Receiving the witness
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Can You Fake A Abortion
All those hands were rested on relentlessly black and white keys, conveying that message in their own unique code, floating between Lopes breeze flowing from the old hat, energy that would allow me to know different horizons. Sauter piano that old emerged the magical notes José Natalio used to play, notes that serve to form part of the stars that would guide by diverse horizons. With each chord, each counterpoint, with each download, the signals appeared carefree define routes unimaginable, amazing and wonderful sounds made roads that are treasured in that cluster cells made of mankind, that same humanity that always wore clothes made with eighth notes and treble clef, with threads of sevenths and ninths, embroidered with dots and silences.
One after another, the stories never failed to appear leaning out between each of the keys, writing stories that were invisible in that booklet, whose endless sheets are still today a reference point, taking as a leading figure of the skinny gold, Agustín Lara, pen and jarocho sound that accompanied so many loves, and stories. All this was played that old piano Sauter, where the left hand which was handled José Natalio swordsman in his final match with skill, with nuances and cadences Caribbean, and his right hand was pure precision and force, releasing fine complex chords and melodies on each key carving their unique stories.
Sensitivity his way from those encounters and stories full of sounds, the voices of Pedro Vargas, Tona La Negra and Juan Arvizu were frequently invited to these gatherings where they were forming all. However, those meetings in my grandfather's house had also its nuances Venezuelans. Antonio Lauro, Antonio Carrillo, Pablo Canela and Laudelino Mejías, among others, emerged as a benchmark in the landscapes that José Natalio etched on his piano for beginning the thing there.
With the passage of time, references were appearing from different corners of the globe, via Lorenzo, the old man, whose tastes ranged from colorful best known rancheras to boleros to Tito Rodriguez. Bridge, meanwhile, would come later. All this represented - and still does - a fabulous flask where different sounds were mixed uniformly, slowly, the heat of tropical sun, cooked in coconut water, allowing each of them could exist without impeding other in perfect coexistence. Rhythms arrival ticket had been doing these, appearing in all its glory, spilling secrets and flavors that came to him that special touch, the secret of the chef, the skill that was needed.
Of those tireless hands caressing black and white keys generously received the baton in the form of witness, to stay in this relentless journey in this sort of discovery of different sounds that lull my ears every time, every time I am invited to follow traveling without a passport or visa, where the labels are left behind, a sign of the universality of sound. All thanks to José Natalio, and the old piano Sauter.
One after another, the stories never failed to appear leaning out between each of the keys, writing stories that were invisible in that booklet, whose endless sheets are still today a reference point, taking as a leading figure of the skinny gold, Agustín Lara, pen and jarocho sound that accompanied so many loves, and stories. All this was played that old piano Sauter, where the left hand which was handled José Natalio swordsman in his final match with skill, with nuances and cadences Caribbean, and his right hand was pure precision and force, releasing fine complex chords and melodies on each key carving their unique stories.
Sensitivity his way from those encounters and stories full of sounds, the voices of Pedro Vargas, Tona La Negra and Juan Arvizu were frequently invited to these gatherings where they were forming all. However, those meetings in my grandfather's house had also its nuances Venezuelans. Antonio Lauro, Antonio Carrillo, Pablo Canela and Laudelino Mejías, among others, emerged as a benchmark in the landscapes that José Natalio etched on his piano for beginning the thing there.
With the passage of time, references were appearing from different corners of the globe, via Lorenzo, the old man, whose tastes ranged from colorful best known rancheras to boleros to Tito Rodriguez. Bridge, meanwhile, would come later. All this represented - and still does - a fabulous flask where different sounds were mixed uniformly, slowly, the heat of tropical sun, cooked in coconut water, allowing each of them could exist without impeding other in perfect coexistence. Rhythms arrival ticket had been doing these, appearing in all its glory, spilling secrets and flavors that came to him that special touch, the secret of the chef, the skill that was needed.
Of those tireless hands caressing black and white keys generously received the baton in the form of witness, to stay in this relentless journey in this sort of discovery of different sounds that lull my ears every time, every time I am invited to follow traveling without a passport or visa, where the labels are left behind, a sign of the universality of sound. All thanks to José Natalio, and the old piano Sauter.
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