Once upon a time, musicians from Buenos Aires’s under scene run into each other in Cabo Polonio. This rustic beach town with no electricity or running water gathered them in its acoustic imposition soon to be converted in style and aesthetics, almost a personal signature to them.
Onda Vaga was born in summer, barefoot, playing in a camp fire, chanting together, loud, trying to convince the moon to come out and the sun not to go down from this particular place on earth where both things could be seen in its perfect synchronism during January’s full moon.
Onda Vaga smells like teen spirit, like camping, like parties in rooftops, like friends sharing songs and skies, but also like carnival, like energy liberation in an ancient ritual that has taken place in all ages of the earth and will be revisited many times more. Some wisdom relies in loosing our heads and dancing repeating their mantras, while folk meets trumpets & trombones and partying last until sun came up again. That’s what boring – or stupidly jealous- grown ups know as to be lazy (vago)
Vincent shot them a hot afternoon that started in a house and finished in a park at sunset. As I saw them walking down the streets of my neighborhood on sweaty February, singing out loud, sharing this acoustic optimism with the pedestrians, “all for one, one for all” like happy Musketeers, I realize that doesn’t matter if sand or asphalt is down their feet, if sea shells or traffic jam wash upon their shore, they carry summer on their eyes, and share it with the world.
Get a spot around the camp fire, or on the curb of the neighborhood, up that big three or even at that refugee in the mountain, prepare to embrace your inner child, or you ancient soul, be free, relax. Be a VAGO.