Monica Naranjo was born in Figueras, Spain on May 23, 1974. Monica had to strive and become a huge success in America before she was ever recognized in her native land.

Let's not forget that the fact of a close partnership with her producer-composer husband, Cristobal Sansano, cannot be seen as the story of Pygmalion, where a young girl is discovered and molded from clay to become a star, because in this case, we are talking about an artist, not a product.

On the contrary, the Naranjo/Sansano partnership demonstrates the physical law of synergy. That is to say that under exceptional circumstances, the fusion of two forces works better than the sum of all parts. Accordingly, these two talents act as a proud two-headed creature, a perfectly synchronized machine, greased with lucidity and mutual understanding.

The Monica Naranjo concept directs us to a typical characteristic present in feminine art, and easily traced, as in painting (Frieda Kahlo, Tamara de Lempicka...), in poetry (Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath...), in literature (Jean Rhys, Djuna Barnes, Dorothy Parker, Anais Nin, Colette...) and certainly in music: Barbara Streisand, Cher, Madonna, Dianna Ross, Judy Garland, Liza Minelli, Betty Carter, Sarah Vaughan, Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald, Shirley Bassey, Bette Midler, Rocio Jurado, Paquita la del Barrio, Donna Summer, Dalida, and Mina.

During the most critical moment of her fame, Monica Naranjo made an opportune and complete hiatus, a strategic retreat to the winter barracks, that only those who have been hardened by countless battles know how to accomplish. She is a passenger in permanent transit of herself, a kaleidoscope, ever changing, surprising, but despite all, always her own person.

More than a mere homage record, Minage is the type of work that cannot be classified: Mina's songs remade by Monica Naranjo and complemented by the creative genius of her great friend and brilliant author José Manuel Navarro, distill such bitterness as if the heart fabricates vinegar instead of blood. An oxidized complaint creeps up in each note, and questions the debacles of passion adrift the labyrinths of romantic love, opening up like a ripe fruit, releasing an agonizing cry for sentimental survival.

Monica is like a bird of prey, hunting for the remains of a love battle, grabbing on to life and leaving behind shreds of obscure life. Desire rises and flows out of her throat, like a stream of sentiments singing to nights of never ending absence. In her parted songs, the desire to give oneself, gives meaning to love but no answers. Traveling along the expanse of abandonment, emptiness, and solitude, Monica endures and survives.

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