regarded by the others as a full-fledged member, EMI considered him little more than a session player and pushed to have him left off the cover.

Even on a first listen to the 1996 album, it's clear that the band's post-punk roots and gothic-rock shadings, which had still surfaced on El espíritu del vino, had by now died out completely. What made the last Héroes del Silencio album their most "American" work was also down to the influence of contemporary grunge, with its roaring guitar charges.

A shift was evident from a lyrical standpoint too. Once more spiritual, cryptic and introspective, on Avalancha Bunbury sought greater engagement with the listener, urging them not to stay silent, to react against the injustices of life and society. All these changes certainly came at the cost of some originality in the band's formula, but the more direct approach than in the past still guaranteed a few last anthems.

After an introduction of around a minute called "Derivas", the one-two punch of "Rueda, fortuna!" and "Deshacer el mundo" reveals the band's new face through blazing guitar riffs and a relentless rhythm section. The epic "Iberia submergida", once again streaked with a trembling harmonica, has the job of wrapping the album in the mystery of dark prophecies, briefly bringing back the black magic and Spanish flavours of old.

The title track delivers on the avalanche it promises through a sound comparable to that of Soundgarden; the same can be said of "Parasiempre", a track with a simpler structure. "En brazos de la fiebre" slows things down again and bets everything on atmosphere, at least until Valdivia's long, languid closing solo.

The album's other ballad, "La chispa adecuada (Bendecida 3)", instead mixes riffs typical of slow grunge with a touch of Indian flavour, before spilling into Bunbury's usual, irresistible theatrical finale amid red-hot guitars and offbeat rhythm. Dedicated, fairly obviously, to the derivatives of the poppy flower, "Opio" is another chance for the band to show off its fascination with Southeast Asian exoticism — we're still in hard rock/grunge territory here, but with the edges smoothed out and the guitar parts flowing more freely.

The turn of 1993 into 1994 was a very hard period for the band. Not only did Enrique lose his brother Rafael, who died after being stabbed during a brawl, but the whole band was also hit hard by the death of road manager Martin, a figure who had often acted as their glue. All that pain poured into track 11 of Avalancha, a song as dark in its lyrics as it is vital in its riffing and in the way it detonates its infectious chorus. Because of what it carries with it, though, it's an anthem the band would never perform live. Closing the album, which thus comes close to a full hour in length, is one of the most beautiful and mysterious songs the Spanish band ever wrote: "La espuma de venus". The track could almost be considered a summa of all the styles the band touched on throughout its career: Valdivia sketches out a new-wave arpeggio, Boguslavsky fires off piercing, Floyd-like slashes, the rhythm section provides perfect accents and tempo changes, and Bunbury sings in a swaying motion lyrics that blend reality and legend with the usual epic tones (⟦Q1⟧).

Although Avalancha failed to repeat the sales performance of the previous albums (it did well in the Spanish-speaking world, even hitting number 1 and selling 200,000 copies at home, but took a clear step back in the rest of Europe), the band's reputation as a lethal live machine showed no sign of fading, and so Héroes del Silencio embarked on yet another tour of massive proportions, a full 152 dates across Europe and the United States.

This time, though, the tensions and an atmosphere that had by now turned toxic brought the group's existence to an end: after a show in Los Angeles that was cut short in ugly fashion, they decided to put their activity on hold. The hiatus was announced shortly before the end of the tour at a press conference held in Lima.

After all, already during the tour, Bunbury was picturing a solo future, or at least something different from the Héroes del Silencio dimension, for the new songs he was writing. Just a year later, he would indeed launch a successful solo career that, still going strong today, now boasts fourteen studio albums.

Juan Valdivia instead devoted himself to various projects with his brothers, before releasing his only solo album in 2001, “Trigonometralla”. Both Andreu and Boguslavsky took part in several other bands, while Cardiel withdrew completely from the scene to dedicate himself to long journeys to sites symbolic of Native Americans, which had always been a great source of interest for him.

In 1998, again on Emi, came out Rarezas, a band-authorized collection of alternate versions, B-sides and unreleased tracks.

Ten years after splitting up, the band announced they would reunite for one final tour, which began in September 2007 and ended just over a month later. According to Bunbury, it was a way of thanking all the fans as well as an opportunity to relive the group's key moments and bring a dignified, moving close to their experience. The tour saw the band cross several American cities (both in the South and the North) and Spain, where every date sold out in record time.

Michele Corrado (introduction, “El mar no cesa”, “El espíritu del vino”, “Avalancha”), Federico Romagnoli (“Senderos de traición”, general revision)

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