The Drugs: “I went through a time of being completely wasted and not even knowing what I was doing.”

On the way to 66, with children and grandchildren, and in the midst of a tour that has already taken him to thirty cities this year, Enrique Villarreal, El Drogas, founder and leader of Barricada, performs today with his current band at the Cambrils International Music Festival. He continues to write and compose songs, amidst a quiet, homey, and "boring" life, but with an angry look at what's happening in the world. Fourteen years without smoking to preserve his voice, away from drugs. He always arrives the day before the concert with his "partner" to enjoy the venue and arrive refreshed.

The same desire?

I was born for this. I don't do anything else, I focus on this. I quit smoking and everything else to sing. The choice for me was easy. What may seem like a virtue, dedication to one's craft, is also a flaw: I'm quite boring. Now I tend to go to bed early and wake up early.

What will viewers expect on your tour?

A band that gives their all on stage, with Txus, Flako, and Nahia, the four visible heads. We operate like a steamroller. It's a minimum of two hours of flat-out performances, barely letting the audience breathe, faster between songs than the Ramones. Two hours is enough time for everything, including the songs on Barricada.

Life change I quit smoking and everything else to sing. Now I'm an early bedtime and early wake-up person. I enjoy it more now; I feel much freer to decide what format and stories I write.

Afraid of leveraging?

The feeling of debt to the audience makes me work on stories, not take everything for granted. It eats away at my head to be constantly in flux. Living off the income is dangerous; letting yourself be carried away by inertia is a bad thing.

Your songs have criticized what was happening at the time. How do you see the current situation?

What best defines everything that's happening in the Western world is the genocide in Gaza: it sums up current history in a devastating way. I post the song "Pétalos" on Facebook, and comments always pop up, which I quickly block; this is nothing more than a latrine, and whoever I want to shit on it will. I don't give a damn if they call me a fascist.

Could these be new letters?

Yes, but it drives me so mad that a song can't do it. That's what's been happening to me lately: I'm trying to reflect, and it's hard. It pisses me off that songs like Oveja negra (Black Sheep) are brutally relevant today, even though I wrote it in 1993. Revuelta de piedras (Stone Rumble) is from 1992, during the first intifada, and we're now in the midst of a genocide. I'm so angry I don't know if I'll be able to do it. I'm living in a state of déjà vu. Have I done something, or am I just comfortable here with a pen and paper? I'd rather write about the brand of my underwear. I'm Western, and part of the problem.

With a rope for a while?

Yes, if all goes well. Life sends you things. I'm assimilating what comes along. I don't do three shows in a row. I don't want to go in fearing whether my throat will hold up. And before long, I might have to decide to do one show a week.

He thinks a lot about everything, does he look different from the outside?

The vast majority of people I know who are dedicated to this have the same vision. You have a commitment to your audience, to being able to do it. I went through a period of being completely overwhelmed and living in a whirlwind of hysteria; you didn't even realize what you were doing, you weren't even aware of it. I want to enjoy this with my people and convey it to the public.

Do you enjoy it more now?

Possibly, yes. When I started performing as El Drogas, my partner came to work on my team. We take the van with her, go to the venues, and enjoy a day and a half before the crew arrives and we get into festival mode. That way of enjoying the performances is very interesting, seeing the venues and wandering around during the day; before, I didn't know if I was in Terrassa or Ourense. And now I feel much more free to decide what format and stories.

When is the new album coming out?

I don't know. I'm writing songs about something that came to mind after reading a biography of Miguel Hernández, which coincided with the death of an Asturian poet of my generation, David González. I started acoustically, with the piano. My oldest grandson, who's 13, likes the caña; when I do acoustic recordings, I don't.

Today's concert is packed.

Fine, but even if there are five of us, we'll still go to the death.