February 17, 2025

(Some, but not all) Spanish singers are getting their boobs out during their show

Amaral, seasoned Spanish songstress, made some small headlines in the last week, by taking her top off, and revealing her chest to the audience.

Referencing other Spanish singers, who had also revealed their breasts on stage she said:

“This is for Rocío, for Rigoberta, for Zahara, for Miren, for Bebe, for all of us. Because no one can take away the dignity of our nakedness. The dignity of our fragility, of our strength. Because there are too many of us.”

In some ways this is not such a big deal. And that’s the point in some ways, that it shouldn’t be.

But Amaral is part of a movement, mainly of women I suppose, who are raising the question – why should women be forbidden from going topless when men can do it freely? Good question right? After all people in the White Western world might criticise Islamic cultures from expecting women to cover up their heads or hair (though this is also a Christian tradition, which is still practiced today in churches on a Sunday, all over the white Western world). But really, heads, chests, what’s the difference?

But some people do consider there to be a difference. In June 2023, the police weren’t bothered when Rocío Saiz exposed her hair to the crowd – women expose their hair and face quite a lot in Spanish pop concerts –  but the police were bothered when she took off her top to expose her breasts – the police stopped the concert. There’s a video of someone, I think a police official, insisting that Rocio cover up her upper half, ironically, with a pride flag. This paternalistic response – is, I think, the ultimate in public humiliation, not just of Rocio, but of all the women in the audience, and then whoever gets to see it online.

What is the difference between the morality police in Iran or Saudi Arabia punishing a woman for exposing her face or hair? And the Spanish police punishing and humiliating Spanish women for exposing their breasts?

It smacks of oppression. The person doing the insisting appeared to be a woman too. Women often act in the service of the male gaze.

Thing is is that the covering of breasts, boobs, tits  – whatever you want to call them – have long been an expectation of patriarchal tradition – to make women ashamed of their body and humble them, in relation to male authority.

The covering is also for the sexual gratification and pleasure of men.

Boobs are, for many men, attractive. But the sexual pleasure of boobs is something to do with the fact that they are treated as forbidden fruit. It is the unveiling of them which is as much a sexual turn on, as what they look like. If you get rid of women’s obligation to hide their boobs away, you reduce the sexual turn on that men get by unveiling them.

I mean, its incredible really, but there is absolutely no reaction whatsoever, generally speaking by the right wing press, to the endless titillation in the newspapers, in the endless number of photographs of women’s bodies seen through their clothes or seen slipping out of their clothes – the result of a cheeky snap from a male photographer with an erection – but when it comes to a woman wanting to take her breasts out on her own terms, but without wanting to impress, seduce or what have you – then its seen as a sign of moral breakdown.

The perverse controlling male ownership of women’s bodies sees page three – Benny Hill – how’s your father – titillation as good old fashioned healthy stuff. But women being in control of their own bodies as moral breakdown.

Weirdly, and this is a bit of a digression, but I think the tradition of requiring women to hide their face is also for the sexual gratification and pleasure of men. Its probably quite a turn on to be able to unveil a woman’s face. I remember during covid, I was allowed to remove my mask when trying some glasses on, but during a time and in a shop where everyone else was wearing theirs, I felt quite naked – actually. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours – but in that position it was all one way.

Fact is anyway, that if you’ve ever been on a beach where there are some very pretty women bearing their chests, the first few minutes can be quite titillating – but it soon wares off – and gets almost boring to see.

So, anyway, in Spain there is quite a movement, politically, culturally, towards women’s liberation and equality between the sexes.

Amaral’s unveiling was dedicated, in part, to Rigoberta Bandini, who had also taken her top off, during one of her concerts.

Bandini did it singing her song ‘Ay Mama’ a song about mothers, and in particular, during this lyric:

(I don’t know why people get so scared about our tits) No sé por qué dan tanto miedo nuestras tetas

(Without them there wouldn’t be humanity or beauty) Sin ellas no habría humanidad ni habría belleza

The question hangs in the air, but it doesn’t stop people from banning Rigoberta’s tits.

In videos of the concert and in articles on the issue, the parts showing Rigoberta’s chests have been edited out.

Even the Guardian, who were progressive enough to feature an article about Amaral’s display, and featured a photo of Amaral’s naked chest on the article, didn’t lead with the photo on the front page of the Guardian. The Guardian article references Bebe, who in 2011 was ridiculed for displaying one of her breasts in a concert in Logroño, and Zahara, a singer whose poster for a new album was censored in Toledo, after Catholic groups had described it as an offence to the Virgin Mary.

Thing is though, the unveiling of breasts on stage, feeds in, in some way, to the titillation frame.

Some men were, understandably, wowing at the video of Rigoberta Bandini revealing her breasts, momentarily. One quipped that it would be great if there could be more of what Rigoberta was showing in the Eurovision Song contest. Rigoberta’s moment wasn’t intended to be (I don’t think) but could quite easily be translated as the insertion of a semi strip-show moment into a pop concert. What might have been more of a statement, is walking on to the stage topless, and performing the whole concert without top, with a certain degree of nonchalance or sang-froid, which might help to normalise.

But you know, we’re a long way off women feeling free and comfortable to walk down the street without being arrested, molested, wolf-whistled and feeling comfortable with it.

But maybe these are the first few steps torwards it. In other places around the world, if my memories serve me right, women can walk around with no top on, without it being an issue.

Where we are right now, is arguably, the result of thousands of years of cultural regression and patriarchy, are we on the cusp of reversing this perversion? (probably not, I don’t know)

 

 

Get yer tits out for the lads

Groups of men, going to see a football match, coming out of a night club, drinking, drunk, empty their lungs in harmony.

The singing is directed at a woman or women.

What does it mean?

Underneath the chanting – whispers of several unwritten (or perhaps written) rules – that breasts – between adults – and for men (who are not doctors) – are sexual objects – are things that only ought to be seen in the act of sex – and ought otherwise to be put away. Perhaps this is the answer to Rigoberta Bandini’s question of why is it such a big deal that women get their breasts out in public (generally, or to feed their children).

And, of course, that sex is something that a woman should do in private – discretely. And by extension, breasts should not be seen in public.

The chant, when made in unison, in public, and directed at women – of course, is not intended to be power to the elbow of Bandini and co. Rather it is – an act of aggression and violence – designed to intimidate women into an act – that will cause them to transgress the unwritten rules – resulting in their humiliation and punishment. It is a sexualised sadistic group act. Like gang rape without the physical touch. And in the process – it makes men feel bigger than they usually are – for they have in the act of abuse, transcended the same rules and norms and expectations – of those unwritten rules – and done so with impunity.

Some women – true to the situation – feel violated, harassed, scared and upset.

Some women – probably too drunk to think too much about it – do get them out of course – they think they are equal to the men by doing it – here, look at these and fuck you by the way – but they really have been reduced and abused – and the men cheer – they win – they were winning anyway – the rules and reality were stacked in their favour. Onlookers laugh. You laugh. I laugh. We all laugh it off. That’s funny. Ha, now lets move on. We all laugh – because it helps us deny the need to stand up to the men, and the fear that comes with that – and the probable destruction that will happen to our face and head if we get involved. Men do this only when they are in a situation where they can do it with impunity – and they think they have the power to sort out anyone that wants to get in their way – they make their calculations – and determine their course of action – and if you witness it happen – and you want to maintain your physical integrity – you bear witness (even if you’re a police officer) – and that’s about it. Or maybe not.

And does it stop with – a cheer – perhaps. But do other things ensue too, from time to time?

 

Essexual Harassment in the aftermath of the London Marathon

On marathon day twenty-somethings from Essex migrate down to Narrow Street, to the Narrow Boat, to do some boozing.

The women dress in delicate colours and cream high heals, the men in jeans and shirts, they often walk as if their knees had been smashed in, pronated legs.

By the time the marathon has finished and the last of the mesomorphs has trundled their way, at around about five or six o’clock, the boys are tanked up, lollapoloozing across the road, like skittles that have just felt the fine edge of a number ten bowling ball. In 2014 one such group, ten, twelve strong, were spread out across the road, heading to what one of their number referred to as “Vur Canairwee”, they made little progress, stumbling around, some of them sufficiently inebriated that they were beyond independent thought, instead swaying from side to side on the tide of the group, subconsciously attuned to the movements of one man, the dynamo, the Alpha Male, the Clown and Bully Boy to boot. Bully Boy, black shirt, designer stubble booming a beard, achieved dominance by being an ever-present force, demanding submission through weight of voice and physical display.

To one of the men in the group Bully Boy inquisited, “Oi, whoi are you wearing facking shorts?” Everyone else was wearing jeans. His inquisitee tried to disarm Bully Boy with a smile, and an unconvincing stock Essex response, “Cos I’m a geezer“.

The Alpha Male moved towards the beshorted and pushed him with his arm, the guy put his hands around the Alpha’s head, and they engaged in mock battle.

At the same time several ladies on an assortment of bikes happened to be coming in the opposite direction, which met with whoops of delight, “Heh heh heh!”, “Oi oi!”, “Oooooh!” “Aughhhh!” just a cacophony of noise.

One woman, on a Boris Bike, braked for the boys had grouped around her like wolves, the Alpha Male poised himself, and as the girl biked past he built himself up, supported by a collegiate chorus, “Wooooooooh” he bent over and smacked the woman’s behind, the demure look on the woman’s face turned to apprehension and mild distress on being touched, and she shrugged her shoulders hoping that she could make herself sufficiently small so as to be invisible.

A few yards away a policeman, a tall young man, with ginger hair, dressed from head to toe in black and white gleaming in the evening sun, watched. A second woman biked through the crowd, this time on her own elegant bicycle with rucksack carrying a large leafy plant. She too was stopped and touched. Out of the crowd she emerged with a look of exasperation on her face, walking her bike towards Horseferry Road, and to the policeman. The anger in her voice stopped her from breaking into tears and she shouted across to the policeman, “They just smacked my arse’ at which point the policeman refusing to acknowledge the girl, what she had said or what he had seen happen to her, softened his gaze, staring through what was happening to a thousand yards away, and muttered to himself, “Did he really?”

The boys moved on slowly, continuing to launch verbal fireworks into the air, the Bully Boy, seeing the sheepishness of the police officer, and eyeing another opportunity to assert dominance yelled, “Ol Bill! Ol Bill!” and something about how he paid for the officer’s home.

2014

 

Spain’s football president ‘owns’ ‘his girls’ moments before they lift the World Cup

 

 

Rosalia, Rigoberta and Nathy… the new Spanish vanguard

 

Spanish rapper fined for insulting the so-called king of Spain

 

Hinds – Spanish Bombs fall on Leeds

 

SPANISH BAND AMARAL, LIVE AT THE O2 SHEPHERD’S BUSH EMPIRE

 

 

Madrid Graffiti and Street Art

 

About Author