Favourite years are made of wildly different ingredients. The giddiness of falling in love or the trauma of a loved one’s death can create emotional memories so intense that a year or even an era can occupy a special place in the mind’s inventory of nostalgia. One of my very favourite years was 1972, the year I turned six, and it included a big event — I started school — but I recall it more fondly for how I felt: safe.

I have happy memories of watching TV shows with my mother and younger brother: Star Trek (known in Germany as Raumschiff Enterprise), the reruns of Daktari and the Australian harbour police series Riptide (known in Germany as S.O.S. Charterboat), a German show called Percy Stuart, and of course the Hitparade and Illja Richter’s Disco (“Licht aus — womm — Spot an”). Later that year, Channel 3 showed a few episodes of the US version of Sesame Street in the original English to test the waters — the whole concept of edu-TV seemed to be a bit controversial at the time. I think watching Sesame Street in a language I’d not start to learn until I was ten, did spike my interest in English.

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Springwater – I Will Return.mp3
The dirge-like guitar instrumental had been a UK hit in 1971; in early 1972 it made its impact on the German charts. I loved the song even if it made me melancholy even then with its sad guitar, funereal organ and martial drum beat. I suspect that I Will Return went on to inspired a whole lot of instrumentals for all manner of crime series on German TV (such as Tatort and Derrick), and set the scene for the career of guitarist Ricky King, who shall, I’m afraid, feature at a later stage in this series.

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Sweet – Poppa Joe.mp3
While I was buying horrible Schlager singles under the direction of my grandmother, my mother bought cool stuff like Poppa Joe. It’s fair to say that Poppa Joe was my favourite record of the year. It was fun and the lyrics were sufficiently nonsensical to sing along to phonetic style. I think it might even have inspired some less than coordinated dancing (thank goodness video cameras weren’t invented yet). The song marked the end of Sweet’s career as the purveyors of bubblegum pop (Little Willy, Coco etc); within a year they’d rock much harder with songs such as Blockbuster and Ballroom Blitz. At the time I had no interest in the performers’ identity (and the characters on the cover were not so impressive as to remember their collective name). So when the far superior Blockbuster and Ballroom Blitz came out, the songs registered, but not the group’s name or the association of those songs with the guys who sang Poppa Joe.

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Middle of the Road – Soley Soley.mp3
Middle of the Road – Bottoms Up.mp3
I have said so before but will say it again: Middle of the Road were a fine pop act, regardless of how naff their song titles were. More than Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep, these two songs show why. Soley Soley was a hit in early 1972, the superior follow-up to Tweedle Dee Tweedle Dum, a song I didn’t like much. Soley Soley was the Scottish group’s third and final UK top 10 hit. Their career continued to prosper in West Germany for a few more years. My mother bought the follow-up, Sacramento, but (rare among my mother’s records) I didn’t like that. It was the next single, later in 1972, that I really liked: Bottoms Up, with its bagpipe and tribal drums intro and the cheerful chorus.

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Mouth & MacNeal – How Do You Do (English).mp3
The Windows – How Do You Do (German).mp3
Why would a Dutchman called Willem Duyn willingly choose to be called Mouth. Not “Big Mouth”, just Mouth. No such mystery in the case of his female partner: if your name was Sjoukje van’t Spijker, you too would consider the moniker Maggie MacNeal a very attractive alternative. How Do You Do was a hit in its English version by Mouth & MacNeal, but even bigger in the German version by the English/German duo The Windows, who appeared on the Hitparade and did look a bit like the Dutch originators of the song. Mouth & MacNeal would later record many of their songs in German, with some success. The song also became a Top 10 hit in the US, in a version by radio DJ Jim Connor. Parts of the melody later formed part of, or was plagiarised for, a German timber commercial which still sticks in my head: “Holz, das halt ein Leben lang.”

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Danyel Gérard – Harlekin.mp3
Readers may recall how in 1971 Danyel Gérard’s Butterfly was the mammoth hit of that year. Gérard had enjoyed a long career in France before that, but made his breakthrough in Germany only thanks to Butterfly and his very cool folk-troubadour image, with the beard and floppy hat (and smoking in a TV studio) which were the result of a quite radical image make-over. I suppose Danyel Gérard was the first artist whom I expected to deliver a suitable follow-up record. Before him, songs just appeared; now I was actively anticipating an artist’s new release. Harlekin couldn’t compare to the phenomenon that was Butterfly. It tried to capture a similar vibe, with quiet verses and a long upbeat, clap-along chorus. It did reasonably well; Gérard certainly got exposure on the Hitparade (I seem to remember him singing Harlekin while sitting in the audience, but I might be wrong about that). But…it was no Butterfly.

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Daniel Boone – Beautiful Sunday.mp3
In the 1971 instalment I celebrated my joyful rediscovery of Michael Holm’s Wie Der Sonnenschein, the chorus of which had been lodged in my ear without my knowing neither the song’s name or performer. A few years ago, Beautiful Sunday provided me with a similar time-shifting experience. I hadn’t heard the song for more than 30 years. Then I came across a Daniel Boone song which I quite liked in a glam rock sort of way. To investigate Boone’s stylings further, I downloaded Beautiful Sunday blind. In an instant, it beamed me back to 1972: the Bravo posters that covered my sister’s wall, the yellow tiles of our bathroom, the formica kitchen table, my brother and I building “houses” out of the sofa cushions… Beautiful Sunday is the background soundtrack of my every-day life in 1972.

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Vicky Leandros – Ich hab’ die Liebe gesehen.mp3
Oh, but I did buy that, and I can’t blame it on grandmother’s projecting her record-buying pleasures through me. I actually liked the song. Today, not so much. But for the scholar of the Schlager, it’s a good case study: the singer is young (good), virginal and relatively pretty (classic beauty was not a prerequisite for Schlager stardom), and it sounded foreign (excellent). The song has a Greek arrangement, to go with the singer’s ethnicity (perfect), the better to evoke the audience yearning for exotic locales (Deutschmark signs in the eyes!), even though the lyrics have nothing to do with Greece. The lyrics themselves are suitably banal (“I saw love in your eyes at first sight… the world started to turn on its own as we looked at each other and found happiness [a revolution of scientific knowledge right there]… I let you take my hands because it was so nice… the dream of happiness became reality… it was a day just like any other et bloody cetera), because anything more complicated would disturb the collective Schlager swoon. This is how a successful Schlager ballad had to be written.

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Hot Butter – Popcorn.mp3
As the Olympic summer ’72 slowly neared its end, I started school, and Hot Butter’s Popcorn, an instrumental featuring that new-fangled synthesizer thing, provided the soundtrack to that. As per tradition, I was given a Schultüte, a huge, brightly decorated cardboard cylinder filled with sweets. My younger brother was jealous, so he got a smaller one, too, the thunder-stealing fucker (I got nothing when he started school two years later). For some reason my mother thought it necessary to dress me in a collarless Beatles-style suit with velvet-covered buttons for the occasion. She was cool 98% of the time, but those 2% when she was not could kill me.

Beatles suit and Schultüte

School was cool that first year. Our teacher was a hippie whom I remember as always wearing a denim kaftan. She taught us First Graders about sex, using the proper terminology, such as vagina and penis. At first we giggled, but after a while I think we got used to the idea that these things were not there only to have a wee-wee. And yet, I recall in Grade 2 or 3 discussing with my friends whether babies could be produced by kissing. I suppose some parents didn’t like the curricular approach of my first teacher; the next year she was gone (she lived in our area, and I saw her a few times after; she didn’t seem terribly excited at meeting a former pupil). My mother, a modern woman who approved of such teaching methods, confirmed that our teacher had not been universally appreciated. Happily, my next teacher was very kind; but she would not speak about sex in any way for my remaining three years at primary school.

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Rex Gildo – Fiesta Mexicana.mp3
If Schlager music ever hit a particular peak, it was in late 1972/early 1973 with Fiesta Mexicana, a rousing number that incorporated the genre’s standard devices of far-away places and romance, perched right at the top of the zenith. It’s the party Schlager song. Rex Gildo (which, you might have guessed, was not the singer’s real name) whips up the excitement with a succession of exclamations of the possibly nonsense word “hossa” and doesn’t let up on the fiesta. See, it’s his last night in Mexico — a country which at the same time provided a hit for the Les Humphries Singers (see The Originals Vol. 26) — and Rex is hosting a fiesta in the plaza with much tequila and guitars. Juanita and Pepe (because Mexicans are called Juanita and Pepe) are there as Rex says Addio to Mexico. He greets, as you do, with his sombrero and tells his girl, possibly the Carmensita he is kissing, that he loves her and promises that he will return to her in Mexico. Olé! As cliché infested as the lyrics and arrangement are, it is all great fun.

Rex Gildo, a Bavarian known to his mother as Ludwig Franz Hirtreiter, had been a star of stage and screen for a decade before Fiesta Mexicana (one of his early hits was the German version of Speedy Gonzales, the fastest mouse in all of Mexico), which was the peak of his success. His career ambled on for several years, but by the 1980s it had fizzled out. He struggled with alcoholism and, it later turned out, was discreetly gay. After a final concert, outside a furniture store near Frankfurt on 26 October 1999, Gildo committed suicide by jumping out of his apartment window.

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Wums Gesang – Ich wünsch mir ’ne kleine Miezekatze.mp3
TV presenter Wim Thoelke presented the Saturday night Aktuellen Sportstudio before hosting a succession of quiz shows, which doubled as fundraising efforts for the children’s charity Aktion Sorgenkind. A sidekick at one of them, Drei mal Neun, was a cartoon dog — drawn by the popular German cartoonist Loriot — called Wum. The interplay between Wim and Wum, the latter perched on a red ottoman and prone to call the quizmaster with a long-drawn out Thooooelke, was amusing enough to warrant the release of a single “sung” by the cartoon dog, about his desire for a pussycat (I don’t know if the double meaning was intentional), apparently voiced by Loriot himself. Although the single stayed at #1 in West Germany for nine weeks in late ’72 and early ’73 (with proceeds going to Aktion Sorgenkind), Wum never got his wish for a feline companion. But when Thoelke presented a new show called Der große Preis (a mixture of general knowledge and Mastermind which had contestants sitting in futuristic capsules) Wum tagged along to the new show and later got a female elephant sidekick, named Wendelin. The elephant was rubbish, and Wum’s comedy suffered as a result.

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More Stepping back

Este post faz parte do Top 1000 Songs Of The Last 30 Years

Francês, filho de um americano com uma italiana e cresceu no Rio, foi soldado na África e depois de tudo esolveu ser cantor, fez algumas músicas mas teu rinfo veio com Butterfly em 1971, esta música entrou neste mesmo ano num filme bem lado B do da europa chamado Die Tollen Tanten Schlagen Zu que tomando como base pela nota dada pelo IMDb é bem ruizinho. Mas ela só ganhou o mundo em 75 mas também foi só isso que ele fez, eis aí mais um homem de um hit só

When in the introduction for the 1970 instalment I said that I had become interested in music that year, by 1971 I was showing the first signs of the devotion to popular music which today finds expression on this blog. I attribute that to three events. Firstly, I began to catch a greater number of music programmes on TV, especially the ZDF Hitparade (about which more later) and Disco, presented by the rather absurd Illja Richter and featuring German and international acts. Secondly, for my fifth birthday in April I was presented with a portable record player (the type where the lid doubles as a speaker). Thirdly, I bought my first record. As always, inclusion of a song here does not imply my endorsement (especially not with all that Schlager dross in this lot; trust me, things will get better after 1977).

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Michael Holm – Wie der Sonnenschein.mp3
Los Diablos – Un rayo de sol.mp3
For more than three decades, disjointed snatches of songs from my childhood had embedded themselves so firmly in my ear that three decades later I would still spontaneously bring to mind these phrases without knowing the rest of the song or who sang it. One of these three remains undiscovered; one I found three years ago; the other I stumbled upon quite by coincidence. For years the phrase “Sha la la la, oh-oh-oh” drove me mad. It never occurred to me to google it though. To cut a dull story short, when I discovered and acquired Wie der Sonnenschein, I found that I could recall most of the lyrics, even though I hadn’t heard it in nearly 40 years. But there must have been a non-German version I knew as well. I wouldn’t know whether or not that version was in English – foreign languages were all the same gibberish to me — but I don’t think it was the Spanish version of the song by Los Diablos, which I’ll post anyway. Music, eh? The stuff of endless mystery.

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Dawn – Knock Three Times.mp3
I have faint memories of seeing Tony Orlando singing this on TV. I must have liked the song and then forgotten about it. Some 20 years ago I heard it again, and it created the good vibe of evoking the atmosphere of our living room, the semolina porridge my mother used to cook, and the youngest of my three older sisters whose bedroom was plastered with posters from the German teen magazine Bravo. The power of exciting such memories make a song great, even if it’s rubbish – the command to beam the listener back to a particular time, opening that compartment of the memory in which we have stored the ephemeral remnants of an emotion, a taste, a smell, even a colour. So to me, Knock Three Times and many other showpieces in the horror cabinet of West Germany’s charts in the early 1970s are items of beauty. On the other hand, some latter brilliant works of musical art summon the pain of a lost love or a death, rendering it unlistenable to me.

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Chris Roberts – Ich bin verliebt in die Liebe.mp3
I have noted previously the strange custom whereby German singers would adopt English-sounding names. So it was with Munich-born Christian Klusacek, whose choice of name condemned a British music journalist to a lifetime of sharing Google hits with a funny-haired exponent of the Schlager. Roberts had a knack for catchy melodies — banal and poorly produced as this song is, you can see why people liked it — but his success rested more on him being a bit of a teen idol of song and film, as hinted at by his hair (how did the people of the 1970s manage to get their hair styled like that?). Roberts was the handsome, cleancut sunny boy whom nice girls could fall for and Moms would like as a son-in-law (Dad would insist that he’d cut his bloody hair, of course). Apparently he continues performing at 65, and the hair is still more or less the same.

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Wolfgang – Abraham (Das Lied vom Trödler).mp3
If this had been an English song performed with a more sophisticated arrangement by some folk-pop star – Donovan, perhaps, or Barry McGuire – Abraham would be a well-regarded song of the genre. In its only form, however, it is a Schlager. I remember enjoying the song when it was a hit, but my older brother tells me that I was quite obsessed with it, singing it until the whole family was sick of it (or perhaps only he was; who can trust a brother’s testimony). Clearly I had a penchant for folk-pop then already.

Written by the Austrian singer himself, it was Wolfgang Hofer’s only big hit. And perhaps that is not surprising, considering the titles of some of his other songs, such as Wer hat meinen Kopf gesehen (Who has seen my head), Ade blöder Winter (Goodbye, stupid wnter), Rüdiger das Nachtgespenst (Rüdiger, the Ghost), Bum Bum (Boom Boom), Schlaba-di-bab-di-ba (er…), or the immortal Oobe-Doobe-Sha-La-La-Choo-Choo-Girl. Hofer proceeded to be a prolific songwriter for and with others.
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Danyel Gérard – Butterfly (German).mp3
Oh man, I wanted to grow to become Danyel Gérard. No doubt, the dude never had trouble getting laid (not that this was of concern to me at the age of five). With his guitar, floppy hat, beard and ready smile, he combined cool and charm in a way that united youngsters and their mothers. My judgment of the song is obviously clouded by nostalgia, but it’s easy to see how it became a massive hit. And in Germany it was a hit for more than half a year, spending 15 weeks at #1. I think my passion for the ZDF Hitparade was cemented by his appearances (then in black hat, now in white – the man was a veritable chameleon).

The Hitparade was an innovative show in its day, in set design (all modern chrome, big pictures of that week’s performers on the walls, singers roaming about, unusual camera angles) and in the format, which allowed viewers to vote which artist would appear again the next month. The singers, only German Schlager was allowed, would routinely be presented by one or more star-struck fan with flowers in mid-performance, during which the artist’s postal address would be shown on screen; sometimes their actual home address, which must be a stalker’s wet dream. The whole shebang was presented by the fast-talking Dieter Thomas Heck, who clearly enjoyed his job. Bad as the music usually was, the Hitparade had a great energy. Watch Danyel Gérard performing Butterfly on the Hitparade, departing from script by going over to the cheap seats, to the delighted astonishment of Heck who then gets into the Butterfly groove.

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Roy Black & Anita – Schön ist es auf der Welt zu sein.mp3
In 1995 the British journalist Giles Smith published a very funny book on his relationship with records, titled Lost In Music (Picador) — and the German reader would do well to try and find Sky Nonhoff’s equally entertaining Kleine Philosphie der Passionen: Schallplatten (dtv, 2000). Discussing the subject of first singles bought, Smith wrote: “I feel sorry for anyone whose first single genuinely was She Loves You or Elvis singing Heartbreak Hotel or I Wish It Would Rain by the Temptations or any other astonishing one-off pop moment, people who really were in the right place at the right time with their pulse beating at the right pace. Because we’ll all nod slowly and heavily with approval when they tell us and say things like, ‘Oh, really? Fan-tastic!” But who’s going to believe them?” Smith claims his first record was Rosetta by George Fame & Alan Price. Fan-tastic!

I never made lofty claims about my first record. For years I claimed it was something by the Bay City Rollers. Of course I knew that even that hardly brag-worthy purchase wasn’t my first. I had bought a bunch of Schlager singles by the likes of Vicky Leandros, Mireille Mathieu, Freddy Breck and — have mercy on my soul — even one by the monstrous Heino (though I do remember that my grandmother egged me on to pick Blau blüht der Enzian; she was living her fandom through me at times). But I was suppressing the uncool memories of that, spending no thought on which Schlager hit actually was my first single. Then, one day while perusing the German charts of 1971, it came back to me.

The first record I ever bought, at the local Karstadt on a shopping trip with my grandmother. I’d like to lie and claim that I bought something like Stevie Wonder’s If You Really Love Me that fine day in late 1971. But I didn’t. I bought this. No wonder I supressed the memory of that for most if my adult life. The second single, bought not long after, was French songbird Mireille Mathieu’s sentimental Akropolis Adieu. Which is marginally better than the first effort, a true horror duet between the by then fading heart-throb Roy Black (not his real name and now sadly dead) and the goldilocked child Anita, rambling on about how great it is to be alive, as echoed for reason of rhyme by a bee in conversation with a porcupine. Mothers will have thought the exercise cute, and I suppose Roy and Anita spoke to me on an existential level (or, perhaps, I just liked the bloody song). What I cannot understand is why I didn’t buy Butterfly. Perhaps TV clips such this one persuaded me that Roy and Anita were the more sensible choice
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José Feliciano – Che Sarà.mp3
The great thing about German radio was that it crossed not only the barriers of genres, but also of language. Of course, most of the playlisted music would be in German and English — and often the same song in its English original and German cover version – but every so often there would feature a song in Italian, French or Spanish. The linguistic tolerance found expression in José Feliciano’s hit Che Sarà, which he first performed at the San Remo song festival in Italy (known there as Il Festival della canzone italiana), where it placed second. Here we have a Puerto Rican singer who recorded in English and occasionally Spanish having a hit in Germany with an Italian-language song. His only German Top10 hit, it’s an earworm-inducing number. Oh, and Che Sarà was beaten in San Remo by Nada and Nicola Di Bari’s Il cuore è uno zingaro, which will not feature in this series.
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Daliah Lavi – Willst Du mit mir geh’n.mp3
In the comments to the 1970 instalment, AREL of the fine Best of Both Worlds blog suggested that Willst Du mit mir geh’n is superior to the other Lavi song I posted, Wann kommst Du. I’m sticking by the latter, but her second big hit of 1971 – the first was a German cover of Melanie’s Look What They’ve Done To My Song – occupies a lofty position on my rather abbreviated hitparade of great Schlager songs. The question of the song title translates toughly as “Do you want to go steady?” The original, by South African singer John Kongos, was called Won’t You Join Me. Kongos went on to have two UK hits with Tokoloshe Man and He’s Gonna Step on You Again. Both were covered by the Happy Mondays who had  a UK hit with the latter, retitled Step On, in 1990, whereby Kongos represents an amusing link between Britpop and early ’70s German Schlager.

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Pop Tops – Mamy Blue.mp3
Ricky Shayne – Mamy Blue.mp3
The Pop Tops were a Spain-based outfit led by French guitarist Ray Gomez and African-American singer Phil Trim. Their version of Mamy Blue (for which they dropped on ‘m’) became one of the big hits in Germany in late ‘71 and early ‘72. They were not the first to record it though. It seems that the French writer Hubert Giraud gave it to Italian teenager Ivana Spagna. From there, Joel Dayde had a hit with it in France, and one Nicolette in Italy. Then Trim got hold of it, dropped an ‘m’, devised English lyrics, gave it a bit of the gospel-pop spin the Pop Tops had specialised in, and – hey presto – mammoth hit in the German-speaking region. Our man Gomez proceeded to collaborate with the likes of John Lennon, Bill Bruford, Stanley Clark, George Duke, Chaka Khan and Tori Amos. For your fix of early ’70s tight pants and afros, watch the video.

The German cover was sung by Ricky Shayne, a truly international figure: born in Cairo, his father was a Lebanese oil businessman of a somewhat shady reputation, his artist mother was French-Egyptian. He grew up in Cairo and Beirut, before starting his career in France (sharing an agent with, obviously, Salvatore Dali), but had his first success after moving to Italy before he proceeded to become something of an idol in West Germany. When his career nosedived soon after Mamy Blue, he briefly emigrated to the US, trying for a musical career there, apparently without becoming a megastar. Today, at 65, he runs a kiosk in Düsseldorf (often frequented by fans on Schlager pilgrimage), still writing music and nurturing dreams of a comeback.

To his credit, he didn’t ape the English-language version of Mamy Blue. Shayne was a dark, handsome pretty-boy whom I didn’t like much – perhaps my first case of active antipathy towards a singer – even though he had my youngest sister’s stamp of approval by virtue of featuring grinningly on her extravagant wall of posters from Bravo. Maybe I just didn’t like his smirk, or perhaps I could not reconcile his boyish good looks with the gruff voice that accompanied them, judging him therefore a fake without articulating as much. I give him that much though, his version of Mamy Blue isn’t bad at all.

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Ulli Martin – Ich träume mit offenen Augen von Dir.mp3
I am a martyr for this blog. In preparation for this post, I played this song, and now the chorus is a constant earworm. And it is not a most welcome earworm: the song is insidious in its simplicitly (up the scale and down again and up and down), the arrangement is pedestrian and the delivery is ingratiating. It’s the sort of sentimental ballad which Germans call a Schnulze, a term which ought to join Zeitgeist and Weltanschauung in the English dictionary. And yet it’s so catchy that it lodges itself in my brain. The song didn’t even make sense to me when I was watching it on the Hitparade (probably this clip) as a child: how can he dream of her with open eyes. “Newsflash, Ulli,” I might have wanted to say, “in order to dream you have to be asleep, and in order to be asleep, your eyes must be closed.” Idiot.

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Aretha Franklin – Spanish Harlem.mp3
My first soul song. I don’t know why Spanish Harlem, a cover of Ben E King’s song, was a big hit for Aretha in West Germany, and not her other songs. Perhaps it had to do with the German partiality for the exotic. If you needed a hit, simply conjure in your song the imagery of Mexico, Italy or Greece — or indeed Spain — and, hey caramba, big hit. So I guess that the average German record consumer had no inkling that Spanish Harlem was not actually in Spain but in New York, perhaps imagining some Afro-coiffured Spanish rose doing whatever Afro-coiffured Spanish roses do in Spain. Or perhaps it was the “la-la-la lalala lalala-la” line that the Germans couldn’t resist singing along to, which would explain why two years earlier Steam had a big hit, and why Michael Holm’s chorus of Sha-la-la-la-la Oh-oh-oh was stuck in my head for almost four decades, or why Gilbert O’Sullivan hit paydirt with Wack-a-Doo Wack-a-Day.

    De todos los que vimos al conde de Luxemburgo estrenarse, algunos seguimos estrenando emociones… vieja como la lluvia que se queda en los barrotes, vieja pero siento como mujercita de quince. Mis contemporáneos han cedido al paso del tiempo; yo no dejo el joie de vivre porque eso me mantiene volando como mariposa.

      Era lógico dejarse caer, emprender como abuelo emprende camino a la desesperación sola; la conveniencia de verse a sólo dos pasos de la muerte. Yo no muero y eso no es maldición alguna, despierto con menos arrugas cada día incluyendo los días en que tú Marie más has llorado… porque es cuando más hemos aprendido. Eso me distingue de aquéllos cantantes, poetas y borrachos que dejaron los consumiera la tristeza de la NO tristeza. Mi estímulo no está en los libros, está en cualquier cosa diminuta e invisible, en una pregunta o en un misterio, en el no importa y en el importa demasiado; mi continuar bailando tangos a la luz de un beso es la combinación de Meseritas y Mats.

        Por ti Marie… por ti siento de nuevo un algo que incita a la búsqueda, un “al fin que…” merodeando las esquinas, deseo tarde, deseo noche y deseo. ¿Te das cuenta lo que le haces a éste material raído llamado Volma? Me rejuveneces, de crisálida a mariposa.         PD: Necesitaré habitación separada del resto. A veces me son imposibles sus comentarios sobre mi manera de beber. 

    Gracias Marie.   

VOLMA de NEUF