When I recorded “Irene Goodnight,” I wanted to keep that timeless spirit of old folk and blues songs — honest, simple, and full of heart. I sang it with acoustic guitars, harmonica, and a soft drum beat, letting the rhythm breathe like a story told by the fire.

This song, to me, is about regret and love, about those moments in life where pain and tenderness walk hand in hand. It’s not just about Irene — it’s about every goodbye we never wanted to say. While singing it, I felt the weight of the lyrics, that sense of longing that stays with you even when the music fades.

It reminded me why I love these old songs: because they speak the truth without needing to shout. Just a voice, a few strings, and the feeling that someone, somewhere, understands exactly what you’re singing about.

Basadas y Covers II

Irene

Irene Goodnight

When I recorded “St. James Infirmary”, I wanted it to sound like it was coming out of an old, dusty record — the kind you find spinning slow on a Sunday afternoon. I sang it with my acoustic guitar, harmonica, upright bass, and a light drum set, letting that vintage hiss fill the silence between the notes.

This song has something eternal. It’s not just about death — it’s about pride, love, and the bittersweet acceptance that life keeps moving, even when we don’t. I tried to sing it with the same calm defiance the lyrics carry: “She’ll never find another sweet man like me.”

Each take felt like a small ritual — part farewell, part celebration. There’s sadness, yes, but also a strange beauty in it, a sense of dignity in facing the end with style. That’s the magic of St. James Infirmary: it mourns, but it never begs.

St. James Infirmary Blues

When I decided to record “Love of My Life” by Queen, I wanted to strip it down to its purest essence — just voice, acoustic guitar, harmonica, and cello. No grand arrangements, no fireworks — just the emotion that makes this song so timeless.

While singing it, I felt every word differently. It’s not just a love song; it’s a cry from someone who has truly lost a piece of themselves. The cello added that deep, aching tone, like the voice of the heart itself, while the harmonica breathed the melancholy of the soul.

Freddie’s voice has always carried both strength and fragility, and I tried to honor that. This version isn’t about imitation; it’s about gratitude. About remembering that love, even when it hurts, is what makes us human.

Love of my life

When I decided to record my own version of “And so I know” by Stone Temple Pilots, it wasn’t just a cover — it was a way to say goodbye. After Scott Weiland’s passing, this song took on a different meaning for me. I sang it softly, with acoustic guitars, harmonica, and a warm organ background, trying to capture that strange mix of melancholy and rebirth that lives in its melody.

For me, the phrase “And so I know” means realizing that something has started again — that even when someone leaves, some part of their energy keeps finding ways to come back. The song became a reflection on cycles: the end of one chapter, the beginning of another. I recorded it in one take, almost like a prayer, feeling that fragile line between loss and continuity.

I didn’t want to imitate Scott. I just wanted to honor him — and in the process, I felt a kind of peace, as if music itself was whispering that everything begins again, just in a different form.

Basadas y Covers I

And so I know

Federico Gerhardt is a versatile Argentine musician who moves effortlessly between blues, pop, and funk.

As a singer, harmonica player, and guitarist, he has made the cigar box guitar one of his trademarks, blending tradition with experimentation in every performance.

His music ranges from the raw authenticity of blues to the freshness of contemporary sounds, always carried by honest lyrics and deep emotional presence.

Beyond being a songwriter, Federico is also a luthier, crafting and playing his own instruments, which gives his work a unique and handcrafted identity.

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