The creation process of “Sandía”, my new album, began to take root shortly after the Social Outburst in Chile, a moment that marked a profound turning point in our society. Then came the Covid-19 pandemic, which altered everyone’s lives on a global scale, and finally, during the last months of composition, the painful reality of the Palestinian genocide was added to the long list of horrors we have witnessed in recent times. The echoes of that violence continue to reach us, and what began as a personal project has inevitably taken on a much deeper dimension.
Throughout this process, I always had a phrase by David Bowie in mind, which accompanied me while working on the music:
“I think most artists feel a lot happier discussing the process of what they do, rather than what the hell it means. I know so many painters who title their works after they’ve done them, which is a real giveaway.”
Bowie’s words resonate deeply with the creation of “Sandía”. In my case, the music emerged from an abstract process, driven by emotions, aiming to transform experience into sound rather than concept. It was a journey of discovery, not so much about knowing what I wanted to say, but about how I wanted to feel it. The titles, as Bowie suggests, came at the end. They were chosen not as a direct interpretation of the work but as a reflection of the emotions contained within the songs, and perhaps as a mirror of a reality that moves me to the core.
The “Sandía” (watermelon) is a complex symbol, full of nuances. As a fruit, its sweetness represents the freshness of life, yet it also embodies the contradictions and fragility of our existence. In this case, it stands as a symbol of the Palestinian flag, of struggle, resistance, but also of hope in humanity. In a world where destruction and suffering seem to be the norm, I want to believe that, as a species, we can still keep our hearts sweet—an act of humanity in the face of horror.
At a time when technology allows us to witness suffering in real-time through our screens, music, and artistic creation, in general, becomes a refuge—a way to make sense of the indescribable. “Sandía” is not just a sonic testimony to these times but also an invitation to reflect on our capacity for change, empathy, and resistance against the irreversible.
Thus, “Sandía” is not just an album. It is a cry of humanity amidst the chaos, a call to not forget what truly matters: to care for and love one another, no matter what the world tries to impose upon us.
This work seeks, more than to explain, to feel. I don’t know exactly what it means, but I know what it makes me feel. And I hope that, upon listening, you can also find a resonance with the moment we are living in.
Pablo Flores
(Granada, España. February 2025)
