By Mia Palau
It’s five thirty p.m. and a rare bustle has already started shaking the stylized crimson foundations of Barcelona’s cult favorite, the Apolo ― one of the hippest yet oldest night clubs in town. About a dozen technicians and roadies are working tenaciously unwinding multicolored cables, carrying guitars, pushing mysterious armored boxes, placing security fences in front of the stage. It’s been weeks since the last ticket for the show tonight was sold out and even at these early hours you can already start feeling a latent urgency and expectation floating the air. Continue reading