DUSMINGUET:  “POSTROF”
 

CLARIFYING THE UNIVERSE OF POSTROF

Yes, one could think that Postrof was a white Russian family, who escaped from the Bolshevist Revolution, and established in Catalonia, a place they were told to have a lot of Polish. There they opened a business for well water seeking, using their seer skills.
They had three children, but none of them learned architecture. One of them, Grigori Postrof, returned to Russia to join the Blue Division, a fact that turned out not to be an obstacle to receive the USSR Hero Medal after the Siege of Stalingrad. Historians are not sure to which side did Grigori belong to, the besieger or the besieged.  Later on, he came back to Catalonia where, thanks to his financier skills, he managed to re-launch his paternal well water-seeking business. Years later, opened a manufactory of caganers, little figurines that portray a squatting position, that Catalans place in their Christmas Manger. Got married later and divorced later on. Then, his whole family passed away in an accident - their home set on fire and they all mistook a closet door for the exit door-, he settled down in La Garriga, where he passed away ,without a heir or a lover, and donated all his wealth to that town. On the main avenue of this lovely town his equestrian statue still remains in his honor.

Yes, this could be true, but it is not. It is fruits of imagination, for Postrof is as much of  an invented word as Vafalungo, title for the first LP of Dusminguet. Since we can not pass this  biography of the Postrof, title of their second album, for true we will try and clarify the Univers of Dusminguet.
 

Let us start denying.
They are not mestizos.
Well, not at least in the sense that this word has been given lately, for it has been used both in inadequate and uncalled-for ways and has finally lost its real meaning. Ok, the members of the band are natives to La Garriga (Barcelona) together with an Argentinean, a natural to Vallecas and a French. But I insist, they are not mestizos. Well, maybe something along the lines, because…who amongst those that dwell here can certify that none of their ancestors was an Arab, a Greek, a Goth or a Phoenician who came here to have some fun and ended up with loan payments and surrounded by little younglings?

They are not a NGO.
For they are not here to redeem the whole world of its sorrow, they have enough themselves with their own. They are not Pretentious without Glamour, or Percherones sin tiro. They create popular music that not only can make life seem more bearable, but also be more bearable. They are musicians with Hope.

They are not cool.
They are not stiff and unfriendly  guys, selfish and  with a great opinion of themselves.. I mean, you will not see them in all covers of campaigns against military service ? it is over, isn’t it?-, in favor of the okupa cause or the legalization of cannabis; yet they have their own opinion about each of them, made up according to a common sense that leads them to reject the first one and support the second and the third. But, please, do not call them cool, for cool are those parents who still buy for their children Bon Jovi tapes with the belief they are “in”.  Bon Jovi and themselves too.

They are not new in this business.
For they have already been in the music scene for about six years. Their early years as amateurs, later on as amateurs with a disc and now as musicians who release a second one seeking for interlocutors.

They are not Mano Negra.

Yeah, OK, they are friends with Manu Chao; but one could also be friends with Roberto Carlos and that would not necessarily mean you’d walk around as a beast fouling recklessly. Yes, it is also true that their style is a mix of styles, but so is Kip Hanrahan’s and I don’t believe he’s never been asked about Manu Chao. That is to say, if you want to ask them about something more obvious than Padre Apeles’ intellectual feebleness, bring the Mano Negra subject up.

Up to here ,denials. Let us move to assertions about the Universe of Dusminguet.

They are villagers.
From La Garriga, a village worth visiting maybe just for its modernist cottages built by some bourgeois years ago.  And also for the Postrof equestrian statue. It was in this village where the band began to mess around, in a flat that belonged to an old well water factory, guarded by an Arab very fond of good wine and good jamón ibérico. Such was the keeper of that peculiar rehearsal spot. A merry Muslim.
And that is what is called being crossbreeded.

They are polyglots.
Well, at least in their records they use several languages. Arabic, French, Spanish and Catalan can be found among them. But this is not relevant, what is important is the fact that their attitude can be understood in any language. And this is precisely what has meaning; as languages are more of a bridge than a barrier.

They are curious.
Their music does not restrict to the musical scene that media persists in teaching us. That is to say:
- Black artists singing surrounded by astonishing dancers who dance as if they were trying to excite a bunch of Eunuchs.
-Latinos/Latinas singing just in English or making use of Anglo musical patterns to perform just for zippers.
- Rockers with a Llongueras hair-do.
- Songwriters who pretend to save the world while they bug us with their problems.
- Metalist singers with sweatshirts.
- Pop stars dressed in a MIR janitor fashion.

No, these guys have been seduced by popular music they heard from their parents, whose grandparents sung and their great-grandparents composed. Theirs, everyone’s. Great-grandparents, grandparents and parents from Latin-America, Spain, France, or Morocco, who grew up with street music born near the seas. A music with a bit of saltpeter. This is their reference. Curiosity is a priceless virtue .

They are popular.
For they helped popular music become a style that has a meaning beyond music Anthropology. Popular music is no longer only interesting to the elder, it has become a language for all.  Thanks to Dusminguet, amongst others.

They are imaginative.
For they have found in the polyrhythm of their records the key for all dances. Their music is a party that tastes like cumbia, like impure reggae, like rumba, like Rif breeze, like meringue, like raga. In a world where some desire with a passport Dusminguet uses no papers.
For their music comes from every single place.

These are few keys to the Universe of Dusminguet, an opened space with a safe conduct named Postrof. It was recorded in ChefChauen, northern Morocco, and in each of its eighteen pages a vitality chest opens, a chest born in a soundproof room covered with Moroccan carpets.

Country guys, recording popular music in a village from the Riff for a world turning  smaller every day. And let’s hope turning also more varied. This is what’s called to be cosmopolitan. So is the Universe of Dusminguet that appears in Postrof, a white Russian who

LUIS HIDALGO (Journalist)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

POSTROF. THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN. 
 

Getting closer to Vafalungo lands, they saw the singing lighthouse, and right behind it the fortified city, climbing up a hill like ivy, over watching the sea.

And so, they got closer and came in to Postrof. Xino, xano, xino ,xano, step by step, they saw the great mirror of the seas where the whole city is reflected, and so, looking at their own gleam they did the opposite.

For in Postrof there are some who write from right to left and those who write from left to right, those who allow drinking but forbid smoking, and vice versa; there are thieves that get robbed, those who think that windows are squared and those who see them round, some sail on land and get buried by the sea. There are also those in Postrof that live by the summer hour and those with the winter one, each one chooses its own, they find the one that fits them and live by it, and don’t mind those who find different.

Xino, xano, xino, xano, window by window, they got to the top of the hill, and leaving the sea and Postrof behind, they saw far away the great desert of one-family houses. Going downhill, and out of curiosity, they did what elders advised: in order to see day and night, they did not get sleep for one day and one night, so to live the dream, and fishing songs from each hour and corner, they wrote the book of absurdities.
Xino, xano, xino, xano, what a mess…
que fa fort...
 

JOAN GARRIGA (Dusminguet's acordion and voice)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

SON DEL CAMPESINO “EL MUNDO AL REVÉS” ¿que no ves?....
 

“Había nacido en un mundo sosegado por las influencias de DUSMINGUET. Nació un 6 de marzo hacia las 23.00h en “El mundo al revés”. Sus abuelos eran de Vafalungo, sus padres de Postrof; dentro todo en calma, fuera todo caos. Decidió crear una guerrilla urbana y profetizar la salvación. Dicen que jamás opinaba en público y sólo se guarda de él el recuerdo de su final. Como toda persona venerada, su aura creó escuela y la historia de su mundo comenzó a cambiar. Viajó hasta el planeta nº 3 de la galaxia nº 6319-78. Planeta felpado con musgo verde, empapado de jugos tropicales; al fondo un faro, una luz, un calor, una esperanza... Esa misma noche, allá a lo lejos, brilló por primera vez la estrella nº C-46, pero en esa época nadie creyó lo que contaba. Hizo una gira por los países del primer mundo, patrocinado por las marcas más desconocidas del mercado y con ello se subvencionó otra por el tercer mundo, con el grito al cielo. Buscado en toda su galaxia, empezó a enviar mensajes a los diplomáticos más influyentes del mundo, en aquel entonces débil y patas arriba. Su afán de música lo llevó hasta el planeta Soul Food. Planeta de energías bailables y ritmos despiadados. A los tres meses viajó hasta el planeta Adarve donde no pudo descansar ni un minuto; era el país de la música rockera. Allí el sonido no paraba, insistente las 24 horas del día. Pasados cinco meses emprendió el vuelo hasta el planeta Dstivie & Katai donde reposó sus energías y se aposentó en el planeta de la estepa estopa para escribir sus memorias virtuales entre monos babuinos y reggae tropical. Así saltó al vacío un 11 de septiembre, diada catalana, dejando un manual de vuelo o diario en formato digital. Viajó a través del negro vacío cinco veces más rápido que la velocidad de la luz. Era la descomposición del tiempo: se había parado... Ése sería el único día que pudo detener su mundo. Ése que va por ahí saltando y gritando, danzando y brincando al ritmo del Big Ben y la Sagrada Polla; como  su mundo, mal entendido por todos los sin alma, imaginario y vulgar, inmerso en la contradicción, tan grande como él mismo, “El mundo al revés”. Dicen que los clubes de Japón lo saben, y su espectro cruza y retumba en las cabinas. Dicen que en ese mundo se fuma de día y se bebe de noche, que la luna aparece al amanecer y el sol al atardecer. Dicen que en ese mundo la gente tiene miedo de no saber, de no entender, pero que las pequeñas cosas son las importantes. Ahí queda ese manual de DUSMINGUET y ese SON DEL CAMPESINO remix.

MOSCATI and MARTÍ SHOWARMA (Dusminguet's drummer and voice)