A young artist proving sincerity still matters

By Val Hernández

Bogotá traffic won the first round. After crawling through nearly 50 kilometres of classic Friday traffic, we finally made it to Teatro Astor Plaza around 6:15 p.m. — fully expecting door chaos. But the queue was surprisingly short — not because people were early, but because Bogotá was still holding them hostage. At 7 sharp, staff opened the lobby, and by 7:30, the doors to the hall were open. That’s when the energy really started to build.

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The lobby itself became a scene of its own. Laura Maré’s parents — Jorge Alfredo Vargas and Inés María Zabaraín, two of Colombia’s most respected journalists — were there like any other family cheering on their daughter, posing for photos and chatting warmly with fans. Scattered throughout the theatre — not packed into flashy front-row clusters, but tucked into their own quiet corners — were familiar faces like Vale Garzón, Sara Pinzón, Carolina Cruz, TIMO, and Jules. It didn’t feel like a celebrity spectacle; more like a room full of artists showing up to honour one of their own.

Astor Plaza, for all its charm, does show its age — creaky in places, not exactly built with accessibility in mind, but still full of character. It’s a beloved, emblematic theatre, but not an especially accessible one. The entrance is narrow, some routes still rely on stairs, and wheelchair access feels more like an afterthought — designated spots rather than true architectural inclusion. That said, once inside, the space is clean, calm, and surprisingly well-run. The only thing that snapped me back to reality was the safety announcement, which now includes a very tired “please refrain from vaping.” A slightly tragic sign of the times.

Right before the show kicked off, brand sponsors took over the stage with a wave of ads and giveaways. Necessary, maybe — but it definitely felt like a detour no one really asked for. The crowd humoured it; I, personally, just wanted the music to start.

At 8:15 p.m., the lights dimmed for the opening act: poet Virginia Petro. Instead of a standard musical warm-up, the night began with a quiet, piercing recital. Her verses landed heavily across the room: lines about bathing until her skin dried; about carrying the crust of abuse on her body; about asking someone not to hate her because she had already done enough of that herself. Then, suddenly, a gentler image — a “smile so large it could hold an entire ocean on a single fork”. It was a striking, totally unexpected way to open — and the crowd fell into that rare kind of stillness you usually only get at the theatre, not gigs. Then the stage went dark again, and a soft, dreamy medley of Laura’s own lyrics floated through the hall. It felt like an angelic overture — kind of like the Eras Tour intro, but filtered through her own softer, more intimate world. And then she stepped out, opening with ‘Beatriz’, her voice settling into the room like a warm light.

Her set moved between tenderness and power with an ease that felt instinctive. Susana Cala joined her for ‘Antonia’, their voices blending in a way that made the duet feel inevitable. Later, Laura Pérez appeared for ‘Mi Suerte’ and ‘Para el que me Enamora’, and the reaction in the room made it clear how much these collaborations mean to long-time fans. A stripped-back cover of ‘Salir con Vida’ (Morat ft. Feid) followed — slowed, emotional, unmistakably hers.

Midway through the show, she disappeared backstage only to return in a new outfit, announcing a brand-new song: ‘Cosas Buenas’. It was the emotional peak of the night. The song, a reflection on feeling behind, inadequate, or out of sync with the world, hit the audience with a kind of collective exhale. The lyric “dreams don’t sleep and never wait” hovered in the air long after the final note. People around me wiped their eyes; so did I.

Then came one of the night’s wildest surprises: the appearance of Alejandro González from Bonka. The crowd erupted — an unexpected crossover, but a joyful one that energised the entire theatre.

Throughout the evening, two fan projects quietly wove themselves into the atmosphere. Audience members had been handed blue ribbons to wave during ‘Ojalá’ and blue stickers to turn their phone torches into tiny ocean waves during ‘María’. The final result wasn’t perfectly synchronised, but it was earnest and sweet — little pockets of blue shimmering across the hall. My grandmother, sitting beside me, waved her ribbon with Olympic-level enthusiasm, and honestly, that alone made the whole idea worth it.

Laura closed with ‘Ojalá’ and later returned to encore it, the theatre full and glowing, everyone standing by the end. The night felt truly communal — a room of strangers breathing in sync, tearing up, smiling, and cheering for an artist who offers both craft and sincerity in equal measure.

Astor Plaza may not be the most accessible venue (yet), but for one night, it became something else entirely: a stage where poetry met pop without pretence; where families and familiar faces shared the same air; where a young Colombian artist stood, unapologetically, in her moment.

It was one of those rare concerts that doesn’t just entertain — it lingers. You leave a little softer, a little more open, quietly grateful to have been there when it happened.

About the artist
Laura Maré is a Colombian singer-songwriter who mixes tropical and pop influences with honest lyrics rooted in women’s experiences. In 2022 she emerged with her debut single “Sabor a coco”. Her songs blend Latin-infused rhythms and Flamenco-tinged guitar, and speak directly to themes of heartbreak, empowerment, and self-recovery. In early 2023 she signed as a composer with Warner Chappell Music, reaffirming her commitment to songwriting craft. In 2024 she released her EP Amores prestados, a project built around songs named after friends and inspired by real experiences of love, loss and emotional growth. The EP became her signature work, defining her voice in the new wave of Colombian pop. Since then, Maré has continued releasing music that resonates — building a catalogue that reflects her identity as a poet of everyday stories and a voice for Colombian and Latin-style pop.