FonoVisa
Pop, 1997

I confess it is boredom that made me pick up Mr Iglesias Junior’s 1997 album. I love his English debut to bits, but again, I don’t understand Spanish, so I’m afraid I may not appreciate Mr Iglesias’s Spanish efforts fully. No matter. Vivir (To Live, according to the Babelfish translator) is a pleasant surprise. There are some obvious dull fillers, but all in all, Mr Iglesias’s overwrought, wobbly vocals can still seem to be the most romantic poetry in the world.

He’s not the best singer in the world, which he himself cheerfully admits, but oh, I don’t know how he does it, but even when he goes off-key, he still comes off earnest and delightfully pathetic in his persistent wooing of my ears and heart. It is so easy to believe him when he sings Enamorado Por Primera Vez to me, its soaring chorus making up for its dull verses.

Mr Iglesias then goes reggae-lite in the tropical fruity-tutty delight of Lluvia Cae with its jaunty verses and a rousing singalong chorus. The lyrics has he chasing after this lady, whose “dancing makes him dangerous”. Oh, to see this guy chasing me in the rain, with his clothes plastered to his… er, never mind.

But the most lethal song is definitely the superb Miente (ironically, one of the songs he has no involvement in their production). Miente has him lashing out in wounded anguish, backed by a killer piano hook that must be heard to be believed. Superb, simply superb, it beats Lluvia Cae as my favorite in this CD.

Vivire Y Morire, despite its morbid title, is a sunny track, a perfect cooling down track to the dark, broody Miente.

Everything else, I’m afraid, is the dull lovey-dovey ballad variety. But really, for the songs I mentioned above, coupled with Mr Iglesias’s devastating Romeo facade, I’m hard-pressed not to say “Yes, yes, yes!” to anything and everything this young man asks of me.

Ah. “No podré vivir sin ti,” he sings, and, oh yes baby. I think I’ll emigrate to Spain.