“I am ready to die”

“Look”, he said, “look among the garbage and the flowers”

“There are heroes in the seaweed”.

And then, beauty. And the question. One, two, three and eighty questions. He smiles. His eyes shine. He carries an infinite kindness. You can see it, there, on the tip of his eyelashes, on the corner of his mouth.

Wrinkles on his face. As if full of cracks.

Wrinkles like cracks.

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“Estoy preparado para morir”

“Mira”, dijo. “Mira entre la basura y las flores”.

“Hay héroes en las algas”.

Y entonces, la belleza. Y la pregunta. Una, dos y tres, y ochenta preguntas. Él sonríe. Le brillan los ojos. Carga con una bondad infinita, se le ve, allí, en la punta de las pestañas, en la comisura de los labios.

Arrugas en la cara. Como si la tuviera llena de grietas.

Arrugas como grietas.

Y le brilla el rostro. Casi insoportable, la luz. Pura, blanca. Pero de aquel blanco que lleva todos los colores, allí en el fondo de su corazón. Una luz que se derramaba, iluminando habitaciones, escenarios, cuevas y parques verdes de lilas.

Parques donde Marianne “se aferró a él como si fuera un crucifijo”. Con la tranquilidad que le debía provocar el saberse caminando al lado de su mensajero.

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One take of horror vacui

Things are about to happen.

There exists a strange energy in the air. Some kind of expectation. Some sort of breath retention. As if legends were awaiting. And awaited.

There is a drum set, an electric bass, a grand piano and a set of saxophones.

Dressed in red, he carries the three saxophones. His body is reflected on the surface of the black piano, dazzling. He is dressed in red. Throwing the light into the big concert hall. The Berliner Festspiele applauds, ravishing. Him, bright. That red… that red is making a statement. The passion red, the powerful red, red the colour of blood and the colour of fight and the colour of energy, of the hottest nucleus of the sun.

Jazz is red. And blue and grey and black and green.

But very red. Continue reading →

The sax with the Mona Lisa smile

Mette Henriette Martedatter Rølvåg was sitting in a concert in Oslo. Next to her, Manfred Eicher, founder of the German record Label ECM. They started chatting. Next thing on the timeline is Mette Henriette debuting with a double-CD album under ECM’s wing.

 The Norwegian saxophonist’s career has escalated quickly, and her debut album as a leader saxophonist sounds like nothing else around it. Elegant and soft, powerful within its delicacy, it shouts directly to the bowels and she succeeds in creating a personality that is reaffirmed by her live performances. During the third day of this years edition of the Jazzfest Berlin, Henriette shares stage with a whole new formation, presented in world premiere: Henrik Nørstebø on trombone, Lavik Larsen on trumpet, Johan Lindvall on piano, Andreas Rokseth on bandoneón, Odd Hannsidal and Karin Hellqvist on violins, Bendik Foss on viola, Gregor Riddell on cello, Per Zanussi on double bass and saw and Dag Erik Knedal Andersen on drums. On Thursday the 3rd of November, at 8pm, after Julia Hülsmann’s Quartet, the light changes.

 

Ignitable, robust, powerful, raw, harsh, stripped, fresh, pointy, strong, hefty, delicate, intimate, talkative, legendary, magical, epic, ancestral, traditional, glacial, soft, meditative, controlled, curious, focused, carrying, invisible.

Invisible.

Yet it travels on the skin.

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When silence speaks (in blue)

The last day of the 53rd edition of the JazzFest Berlin, and after the journey one large dish is served on a sunny Sunday afternoon: the Karl Wilhelm Gedächnis Kirche hosts an interesting dialogue between organ and trumpet. Alexander Hawkins and Wadada Leo Smith present in this solemn environment their ‘Blue Meditation’ piece. As only a warning, the director of the festival Richard Williams, quotes Wadada, stating this is going to be “music with the breath of life”.

Murmuration.

Light is blue. Shining, powerful and bright blue. Cerulean, turquoise, cyan. It penetrates the millions of small square glasses that cover the walls of the Memorial. It comes into the big hall and illuminates the floating dust. Traveling until it hits a reflecting surface.

The most solemn journey, as it dies, hitting the big, golden sculpture of Christ that hangs. Flying, towards at the front of the church, right on the altar, flying right on the big golden cross.

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Retrato de una manzana

Qué es el imposible. Aquí no hay nada que no puedas hacer. Aquí el hombre que caminó entre torres y bruma, acunado por las nubes y los gritos y los soplos de aire inspirado y arrestado en el pecho de los observadores, en suspense y suspensión, allá abajo en el suelo. La jungla de cemento, de cristal y cristales y piedras preciosas y polvo en los rincones y en la parte posterior de los semáforos.

Un calor insoportable sube desde el asfalto, escala las paredes, se cuela en las rendijas de las ventanas y en el trozo de cremallera que no funciona del bolso de la mujer de azul. Sube y sube y rodea los cuerpos y los hace sudar sin parar, en permanente ducha. En permanente lucha.

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The sound of listening

Trumpet virtuoso Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah returned this year to the Montreal Jazz Festival with a brand new sextet, blessed with the fresh air of all his young musicians. For three consecutive nights this 33-year-old New Orleans-born musician filled the Gesù with high-quality music – and energy. Thursday was for his sextet, but on Friday and Saturday Scott aTunde Adjuah shared stage with Charlie Hunter and Lizz Wright, respectively. Three shows that he used to present his latest project: Stretch Music.

 

“It’s a communicative ability”

Lights are soft. Red tones.

“With a vocabulary not learned in any way you can point at, someone can say four words and break your heart”

Whispers, someone screaming at the back of the room. All eyes on the stage.

“Ultimately it becomes about whether or not you are willing to see yourself”

Five shadows climb on the stage. Wild applause.

“When certain people play, I feel as if they are tapped into a source that most people never get to, but it is not external, it is internal.”

Piano, bass, drums, flute, saxophone, trumpet. Soldiers to your posts.

“The players that have the most captivating, pointed, original and unique sounds are the ones that irradiate it, in one way or another. It is always something that comes from your core.”

And then, the pianist caresses the keys, the bass dances with its huge wooden instrument, drummer hits the toms, unexpected whistle coming out of the flute, a whispered cutting sound hitting the microphone straight from the trumpet.

Powerful, smashing, spectacular, grandiose.

It’s music. And it comes straight from their cores.

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