Monica Narajo, the eminent song bird of Catalonia, has a voice so mystical, a presence so sublime she could bring the conquistadors pawing at the gate. She evokes images of the earth mother, of the Holy Virgin, of Hera, of Danaë, of Calypso the sorceress, of Penelope, of Nefertiti, of Boadicea, of Lady Godiva riding silken through Coventry, of Joan of Arc, of the Circassian beauties, of Ophelia, of Olympus, of Florence Nightingale, of Venus in Furs, of Mata Hari, of Daisy Buchanan, of Catherine Barkley, of Remedios, of Vivienne Lee, of Ingrid Bergman, of Debbie Harry, of Penelope Cruz. Standing up there on the stage she looks like a ten feet of femme fatale. With six studio albums, and a career spanning twenty years, she is the pride of Figueres. With the help of Salvidor Dali, she has put this small city in the Pyrenees on the global scene. She has lit up stages all over Spain, Central America and the United States. Singing in Spanish and English and flanked by fierce backing dancers, there’s no holding the spirited diva down.
The Mars Volta
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