There is something about C. Tangana that makes everything he says seem like a half-revealed mystery. When it seems that he is letting go and one manages to see something behind the artist's mask, he quickly picks up the cable and the image he projects in his performances and videos reappears. One is not clear when it is Antón, when it is Pucho and when it is C. Tangana. Or perhaps all three are part of the same thing, a person who has managed to become a music star without going through the hoops of an industry created by radio formula.
He has always done what he wanted. When he wanted to rap, he rapped; When he got into urban music, he did it; and when he wanted to reclaim Spanish folklore, he pulled out an album like El madrileño, which was also accompanied by a tour that everyone talked about. What no one knew was that underneath that gathering of friends around a table that made stadiums shake there was a money-burning hole. Living up to the proverb, from their hard core of trust they made necessity a virtue and decided that there was a documentary there. This excessive ambition is a tragedy in three acts, as they described it when they premiered it as a documentary film at the last San Sebastián Festival.