From an excellent blog: http://rockchilelatinoamerica.blogspot.com/
And if you've been told that everything was wonderful, stupid, we all were going to take a cocktail Omnium with bangs enlaced and we used the stupid clothes that went out in the commercials. If you have been told that time was the highest grossing in aesthetic of the clothes that the girls were equal the pads Bolocco with Farrah Fawcett, the boys danced Jackson and Depeche Mode album in the neighborhood is not as high and were joined in throwing Apumanque blujines painted with snow. They looked again and again and we loved this movie gringa "Charlie's Angels." That we were all imbeciles, blonde and danzabamos to the beat of the boots. Do not create it asshole. Because there would be another Chile, eighties and beyond, where being trough was cool, where using Peruvian wool was dissident and decent, which smell like patchouli and lilac contraseña.Porque was that we had to counteract a famous gang miliquera TV. So welcome hippies wool and craft fairs where sounded Silvio, short, despacito.Bienvenida hindu clothing and long hair, rather long, waist, and I dreamed in my utopia ochentista.Y smoked pipes of the Andes hidden from cops and we felt that shit protesting Chilean others liked it so much. Also there was the rock. Prisoners Before it was always the rock, survived the dictatorship under the stones. Uproar over there or Quicksand and metal rabid zeppelin, replicating the album dissident Klimax, Alameda below. Although not arming the matucanero underground counterculture. Just a few beatnik poets reading their poetry in dark clubs. We lived there the little country banned all its seventy-year-old crying and emotion. And besides, the others were above Plaza Italia in derechotas parties Shifting. They do not pass anything, they were not with two hands poto pasting posters of Neruda. Bowling Nor because I got off the disgust the people had wool that was arming of bombs at a university with red eyes came in box. So was old pituquin now want to install your memory eighties eunuch without causa.Los fome below eighty began as flutes and guitars murmur of sad. There was nothing to celebrate in that scene of crimes and torture. There was nothing under the track-lit celebration of the show pinochetero of Don Francisco. Country was a bitter, gagged and shy, that I saw on the screen to stiff Maluenda its military victories in one show. The old hypocrite Maluenda, host of uniformed cueca. Today the same as shown in the film "Tony Manero" almost honored by the director of child remember. Yuck, vomit copihues was home by then. Where were you?, Sang The Jaivas, and today I ask the same directorcito. "Where were you." Not if you make a thousand movies dictatorship we forget that song. "Where estbas you." Something is not lived, Blond guys, and too late for explanations films. Memory is a snail in its shell closes inexcusable. It happened as it is, we here and you there, as if there was tyranny. Jarana always bubbling in Tom Collins, in the pub Casamila in Hollywood disco and all that shit jubilant. We were bitter and we got scared. Also we danced, we were flying, and sometimes we were happy but with pica. Mobilized angry. The wave record sounded on the radio and the song rocks nuevo.Llegaron eighties like a comet burning the battle, the first protest, the student mobilization to desentumir fear shit. There were also rock, rock and green were always urgent Macon. On TV, the gentlemen are dancing toward the rebels Scaramelli, Juan Antonio Labra, Andrea Tessa and other rotten hams might not remember. "Behind the Walls", guitar a Chascon and Violet breathed a cassette taxiing. Thus were the beginnings of a memorable decade for his political contortion. A decade that their anger at the premiere of armored dawn. Pedro Lemebel
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