Like any self-respecting folk legend, after 15 years of hard work, the masters of Galician folk music decided to proclaim themselves an institution by delivering a symphonic opus, thereby forsaking the very vitality that suffused their music, when it evoked mossy forests and gurgling brooks, instead of stuffy concert halls. "Per Loca Maritima" can still beckon the imagination for a moment, but then you find yourself again in your seat, your backside is getting numb, someone is trying to discreetly unwrap a piece of candy, starts getting shushed to no end, proceeds to do it louder just out of spite, and so on. A wonderful cultural soiree it was, I'm sure, but I'd always prefer siting on a damp log, as long as it's in the enchanted woods of A Galicia de Maeloc.
