Skinheads and Michael Landon in Granada

There is this amazing bar in Granada called 'El Rincon de Michael Landon'. It's all decked out in Michael Landon photos and other cheesy 70s and 80s Tv show themed memorabilia. Given the subject material I assumed, of course, there had to be some sort of ironic wink and nod implied in the decoration of the place. Then I learned that these shows- The A-Team, Knight Rider (both of which I watched syndicated as a child, religiously), etc. made it to Spain a little late, probably around the time I was actually watching it. This was all in the decade after Franco died and there was mad social revolution and upheaval going on, pretty much when they were having their equivalent of the 60s for us. Imagine thinking about sexual liberation, throwing away traditional values, coming out of the grips of a rightwing regime that has held on to your nation for forty plus years and the image of the A-Team, Mister T jumping out of a helicopter onto a moving train comes to mind, or David Hasselhoff and his leather tight leather pants and his talking car named Kit. Shit, I'm surprised this nation isn't a lot goofier.


The Rincon de Michael Landon is where, the night after Halloween, Teagan and I were drinking and fell in with a group of Spanish skinheads in Granada. These were the anti-racist kind of skinheads, which we were both more than a little baffled to find in Spain, or any kind of skinhead for that matter, since we'd always associated the movement with British, Irish, or American working class. Walking through Granada that day we had seen no shortage of anti-nazi graffiti, but never gave it much thought since none of it was really aesthetically pleasing. Seriously curious about how this movement made it to Spain, a place that seemed to us pretty much devoid of any sort of Arian nation movement (I mean, it's not Idaho or anything, it's Spain), we tried to ask a couple of them who they were protecting with their adamant and zealous anti-racist behavior, but couldn't really get a straight answer. Partially due to language barrier, but also I think because they didn't really know who they were protecting either. Arabs? we ask- "Not so much, the Arabs." Ok, seems a little hypocritical, but at any rate they must be doing a good job in their self-appointed and self-righteous work, because I didn't see a single Nazi in Granada.

Anyway, we fell in with these skins, who for all their theoretical and sort of conformist dogma flaws were wonderful people who accepted us tagging along with them, because they said they were going to a reggae show and we were in need of some live music. It turned out not to be reggae, but ska, and the good old school traditional ska the likes of Desmond Dekker. I don't think I've danced, excuse me, skanked, so much in my life, even when I was into that shit as a teenager, and likewise I don't think I've seen that many skinheads in one place, I mean hundreds of them. Seriously, how are there so many skinheads in Spain? Is it that, just like Michael Landon and the rest of those guys made it here 10 years late, the same is happening with the third wave ska revival that plagued our nation in the late nineties? If so, they have it better than we did, because apparently they were able to cut through the crap mallpunkska shit we got and got right down to the real shit like Dennis Brown, Augustus Pablo, King Tubby, and Desmond Dekker, the genuine stuff you can't really find, unless you really dig in the states.

We danced all night and before the show we hung out in a carwash stall next door getting our pre-game on, drinking and singing. We ended up taking a cab home for a less than ten minute walk, because we had absolutely no clue where the hell we were. It was the night after Halloween and I think it satisfied our needs because we were surrounded by people all dressed up as things they weren't (Spanish skinheads... come on), but finding it community in it, and that's what Halloween is all about - and drinking, of course.

A weekend of Graffiti in Granada

We went to Granada for Halloween weekend. We were going to get tattoos, but it fell through because the tattoo artist we wanted was sick. The weekend was eventful, though, with skinheads (the antiracist kind), car washes, and ska shows. I wish I had time right now to reflect on the wacky experiences just mentioned, but Granada is covered with graffiti. I took lots of pictures. Here they are.