Popular culture
is not minor.
It is the origin.

The Blues was born in the Mississippi delta. Jazz in the burotels of New Orleans. Punk in unheated garages. Every great cultural revolution starts where no one is looking. Records are the supreme object: you can acquire a masterpiece at a popular price. Unthinkable in any other art form. We are containers of the beauty that humans have created with the power the Cosmos has placed within us.

Emmanuelle — cinema, music, graphic art and inner journey in a single object, is the perfect example of what we seek. Pierre Bachelet's soundtrack, the gin of the English Channel.

Pérez Prado and his Latin rhythms reaching towards pre-Hispanic exotic sounds — a time capsule to make you feel like JFK or JKO without the inconvenience of being a multimillionaire.

La Bourse des Chansons Nº4 — Columbia, French flea market songs, easy on the ear, pairing perfectly with a vermouth and some olives. The aperitif of the elegant.

And the Amazonian Electro Cumbia of Conciencia Resistente — the latest obsession, the next frontier. Always searching for the next sound where no one is looking.

Jaguar, Back Street Woman — a second-tier Motörhead from Bristol who are absolutely brilliant. Every day I sink deeper into the sound of the Bolera. This is how it works: there are no minor genres, only records you haven't heard yet.

"With Bowie we shall sleep, with Japan we shall wake, and with the Heartbreakers we shall burn."

I am not
a collector.
I am an addict.

An accumulator. A junkie. I started at age 5 — stickers, comics, coins, stamps — and never stopped. Every record here is a treasure, a child. Behind every sleeve there is photography, design, illustration, music: all the arts united in a single object. Records have taught me everything university could not. They stripped away my pride and turned me into a Discotecario. I collect things that fascinate me, and I deposit in them the LOVE I would otherwise not know where to place.

Horror vacui — fear of emptiness. Vikings, Celts, Barbarians, Byzantines — entire cultures decorated their rooms, their bodies and their lives with dense art, leaving not a single space for the void. I myself live in the civilisation of the firing wall, reading Oteiza's Quousque Tandem in search of a void that never arrives.

The Soviet Zenit 122K proves it: manufactured between 1994 and 1997 in only 32,149 units, 100% manual, K-mournt. The Russian tank of analogue photography. With it the streets have been photographed.

Kula Shaker — Peasants, Pigs & Astronauts on cassette: that Cosmic Krishna Trip that sounds like the Pretty Things' S.F. Sorrow. In fantastic magnetic condition.

Cartel et Cie by J. Sennep — unpublished caricatiures, Bossart publishing, 1926. Nearly a century of life. A French caricatiurist who portrayed conflicts that are always current.

Cézanne by Bernard Dorival — Pierre Tisné, 1948. A painter ignored in life, elevated afterwards to the altars of modern painture. Greatness born where no one looks.

Original 1960s photographs of computing — those immense machines, the operators in white coats. An object that concentrates all the irony of time: today's computing fits in your pocket, while that filled an entire room. Pure archaeology of a future that never came to be.

Pole Nord by Paul Émile Victor — 1963, fantastic photographs, a visual journey to the ends of the Earth. Recommended in French with Orujo Zirall for deeper comprehension.

"The fascinating object knows no categories."

The city
exhausts.
The valley listens.

The exodus has begun. Babylon spread its evil through the new town and brutalised us under fake palm trees. The mural has fallen, the Bretxa is consumed. Where once you could breathe work, now you inhale risk-free leisure, the culture of shame. Without solutions or hope, the only possible path was to flee under the words of Don Pío, searching for emptiness in the valleys of the Reyno.

Blindfolded we walked through the blizzard looking for Xabatenea while Santa Lucía sheltered us in the darknuress of the storm. We climbed the stairs until we found San Miguel and raised the standard. We heard the murmur of the river, the song of birds in the forest, the burro braying near the castle. At a point of no return we found the ideology of love — without clerical collars or flags, with the symbols clearly defined. Lluis Llach and Mikel Laboa played at the same time.

We moved decades of effort from the asphalt of San Sebastián to the oak trees of Malerreka. Not out of whim — out of conviction. We are on the banks of the Bidasoa on the way to the beaches of the Cantabrian Sea. Xabatenea Etxea, a 16th century house. The Experience can only occur here. Because there are things that are only revealed in silence: the groove of a 1965 soul record, the crinkle of a Robert Crumb sleeve, the smell of freshly opened Terras Mancas.

By the lower Urumea I was born. On the banks of a Navarrese river I grew up. To the west of its basin I worked. And searching for its source, where the holm oaks rise, I will grow old.

"Terras Mancas — the monks of Oseira planted the vines 800 years ago on the banks of the Miño and it remains a product that transcends."

"Kings of intuition, Queens of Soul — the new lineage in the promised land will have been born."

One person.
Two at most.
Exclusivity is not a price.
It is an economy of principles.

We don't want to fill rooms. We want to empty your head. The Experience is designed for one person, two at most. So you can truly listen, truly ask, truly feel. People often say that I am the experience. I am very theatrical and a very special connection is created with each person who comes.

"If you step inside the ship the journey will be universal."

「プライベートルームにまで案内してくれて、たくさんレコード買えました！最後に記念撮影〜サンキュールイス☆ スペイン旅の中で1番タイプなレコ屋に出会えた模様！ランチ後にカムバックアゲイーン！！！」
· They took me to the private room and I was able to buy a lot of records. In the end we took a souvenir photo — thank you Luis! ☆ The record shop I liked most on my entire trip through Spain. I came back after lunch! ·
— Momoko Saegusa

Eating well
is also
a cultural act.

Umami — organic extra virgin olive oil, superior grade, Arbequina, cold pressed: the pantry's TOP 1. Idiazabal Curado Infernuko — raw latxa sheep's milk, a Navarrese cheese from the Baztan that sweeps the competitions of Gipuzkoa, cradle of Idiazabal, made beside the Mill of Hell, one of the most spectacular places in the Kingdom of Navarra. Katealde Foie Gras Mi Cuit — whole semi-cooked duck liver, artisan from the Gourmet Kingdom of Navarra. Patxaran Laxoa. Ekain organic cider — Urola Kosta apples, Gipuzkoan cider tradition. Antxoas Maisor — the finest of the Cantabrian Sea. Sotavento smoked sardines — from Portosin, in extra virgin olive oil, smoked with beech sawdust, handmade. Chipirones en su tinta Peperetes — from Galicia, the land of wonders. Lume, A Factoría do Lume — the Galician spice cooperative. Aguardiente de Orujo Tostada Zirall — since 1930, a Galician pharmacy turned distillery, an act of faith and edible anthropology. Vino Psicodélico Frontonio — cave-aged, paired with Jimi Hendrix Experience. Ultramarinos Parroquia 13 is not the backdrop of the Experience — it is part of the argument. Every product has its own story. Here we mix food and bric-a-brac because that is how real life works: everything intertwined, everything carrying memory.

Universe and Worldview
of Beltza Records.

Keep On The Rhythm & Blues Style.
Logo: Jon Mercero. Oteiza's empty circle.

May '90. A "casual" nod to the mythical May '68 — we believed in a different world, we were the children of the 60s. In that month and year of history we opened the shop with the first musical shipment transported from London in a pirate bus. Clearing customs with the heart on the brink of collision.

The slogan comes from Robert Crumb — keep the consciousness, keep the style — from the charts of African American music, a source of inspiration and resistance. R&B, Soul, Jazz, Reggae, Punk, Brasil, Latino — music born in the hardest places in life that ends up being beautiful. No minor genres here. Truth or lies. Fire or smoke.

Crumb mapped the street. Roddenberry mapped the cosmos. Beltza carries both maps in his pocket.

Azken Muga of Soul.
Jon Mercero, thirty-five years later.
The 8-pointed star — Tartessian symbol, shield of Doneztebe.

Space — the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Beltza Enterprise, on a mission that will dure until death do us part, dedicated to the exploration of unknown worlds, to the discovery of new experiences, to reach places where no one has gone before. Gene Roddenberry dreamed of a ship that was not going to conquer — it was going to discover. Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, Lieutenant Uhura travelling the unexplored cosmos in search of new civilisations. We do the same, but the cosmos is Soul. The new USS ships go armed. The Beltza Enterprise goes loaded with records.

May '90. The only interest remains the same: to spread Beauty. To explore the unknown. To keep the consciousness.

"Information is not knowledge. Knowledge is not wisdure. Wisdure is not truth. Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love. Love is not music. Music is the best." — Frank Zappa

Heriötza Workshops.
Music or Death.

Educational listening sessions at Parroquia 13. Active listening spaces where music doesn't play in the background — it plays in the foreground. Nina Simone, Curtis Mayfield, The Clash, Leonard Cohen, Pet Shop Boys, Grace Jones, The Beatles, Medina Azahara, Mike Ríos, Jorge Cafrune. Popular, underground, collector and street music — all in the same room, without hierarchies or borders.

The workshop is not a class. It is a shared experience. Each session starts from a record, an era, a question without an easy answer. Music as a key to history, anthropology, beauty. Everything university should have taught and didn't.

"If you learn nothing, you'll pay double."

"I feel privileged for the amazing moments we've shared, the music discovered, DCPC (Diffusion of Contemporary Popular Culture), the cromlechs, wall-slab-slab-bastard, the endless conversations, the provocation, the reflection, the free dancing, the fun... that above all... THE LAUGHTER!! And of course, love. Thank you for all of it, Luis!" — Isabel Fernández

The Jupiter Flea Markets.
Space Is The Place.

The name comes from the Jupiter tree growing in the garden of Ultramarinos Parroquia 13. It is not an astronomical metaphor — it is a real tree. Poetry always grows from the concrete.

Every fifth Saturday of the month — bric-a-brac market, DJs, live concert, Catalan vermouth with ice and orange, cinema, vegan food and a tarot table to find temperance. Free entry and free thinking.

Those who have passed through: Ricky Gil with Cézanne and German expressionism in his blood, the BLu Kolective from Iparralde in three languages, Las Femmes Fatales spinning Soul/Funk/Reggae, Javier Sun with Los Scooters, Gonzalo from Nuevo Catecismo Católico, Lady Slices, Señora Plácida [Ex Yé Yé], young gold-seekers and mummies reciting grotesque revolutionary art.

Cinema: thanks to Josemi Beltrán, Festival director, we can screen the finest short films from the Donostia Fantastic and Horror Film Week.

Nine billion years ago — three months and some days — stellar chemistry, helium and hydrogen agreed to survive Gamma rays and multiple collisions of rocky worlds. The result is this garden, this tree, this market. Doneztebe: medieval market town, commercial stronghold, crossroads of the Bidasoa.

"Come to the Jupiter Flea Markets and find those singular objects you never imagined you'd encounter."

"A magical space that invites you to be yourself with good people in an easy atmosphere." — Enriqueta

"The comment is more intelligent than artificial." — José Lanot, founder of Sex Museum

Since
1964.

In 1984, at twenty and without asking permission: Dream Syndicate, The Smiths, KENT, Atlantic, Auzo Gatazkatsuan. Blade hunters at the margins of the system. Records as map and compass — before digital maps existed.

Today: arthritis as a travelling companion, the body protesting, and yet still here. Without nostalgia — with conviction. The difference between the two is exactly what separates punk from melancholy. Always looking towards the sound that is coming.

Brian Eno called Bowie when he heard Donna Summer's "I Feel Love": "David, the future of music has just arrived." That's how it is every time a new sound appears where no one expects it. That's how it was in 1984. That's how it is now.

A whole life spent apologising and acknowledging the damage done. I was telling a friend and best dealer that now I had converted to the "heavy" I might reach the wisdure and goodness that characterises fans of the genre. He brought me back down to earth with "things don't work like that, first you're good and then you go heavy". I was born honest and caring — Sumerian life made me what I was. Improving is our singularity. Long live urban tribes, rural life and extraterrestrial species.

"Death to the system for being boring and tiresome."

NWOBHM OR DIE!!!

"The state pursues me, death is waiting for me, I have a reserved spot in the cemetery." — Attaque 77, El Cielo Puede Esperar
· From the Cantabrian Sea, in the Bay of Biscay, to the Mar de Plata — the boys talk of youthful struggles and death ·

Saturday Hero. Making a nuisance and a fool of myself since 1964.

There are
no heroes.
Friendship.

Still "on the road" alongside Nearis Green — the Black slave from Tennessee who first distilled fire water and set the template for a recipe the world knows as Jack Daniel's. The origin of Rock & Roll is there, as always, where no one was looking. Kerouac knew it — he travelled with the bottle already open. So do we. There is no Plan B. Self-management has been and always will be the only path.

Over all these years, the illusion has perhaps grown smaller and the hope more honest. Thanks to the cosmological constant I have found my successor in my son. Toots & The Maytals — Pressure Drop. A son who from a young age came to concerts, learned to listen and one day took over. You don't inherit the business — you inherit the passion.

Oscar Garrido travelled from Valencia in the year 2000 just to enter the shop. That journey is the best review this project has ever received. Friends — past, present and future — converge at this point in the cosmos.

Today it's time to drive towards love under the influence of the Scorpions' sting. Another classic I was forced to endure, mercilessly, on endless afternoons at Pub Arraun, in my friend Marcial's car on trips to uncertain destinations and at experimental initiation camping trips. Always under my insistent protest demanding the Jam or the Clash — receiving a categorical NO 99% of the time. Now the needle drops on the wrong plastic and I can enjoy some German cheeseballs who have been almost everything in heavy metal. This unexpected turn I dedicate to the gang — great people and better friends from school and university days.

Nietzsche said that without music life would be a mistake. Smokey Robinson said love is what moves the world. Both are right and both are wrong. The truth is in the middle, as always. And at the end of that long road — you find FRIENDSHIP.

"Love your family and your enemies too. Love is the medicine that keeps you alive." — Daviles de Novelda · Catholic-Gipsy-Rap · 1986 ·

GREÑAS Y CHUPAS VAQUERAS!!!

"Luis, who has been mod, punk, Black, radio presenter, cyclist, photographer, industrialist, theorist, practitioner, soulmaster and always a friend... if you're in San Sebastián, do what hundreds of visitors from all over the world do: stop by Beltza." — Alejandro Díaz Garín · Flechazos · Cooper · Fundación Club 45 ·