The FaceTime call connects just as Msb Mario “El Niño de la Pili” is about to step into a photography studio in Brixton. On screen, he appears shirtless, wearing a red hat and oversized sunglasses that conceal more than they reveal. There’s movement behind him—assistants, flashes, fragments of preparation—but Mario remains oddly still, framed like an image already composed. In a few hours, he’ll take the stage at Hootananny Brixton. For now, he gives us a window—brief, unpredictable, and entirely on his terms.
1- You’re hours away from stepping onto one of London’s most culturally loaded stages. Let’s start simply—what are you actually going to perform tonight?
The passion of a Niño del Montserrat.
2- There’s been speculation around your set. Will we hear pieces like Chela Chele or Flow Morocho—or are you planning to break expectations entirely?
I plan to do Robbie Fowler after score against Everton.
3- Your sound moves between spoken word, flamenco textures, and reggaeton structures. Tonight, are you bringing musicians with you—a guitarist, a DJ—or are you standing alone on stage?
Tonight I’m accompanied by surprises you’ll see, little Scousers tricks around me.
4- Reggaeton plays a significant role in your recent work, but not in a conventional way. Who are your real influences within that world, if any?
Freddie Mercury, the best reggaeton artist in history.
5- And more importantly—what do you think you’re doing differently with it?
We’re different from the start; I’m a writer, he’s a musician. There’s no comparison.
6- You’re performing in Hootananny Brixton, a venue that has historically belonged to musicians. Yet you arrive from literature, from spoken word, from outside that system. What does it mean to you to be, arguably, the first Spanish writer to step onto that stage in this context?
It has no meaning. I don’t attach any special importance to it. My father won’t be in the audience.
7- Do you see what you do as music—or is it still, fundamentally, literature being performed?
You give it a name, I give it numbers.
8- You’re in London, in Brixton specifically—a place with its own rhythm, its own history. Have you connected with the city, or are you moving through it as an observer?
I haven’t had time to see anything of Brixton, other than the center this morning. Now I’m going into the photo studio and then straight to the show. But Brixton smells underground, and that’s perfect for me. People have treated me very well.
9- What does Brixton give you that other cities don’t?
I couldn’t say, at the moment, poetry.
10- Your performances are often described as unpredictable, even volatile. Tonight—are we seeing control, or are we seeing risk?
You see discontrol, I see a beautiful tactic so good it seems spontaneous. Can we wrap this up?
Let me push this a little further.
11- Are we going to see El Niño de la Pili sober tonight—or one of those performances people talk about for reasons beyond the music?
You’re going to see a beautiful football match.
12- There’s a fine line between intensity and excess. Do you consciously navigate that, or do you let it happen?
I don’t know, you tell me, you’re very intense. When are we done, lad?
Five more minutes—just one more question.
13- When you’re on that stage tonight, in front of an audience that may not fully understand your language, what do you actually want from them? Attention? Silence? Reaction?
Blowj*bs.
14- And what do you want to leave behind in that room when you walk off?
Don’t make me answer with something dirty, brother.
15- Finally—if there’s one thing you could say directly to the audience coming to see you tonight, before you even step on stage—what would it be?
No.
The call ends as abruptly as it began. No farewell, no transition—just a screen gone dark. And yet, if anything, the conversation leaves more questions than answers. What is clear is this: whatever happens tonight at Hootananny Brixton will not be ordinary. If anything, it feels increasingly essential to witness it firsthand.
