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**Veneno - Veneno**
★★★★☆

In the pantheon of Spanish rock history, few albums capture the raw, unbridled spirit of rebellion quite like Veneno's self-titled debut from 1977. This isn't just a record—it's a molotov cocktail thrown at the staid conventions of post-Franco Spain, a primal scream that helped birth an entire generation's musical awakening. Nearly five decades later, "Veneno" remains a towering achievement that sounds as dangerous and vital as the day it first crackled through speakers in Madrid's underground clubs.

The story of Veneno begins in the mid-70s when three unlikely conspirators—Kiko Veneno (José María López Sanfeliu), Raimundo Amador, and Juan José Amador—found themselves gravitating toward each other in Seville's bohemian circles. Kiko, already a fixture in the city's counterculture scene, had been experimenting with fusing traditional flamenco with rock and blues influences he'd absorbed from imported records. The Amador brothers brought their own gypsy heritage and an intuitive understanding of flamenco's deepest rhythms. Together, they created something that had never existed before: a sound that was authentically Spanish yet completely contemporary, rooted in tradition but utterly revolutionary.

What makes this album so compelling is its refusal to be easily categorized. This is flamenco rock, but it's also blues, folk, and punk attitude wrapped in Andalusian mysticism. The trio's approach was deceptively simple—acoustic guitars, minimal percussion, and voices that carried the weight of centuries—but the execution was nothing short of masterful. They took the complex palmas and compás of flamenco and married them to rock's directness and blues' emotional honesty, creating a template that countless Spanish artists would follow.

The album's crown jewel is undoubtedly "En un Mercedes Blanco," a hypnotic meditation that builds from whispered verses to an almost trance-like crescendo. Kiko's vocals drift between singing and speaking, while the Amador brothers weave intricate guitar patterns that seem to breathe with their own life. It's a song that captures the essence of 1970s Spain—caught between its conservative past and an uncertain, exciting future. Equally essential is "Corre, Corre," which transforms a traditional flamenco structure into something that feels like a lost Velvet Underground track recorded in a Seville cave. The interplay between the three musicians here is telepathic, each knowing exactly when to push forward and when to pull back.

"Vuela, Vuela" showcases the trio's ability to create atmosphere with the sparest of means. Built around a simple but irresistible guitar riff, the song unfolds like a fever dream, with Kiko's voice floating over rhythms that pulse with ancient energy. Meanwhile, "Te Quiero" strips things down to their essence—just voices and guitars creating something that feels both intimate and universal.

The album's production, handled by the band themselves, captures their live energy without sacrificing the subtle details that make these songs so captivating. There's a rawness here that feels intentional, as if too much polish would have killed the magic they were conjuring. The recording has an almost mythical quality, as if these songs were discovered rather than written, pulled from the Spanish earth itself.

Tragically, Veneno's story was brief but brilliant. Internal tensions and the pressures of sudden fame led to the group's dissolution shortly after the album's release. Kiko Veneno went on to a successful solo career, becoming one of Spain's most respected singer-songwriters and a godfather figure to subsequent generations of Spanish rock artists. The Amador brothers formed Pata Negra, continuing to explore the fusion of flamenco and rock with considerable success.

The legacy of this album cannot be overstated. It essentially created the blueprint for Spanish rock, proving that artists didn't need to abandon their cultural identity to create contemporary music. Bands from Ketama to Ojos de Brujo owe a debt to these thirty-eight minutes of inspired music-making. In recent years, as world music has gained greater appreciation, "Veneno" has found new audiences who recognize it as a masterpiece of cultural fusion.

This is essential listening for anyone interested in understanding how tradition and innovation can coexist, creating something entirely new while honoring the past. Veneno didn't just make an album—they opene