The year was 1999, and a school trip to the European Parliament in Brussels changed everything. Europe was standing tall, a symbol of unity and, for me, it marked the beginning of a lifelong journey. It was there, in the heart of the European capital, where my love for languages, film, and theatre was ignited. Years later, as a trainee at the European Commission, I walked those same Brussels streets, feeling as if the seed planted in my youth was finally blooming. My dreams, once distant, were now within reach.
Fast forward to Seville, 2001, where fate introduced me to Joaquín Sabina: the brilliant Spanish poet and songwriter whose work paints vivid pictures like no other. His words, steeped in poetic genius, spoke to me in ways I never imagined. Lyrics like "Y si te vas, me voy por los tejados, como un gato sin dueño" (If you leave me, I'll be roaming rooftops like a "collarless" cat) stirred something deep within me — a raw, unfiltered way of storytelling that transcended language. It was in Seville where I realized that language was not just a tool, but an art form in itself. Sabina’s words had a rhythm — a soul — and I found myself obsessed with the idea that his magic could be translated, not just in words, but in the essence of song and performance.
Back in the UK, with wedding bells ringing (a bit like the "collarless" cat, I let them ring out), I woke up to a revelation. Sabina’s poetry wasn’t just a passion — it was a catalyst. His ability to spin stories so intricately — to wrap life’s most complicated emotions in a few verses — made me see that this wasn’t exclusive to the Spanish language. It could be done in English, too. And why couldn’t I be the one to do it?
The moment I saw Sabina live at the Royal Albert Hall, his spell over me deepened. When one of his band members came out in a kilt, it felt like an unexpected nod to my Scottish roots, and the fact that Sabina himself had been known to wear tartan trousers just sealed the deal. It was as if the universe was nudging me towards something bigger — a fusion of the worlds I loved: Scotland and Spain, poetry and performance.
The audience at the concert was electric, and I — La Escocesa — was right there in the thick of it, singing every lyric alongside my Spanish friend. By the end of the night, a small entourage of about 50 people followed us to a local cocktail bar, where the spirit of Sabina’s music carried on into the early hours. That night reaffirmed what I already knew: Sabina had not only taught me a language, but he had also shown me a new way to communicate through art. His work was, and still is, an inspiration for my own music.
As Sabina embarks on his goodbye tour, I can’t help but feel both nostalgic and invigorated. His influence continues to shape my creative journey. The idea of possibly performing a duet with him — a Scottish/Spanish love affair in song — seems like a natural next step. Who knows? Maybe one day, Sabina and I will share a stage, weaving together the threads of his poetic genius and my own Scottish twist on storytelling.
And so, with every song I write and every role I play, I carry a piece of Sabina’s magic with me — proof that languages, no matter how different, can harmonize beautifully, just like tartan and flamenco.
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