And then you have those moments: how is it possible… but at the same time oh so wonderful. You think you know the early music scene fairly well by now and then – oops – there's suddenly someone you think: how on earth have I never heard of them before?
It happened at the MA Café.
After the evening concert, I faced a small choice. Should I go to the free evening concert in the café, or should I just make the trip to Antwerpen? I chose the first. I did politely ask the spirited doorkeeper – who, by the way, did an excellent job during the concert – whether there was another exit if I wanted to leave early, rather than right in front of the artist. Respect is after all the least you can offer at a free concert.
But that question soon proved to be moot.
When Jonatan Alvarado sang his first notes, it was clear: I stayed.
Jonatan Alvarado is an Argentine singer and lutenist, specializing in the tradition of self-accompanied singing. He studied classical singing and lute at the Conservatorium van Amsterdam and is among other things musical director of Seconda Pratica, an ensemble dedicated to Renaissance and early Baroque, with special attention to repertoire from Latin America. He also collaborates with various renowned ensembles in the early music world.
That is the proper biographical version.
But actually, it tells little about what unfolded in that café.
Because Alvarado has something you simply cannot extract from a curriculum vitae. He doesn't sing old music as if it sits in a display case. He makes something of it that happens here and now.
And then I inevitably had to think of Marco Beasley.
Nothing is worse than comparing artists with each other, because every artist has their own uniqueness. But the rhetorical talent, the natural storytelling through music, the way a voice becomes a narrative: there was something of the same magic in it for me.
And also the way he interacted with the audience. Open. Accessible.
"Just applaud whenever you want." How pleasant can that be?
The café certainly helped with that. This was not a concert hall where the distance between artist and audience is almost automatically created by a stage, rows of chairs and appropriate silence. Here you were close to the music. You almost felt how Alvarado sought contact with the people in front of him. And he clearly had no need to hide behind the seriousness of early music.
What exactly he sang, I honestly couldn't fully piece together. It went from Argentina to Peru – where old codices also contain a treasure trove of repertoire – and then on to Spain and Portugal. There were priests who apparently liked to wag their fingers, a recipe with thirty eggs, lovers who couldn't meet each other on the Tagus…
Anyway.
I mainly have the feeling that I opened a door to a world where there is still so much to discover.
Alvarado moves through centuries-old music, through manuscripts and oral traditions, but does so without ever losing contact with a contemporary audience. He is not looking for the detached, 'cultivated' classical way of singing that sometimes makes early music so unapproachable. On the contrary: his voice remains direct, rhetorical and idiomatic.
He makes old music sound as if it isn't old. You don't need to first know which codex something comes from, who the composer was or what year it was written. You need to first want to listen.
Jonatan Alvarado can easily fill an evening-long program in which music and stories continually alternate. The music he brought evoked images. Argentina, Peru, Spain, Portugal. Churches and streets, priests and lovers, the Tagus, recipes and stories. You could almost see it.
And then there was the finale.
Alvarado made a brave attempt to get the audience present – who can hardly be suspected of Southern European phlegmatism – to sing along to an Argentine song.
And yes. It worked. Sort of. Because that Spanish… it's not that easy to sight-read!
But that too was characteristic of the whole evening. No distance, no 'now we're going to participate together because it fits the concept'. Simply: sing along. And the audience did.
This is not a review but a discovery!
I went to the MA Café because I was still hesitant about whether I would stay.
I stayed.
And I discovered Jonatan Alvarado.
Dear readers, forgive my enthusiasm. But do explore his digital world yourself. Listen to what he does, see what he brings, discover his repertoire.
I am fairly certain that you will be charmed just as quickly.
And if Jonatan Alvarado should turn up again somewhere in a café, church or concert hall:
stay! MAfestival Jonatan Alvarado photos: MAfestival / Laia Van den Borre concert: Friday 7 August 2026, MA cafe, Brugge English version: Jonatan Alvarado: Sometimes, You Simply Have to Stay And then there are those moments: how is it even possible… and yet so utterly delightful. You think you know the early music scene reasonably well by now, and then, out of nowhere, someone appears and makes you wonder: how on earth have I never heard of this person before? It happened at the MA Café. After the evening concert, I found myself facing a small decision. Should I stay for the free late-night concert in the café, or should I start the drive back to Antwerp? I chose the former. I did politely ask the formidable door attendant, who had done an excellent job throughout the concert, whether there was another exit in case I decided to leave early, rather than having to walk directly in front of the performer. After all, respect is the very least one can offer at a free concert. As it turned out, the question quickly became irrelevant. The moment Jonatan Alvarado sang his first notes, it was obvious: I was staying. Jonatan Alvarado is an Argentine singer and lutenist specializing in the tradition of self-accompanied singing. He studied classical voice and lute at the Conservatorium van Amsterdam and serves, among other roles, as the musical director of Seconda Pratica, an ensemble devoted to Renaissance and early Baroque music, with a particular focus on repertoire from Latin America. He also collaborates with several renowned ensembles in the world of early music. That is the neat biographical version. But it tells you very little about what actually happened in that café. Because Alvarado possesses something you will never find on a résumé. He does not perform early music as though it were a precious artifact displayed behind glass. He makes it feel like something that is happening here and now. And inevitably, my thoughts drifted for a moment to Marco Beasley. Comparisons between artists are rarely fair, because every artist has a unique voice and personality. Yet there was something of the same magic here: the rhetorical artistry, the natural gift for storytelling through music, the way a voice can become a narrative in itself. The same could be said of his relationship with the audience. Open. Accessible. "Feel free to applaud whenever you like." How refreshing is that? Of course, the café setting played its part. This was not a concert hall where distance between performer and audience is almost automatically created by a stage, rows of seats, and an atmosphere of reverent silence. Here, you were close to the music. You could almost feel Alvarado reaching out to the people in front of him. And he clearly had no desire to hide behind the solemnity that sometimes surrounds early music. To be honest, I cannot fully reconstruct everything he sang. The journey took us from Argentina to Peru, whose old codices contain a wealth of fascinating repertoire, and then onward to Spain and Portugal. There were priests apparently fond of wagging their fingers, a recipe involving thirty eggs, lovers failing to meet on the banks of the Tagus... In short. What stayed with me most was the sense that I had opened a door onto a world in which an enormous amount remains to be discovered. Alvarado moves effortlessly through centuries-old music, drawing on manuscripts and oral traditions, yet never loses contact with a contemporary audience. He does not aim for the distant, cultivated classical style of singing that can sometimes make early music feel inaccessible. On the contrary: his voice remains direct, rhetorical, and deeply idiomatic. He makes early music sound as though it is not old at all. You do not need to know which codex a piece comes from, who composed it, or in what year it was written. First and foremost, you simply need to be willing to listen. Jonatan Alvarado could effortlessly sustain a full evening programme in which music and stories continually intertwine. The music he brought with him conjured images. Argentina, Peru, Spain, Portugal. Churches and streets, priests and lovers, the Tagus, recipes and tales. You could almost see them unfolding before your eyes. And then there was the finale. Alvarado made a brave attempt to persuade the audience, who could hardly be accused of Southern European spontaneity, to join him in singing an Argentine song. And yes, it worked. More or less. Because Spanish is not exactly easy to sight-read! But that, too, captured the spirit of the entire evening. No distance. No artificial "now we are all going to participate because that is part of the concept." Simply: sing along. And the audience did. This is not so much a review as it is a discovery. I went to the MA Café because I was still hesitating whether to stay. I stayed. And I discovered Jonatan Alvarado. Dear readers, forgive my enthusiasm. But do yourself a favour and explore his digital world. Listen to what he does. Watch what he brings to the stage. Discover his repertoire. I am fairly certain you will be charmed just as quickly as I was. And if Jonatan Alvarado should happen to appear again in a café, a church, or a concert hall somewhere: stay.