For the uninitiated, the album serves as a university course in Latin American rock. For the hardcore fan, it was validation—a beautifully remastered reminder that their deep cuts (like ) were just as potent as the radio staples. A Snapshot of 2007 The release of La Historia came at a peculiar time. The digital revolution was decimating physical album sales. Bands like Enanitos Verdes, who thrived on organic, guitar-driven rock, were competing with reggaeton and Latin pop’s electronic boom.
That year, they released La Historia —not as a farewell, but as a declaration of war against irrelevance. For fans, however, it was the ultimate mixtape: the definitive document of a band that turned heartbreak into anthems and barroom strumming into stadium singalongs. Titling a compilation La Historia is a bold move. It suggests closure. It suggests a legacy locked in amber. But for Enanitos Verdes—vocalist/bassist Marciano Cantero (who passed away in 2022), guitarist Felipe Staiti , and drummer Daniel Piccolo — La Historia was a tactical victory lap.
By 2007, the band had already survived the death of the original "rock en español" boom. They had transitioned from the post-punk/new-wave textures of their 1984 debut ( Los Enanitos Verdes ) to the polished, FM-ready rock of the 90s. La Historia captures that evolution in 18 tracks. It ignores chronological order to create a narrative: the story of a band that learned to balance pop hooks with raw, electric grit. Unlike many cash-grab greatest hits albums, La Historia felt curated. It opens not with their biggest hit, but with "Lamento Boliviano." This was a calculated risk. By 2007, that song—originally from 1994’s Guerra Preventiva —had transcended music. It was a cultural virus. From taxis in Mexico City to quinceañeras in Los Angeles, the slurred opening cry of "Me gusta ese tatuaje, nena..." was instantly recognizable. Enanitos Verdes - La Historia -2007-
Yet, La Historia reminds us they were not a one-trick pony. It sandwiches the melancholic next to the rebellious "La Muralla Verde." It includes the bittersweet romanticism of "Te Vi en un Tren" alongside the existential punch of "Guitarras Blancas."
might be their eternal curse—a song so ubiquitous it borders on cliché—but La Historia proves the band was always more than that chorus. It proves they were architects of a sound that made melancholy feel masculine and loneliness feel like a party. For the uninitiated, the album serves as a
By 2007 , the landscape of Rock en Español looked vastly different than it did in the early 80s. The "rock in your language" movement had exploded, contracted, and splintered into countless subgenres. But standing amidst the rubble of forgotten one-hit wonders and the throne of glitzy pop-rock stood a trio from Mendoza, Argentina: Enanitos Verdes (The Little Green Dwarfs).
La Historia is not just a greatest hits album; it is a tombstone and a love letter. It is the sound of three friends who proved that rock en español didn’t need to be angry to be powerful. Sometimes, it just needed to be honest. The digital revolution was decimating physical album sales
In 2007, Enanitos Verdes looked back at their path and called it La Historia . But the truth is, they weren't finished writing it. They would release more studio albums after this compilation. Yet, for millions of fans from Patagonia to the Rio Grande, this was the album that contained their entire youth—scratches, beer stains, and all.
But La Historia succeeded because it was tangible. It was a CD (and later, a pristine vinyl) you gave to your younger cousin to teach them what "real music" sounded like. It arrived alongside a DVD of live performances and music videos, packaging their visual legacy—from the quirky, low-budget video of to the cinematic scope of later years. The Invisible Fifth Member: The Producer One cannot discuss La Historia without acknowledging the invisible hand behind the board. While the band had worked with various producers over two decades, the compilation’s cohesive mastering highlighted the "Cantero-Staiti" songwriting axis. Cantero’s nasally, vulnerable tenor—often compared to a more optimistic Andrés Calamaro—paired perfectly with Staiti’s crisp, arpeggiated leads. La Historia strips away the decade-specific production fads (the gated reverb of the 80s, the distortion of the 90s) to reveal the skeleton of great songwriting. Why It Still Matters Today, Enanitos Verdes exists in a strange purgatory. With Marciano Cantero’s death, the band’s active chapter is closed. But La Historia remains open. It is the soundtrack for desamor (heartbreak), for road trips through the Andes, for the moment at 2 AM when the party thins out and someone picks up an acoustic guitar.
