Radio Sweet Love Chat

On Tuesdays at eleven at night, *LunaSolitaria* logs in with the same nickname from a town in Jaén where there are only two streetlights and a bar that closes at ten. She's been connecting to Radio Sweet Love for ten years, since her ex deleted all the songs from her phone and she vowed to rebuild the soundtrack of her life note by note. Today, she uploads a fragment of a 90s ballad that no one can identify: "It's the one that sounds like the singer is crying inside an elevator". At a quarter to twelve, *ViejoRomántico* — a guy who claims to be 68 and have been listening to the same station since he was 20 — says: "That's *Sin ti no soy nada* by Amaral, but it's the acoustic version from 2005, the one they played at the Círculo de Bellas Artes". LunaSolitaria doesn't respond. She just writes "/me sighs" and leaves the cursor blinking as if the chat is the only place where she can keep silent without it sounding like defeat.

Here, we don't talk about music in the abstract. We discuss whether *Bésame* by Camilo Sesto is better than *Bésame mucho* by Consuelo Velázquez (the debate has been open since 2012 and has its own thread), we share the link to a bootleg of Rocío Jurado singing *Se nos rompió el amor* in a bar in Málaga in 1987, or we ask, with Friday night desperation, "Does anyone have the exact chord for *Amor eterno* on guitar? My mother-in-law will kill me if I don't play it at her funeral". Some people come looking for comfort — "my girlfriend left me and I only listen to *Corazón partío* on repeat" — and others show up to tell a bad joke: "Do you know why reggaeton artists don't write ballads? Because you can't fit that many 'dame's in three minutes". The regulars know that *ElPoetaDelAyer* always responds with a verse from José Alfredo Jiménez, and that *LaChicaDeLos80* has a file of Mecano lyrics with personal annotations in the margins, like they were letters.

What makes this room unique is not the songs, but the rituals. Every February 14th, *ViejoRomántico* posts the same message: "Today is the day when most lies are told in love and on the radio", and the whole room responds with broken heart emojis. There's a bot called *DJNostalgia* that only plays on Sundays at six in the afternoon, and if someone asks for *Como fue* by José José, *LaReinaDelBolero* — who nobody knows if it's a man, woman, or a ghost — appears to say: "That song is sacred, ask for it with respect". Newcomers don't understand, but those who have been around for years know that here, sarcasm and tenderness coexist like on a Joaquín Sabina record: one line breaks your heart and the next makes you laugh until you cry.

To join, just open an IRC client (mIRC, HexChat, or even ChatZona's webchat) and type "/join #RadioDulceAmor". No registration, fixed nickname, or even knowledge of what you're talking about is required. You can arrive at three in the morning with your heart in your hand or at eight in the morning with emotional hangover, and someone — maybe *LunaSolitaria*, maybe *ElPoetaDelAyer* — will tell you: "That song that"