Amaia Montero: from questioned live shows to her body becoming a weapon

Amaia Montero: when the voice is no longer the argument

A singer who filled stadiums for years returns to the stage and public conversation splits in two: those who question her pitch and those who question her body. In the middle, a woman who, according to several circulating accounts, has been undergoing psychiatric treatment since her father's death. In the background, an uncomfortable question: how much of what is demanded of an artist has to do with her craft, and how much with her packaging?

The discussion about Amaia Montero, former lead singer of La Oreja de Van Gogh and later a solo artist, has lately shifted from the musical to the physical. What began as a complaint about her live performance —"she screeches," as one of the most repeated takes puts it— has turned into judgment about her weight, her clothes and her stability. And there very different things get mixed together: respect for the paying customer, compassion for someone who is struggling, and a taste for mockery.

The live show as an unpaid debt

The strongest argument running through the conversation is not about pounds. It is about craft. Some argue the problem is not the artist's appearance, but that the product being sold —a concert ticket— no longer meets the standard expected of it. "I don't not care that she screeches the way she does at her concerts because she can no longer sing, making fun of people," sums up one of the most upvoted comments. It is the consumer-respect line: if you charge, you sing.

Opposite stands the comparison with the band's other lead singer, Leire Díaz, called "a thousand times better" by those who believe the changeover has not only not worsened things but improved them. The comparison is a trick: both sing the same repertoire, and the songs are not theirs. But the argument rests on something simpler: audiences compare what they hear, not what the songwriter signed off on.

The body as a battlefield

From there, the analysis degrades. Physical description takes up much of the material: people debate whether she has gained weight, whether it's her thyroid, whether medication has left her "puffy," whether her clothes are a provocation or a blunder. One comment sums up the general tone with a sentence that says it all: "Being fat is not shameful. What is shameful is making a fool of yourself like this poor woman." The first part is obvious; the second is where the fight is fought.

Some defend that physical appearance is irrelevant and that all that matters is how the artist makes people feel. Others, without denying the above, point to the elephant in the room: the industry that put her on stage and now displays her in a state that does not seem her best. The suspicion that "something peine there with money and contracts" circulates without any evidence, as rumor, and should be treated as exactly that.

The treatment everyone talks about and no one confirms

The piece that weighs most heavily in the story is her health. It is claimed she is in psychiatric treatment and that the problems began with her father's death. There is no official confirmation in the material; it is a version that keeps being repeated. If accepted as a hypothesis, the frame changes: what is being judged is not an underperforming professional, but a sick person exposed to public mockery.

That is the point where the conversation turns uncomfortable. Because you can criticize a concert and, at the same time, not turn a woman's body into the joke of the week. The line between demanding quality and piling on someone vulnerable is thin, and here it is crossed several times.

What is really being debated: who pays for the show

Beneath the noise there is a legitimate debate about public money and television. One comment puts it bluntly: paying for tickets to endure off-key singing is one thing; paying with taxes for those who put her on screen is another. It is the discussion about the role of public media and who decides what gets broadcast, which resurfaces every time a familiar face has a bad day.

And then there is the question no one quite asks: why is she still being invited? The most cynical answer is ratings. The kindest, loyalty. The most likely, a mix of both with a dash of morbid curiosity, the cheapest fuel there is.

In the end, the jarring fact is not her weight or her pitch. It is that an artist with decades of career is today discussed more for how she looks than for how she sounds.