They appeared as froth at the mouth, puked into the nothingness, out of the nothingness. Cornellá, a satellite town in the outskirts of Barcelona, a depot for immigrants abandoned to its own rotten luck. Spain, a country that'd been in the dark for 40 years, then pushed to make a quick move if it wanted to join the capitalist orbit. La Banda Trapera del Río emulsified by surprise within such confused context, with devastating certainty and precise aim. Their uniqueness was their ability to naturally present a social critique of the two realities they belonged to, without any other mirror than their own reflection. "Nobody is nothing," they said, "we are everything."
Their conscience was exposed to working class militance and they were musically anointed in the hard rock that was blasted in bars and discos at the time, but La Trapera possessed their own will. Arrogant, provocative, disobedient, they provided a mythical and poetic credibility to the plain character of the outskirts juvenile delinquent. Through their music La Trapera forged a new archetype: the curriqui, ie the little thief that lives precariously, an expert in other people's car radio cassette. With hash, a Xibeca beer and proletarian cheekiness, unafraid to speak their mind, with nothing to lose, they didn't give the curriqui a revolutionary voice, but they gave him something to think about.
La Trapera only wanted to have as much fun as possible. If they wanted to change anything, it was the collective perception of a rock scene that, in their eyes, had become complacent.
(extracted from a Jaime Gonzalo's text)