A love like few others, one of our geographies walked away but not the music that flatters you kidding here. One who came to the edge of madness by Clara, Clara Wieck of your dreams. One that drew to the last vein of this quarry we call life: Schumann, Robert Schumann embraced the hurricane that encloses a vallenato, bolero, a sauce or a guaracha. not met, never got to come face to face, to be conducted in completely different times. The composer never suspected that a century later, another tormented in the art of living would follow him without knowing that one day he left us his name forever: Daniel Santos, all song and smoking it. How can imagine, however. How I can see them engaged in a unique conversation in a cañandonga like few others, in a moment worthy of both: Schumann and Santos, Santos and Schumann, sitting in a bar, Dawn, women and cheering, horns, charrascas, violins, accordions, brass by putting a jukebox, listening to boleros, boleros inventing, tasting boleros and health, beer after beer.
While sitting on the couch and I read at lunchtime, I heard his piano concerto. There are concentrated, crushing, like a pain in the nose, love, hope, passion, surrender at all costs, beyond any determinism, the joy of those who seek to live daily lives most spectacular . There's your sweet Clara Wieck, yes, who took as the flower cluster music that came out of her womb. Noto in the melody an intensity matched only by those who hear this side of the ocean, vallenato, of course, of course bolero, ranchera, of course ... and I guess that is the madness of love (love, after all, is to some extent crazy, right?) and the fiery flaming bridge that makes it possible to communicate them. In this sense I think that Schumann and best doers (those musicians who leave the skin on the trumpet, a drum making you dance to the soul) have loved parecidamente ultimately, have expressed their art under structures, or shades (which I know of technical buzzwords, or what the hell I'm interested) more or less connected.
say music is one, and not without reason this sentence. Far more so when a magician of the scores is incapable of agreeing to perfection with a whole litter also magical, but the Caribbean. I think of Schumann at the piano giving the pump in "Farewell compay gato" or accompanying a great time to Ponceña Sonora in the "second thought", I think of Schumann sweated up the spirit with a download key in the "Jala Jala" Schumann think of dawn, indignant, smelling of Venezuelan rum and Cohiba after a whole night with "Moonlight In Vermont" with Ray Barreto, Johnny Pacheco, Perez Prado, Binomio Gold, with Pastor Smith ... Yes, Schumann and weapon of his infinite talent to beat some drums. Schumann tropical midday sun on a street in San Felix, fajándose very hard with any blessed vallenato.
say music is one, and not without reason this sentence. Far more so when a magician of the scores is incapable of agreeing to perfection with a whole litter also magical, but the Caribbean. I think of Schumann at the piano giving the pump in "Farewell compay gato" or accompanying a great time to Ponceña Sonora in the "second thought", I think of Schumann sweated up the spirit with a download key in the "Jala Jala" Schumann think of dawn, indignant, smelling of Venezuelan rum and Cohiba after a whole night with "Moonlight In Vermont" with Ray Barreto, Johnny Pacheco, Perez Prado, Binomio Gold, with Pastor Smith ... Yes, Schumann and weapon of his infinite talent to beat some drums. Schumann tropical midday sun on a street in San Felix, fajándose very hard with any blessed vallenato.
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