I first met Luis Augusto Maldonado back in 1985 and looking back, he simply never changed, physically or in his way of life. He died, Friday the 13th, some time during the night.

Both being musicians, we played together although Luis had his own style of playing the guitar which was very hard to follow as a bassist – he was either a genius or simply had no sense of rhythm because he would change chord whenever he felt the urge rather than following a pattern.

Back then, I was as down and out as he was and we shared a grotty flat for a few months. On my bedroom door I had a full-sized Union Jack – this was just three years after the Falklands War and Luis was Argentinean. He used to pretend to spit on it and I would threaten to shoot him with an invisible gun.

But Luis was a pacifist who had fled Argentina during the oppressive years of the Argentinean military dictatorship after a brutal encounter with the security forces. And, besides, my invisible gun was never loaded.

The years went by and I often encountered him in El Mimón tunnel where he busked; we would chat, I would listen to him play. He was always on the brink of being ‘discovered’ by a recording label which would never materialise but he never gave up, or gave in to more contemporary music styles: Luis’s songs were Luis’s style.

Even though some other musicians had little time for Luis, the fact is that he had some haunting melodies that he played on his acoustic guitar and his voice had almost a Joaquin Sabina timbre to it. More importantly, he believed in his music and persevered even though when he did have a gig, he had to put up with ironic applause. Some people would say, “hey, El Boludo is playing tonight at such-and such place; let’s go and take the piss.”

Nobody is certain of Luis’s age, but he must have been in his 70’s when he died but as I said above, he looked basically the same as he did in the 80’s.

Almuñécar is poorer for his passing – I know it sounds cliche, but it’s true because Almuñécar used to be full of eccentric people, artists, artistes or simply people who had drifted into town back in the 60s and 70’s and slowly died off by the turn of the century.

Luis Augosto Maldonado was the last of them, leaving Almuñécar without its odd fauna that had made it so different.

Luis had made enemies, bitten the hand that fed him on occasions, but he was not a bad person; he was different, unique even, so much so that I believe that those who used to belittle him will feel his passing.

Rest in peace, Luis… now you’ve got to learn to play the harp, Mate – good luck with the chords.

(News/Obit: Almunecar, Costa Tropical, Granada, Andalucia)