Per Nomada Selma.
Perquè each setembre respir
mateixes seu the air.
(Raoul Dufy - Cérès au bord de la mer , 1928. Private collection)
When
Early risers in the blogosphere start reading these lines, I will be leaving Madrid and the Costa Brava way. This year, fortunately, has not been smooth or anxiety of any kind. The cancer seems happy to have chosen to leave us alone this time and the summer has passed placid and lazy, too long and very warm indeed. Madrid in August makes more bearable and has slipped between friends dining at home or on their own, readings, auditions and appointments with dear people to chat, drink and, above all, sharing.
And now, when the city picks up the routine, sighs MegaMag happy by the arrival of September and Sergio hang a new calendar page we go on vacation.
Oh yes, I know. That is true that we are so indispensable that we are not under stress from work or children or disease, there are others who need much more than us and can not, we could easily pass without them ... But we so eager to return ...
You will know that I spent fourth and sometimes even a third of my life in a city to the sea. I grew up in the sun, air, nitrate, iodine, seaweed and blue water of the Mediterranean. Up to 18 years was one of my safer havens. They also know that I have no pretensions to any patriotic or nationalistic. I do not feel English, or Madrid, or the street of Alcala but there born. But I assure you that I always felt truly Mediterranean. Debtor heir and a culture that I recognize as their own and which I also deeply acknowledge. Language, estate, art, literature, history. Everything in me and I suppose in most of you come from a common stock of an anchor point and reference. Of a recognizable and recognized that we like to go back to continue to grow and feed on it.
And a few years ago, my respect, my grip is in a small enclave north of the town of Roses, in the cove of the Grosses Canyelles or
Almadrava This year may be no visits to the ruines d'Ampuries or the village of San Marti. Certainly not go up to Sant Pere de Rhodes or go to Perelada looking for music, Romanesque or wine. Probably not go down more than a couple of times to visit Rosas old acquaintances and friends in Madrid. But I have so much looking forward ... I expect the window to the Gulf of Roses, from the smallest of the Medes and l'Estartit to the lighthouse of the town on the promontory, to L'Escala, Sant Pere Pescador, and those wounds deep in the marsh are Empuriabrava and Santa Margarida. I expected the north wind that blows there twisty in Ampuries respecting what does not respect. And water and salt and walks cortitos by the creek and the jokes, the quiet conversation of two, reading, canned music.
And there are two things that do not retreat from doing.
return to go up one year and one last time to share dinner Montjoi Lluis, Pol, Luis Oriol, Juli, Ferran; with everyone. And on the way, we'll see how the latest and oblique yellow day crash into the Norfeu Cap (one of the most beautiful I know), trying to sneak out of the final routine of disappearing beyond the west, burning their last cartridges red and violet. When this happens, the Cap de Creus Parc remain silent, serene, blue-gray and the rest of the trip remain silent until the discrete waves of the cove, but impertinent tell us we are there again to receive the gift of old friends many years ago. When little was known, when there was that aura of fame to press, when they were still coming in the air or spherification and liquid nitrogen and allowed to extend the desktop lazy afternoon of talks and jokes until half past six o'clock.
But back to sea, if the sea permits, as far as the wind rotates the tip of Cap de Creus and French currency, anchored in Port Lligat slowly to get closer then Cadaquès old Catalan boats racing. In return, the tip of Gat reaffirmed in me the knowledge from that time never goes in vain, that up to the ruins and the meanness is learned. Thereby regain my real cat, firmly anchoring Cap Norfeu from the bottom of the water. And when you roll the boat on the other hand, almost brushing against it, I'm sure you'll tell me how carelessly: "Toldrà is much more than a promise unfulfilled. The sea views of my gift for you when you come to see me."
Toldrà E. (1895-1962) Cançó of Grumet. Angels victory. Orchestre de la Societe des Concerts du Conservatoire. Dir R. Frühbeck de Burgos.
(via tenorisimo1975 ) Before I tell you not feel any kind of pride, whether big or small country. And I reaffirm. But let me say that I feel a deep love of Girona in Catalonia and special. I carry it constantly in my heart and my mind. I started to stammer his tongue at age 11 with the base of Valencia learned in childhood and lyrics by Els Setze Jutges . Yes agree, I must admit that I fall safely in the topic because you can not generalize, but I like people. His honesty, seriousness, seny . But I like very special way altoampurdaneses: so close to land, the Tramuntana, as direct speech, renecs included, I would say our Fritus .
There is a beautiful anthem of Catalonia
Els Reapers (current version). Orfeo Catala (via ylide )
and one informal, the I bring you two versions. The one who adapted it and made him famous and among those likely to be, at least for me, the most beautiful voice and technique that has given better Catalonia. In this second version, another Catalan gives the counterpoint to the soprano.
P. Casals (1876-1973). Birdsong (P. Casals harmonized and orchestrated by E. Casals). Prades Festival Orchestra. Pau Casals, cello direction. 1954. Compiled by Sony in 1992
Victòria dels Angels and Lluis Claret. Birdsong (Catalan folk song). Concert to raise funds for the reconstruction of the Grand Teatre del Liceu. Orchestra of the Grand Teatre del Liceu (¿?). Stage of the Palau Sant Jordi, 1994.
(via tonixerez ) Continuing with Catalan musical identity, another beautiful example of which also have almost as many versions as there are groups or singers Catalans. This beauty is well worth it. Just choose one. Surely not best or most sense (there are others I like more), but it emphasizes its own personality, also accompanied one of my favorite instruments:
Lladre The Cançó of (Catalan folk song). Ferran Savall, voice and theorbo . On the album, Du temps & de l'instant. Jordi Ferran and Arianna Savall, Montserrat Figueras and Pedro Estevan. Alia Vox, 2005
I leave also two separate gifts of three lofty composers (Girona The first Barcelona the other two) that need no introduction but they are well known:
I. Albeniz (1860-1909). Tango, op. 165 n2. Alicia de Larrocha, piano. Decca, 1975
F. Mompou (1893-1987). Cançó i dansa VI. Alicia de Larrocha, piano. Decca, 1970.
Toldrà E. (1895-1962). Six sonets: I Sonetí of pink (On a poem by Trinitat Catasús). In English Music for violin and piano. Jesus Angel Leon, violin and Miguel Angel Munoz, piano. Verso, 2004.
And when the winter rains, cold, I'm stuck in a jam, I have to sit in the dentist's chair or simply things are not the all right, I imagine to be walking barefoot through the 200 meters in soft sandy cove. And Almadrava shelter then becomes, once it was Greek and Phoenician pirates or later, but I now belong only to me. We all need places where we feel like standing near the shore, the water is cloudy, but calm and so clear topaz, which hurts the eyes if looked at from the road. And the shelter anchored me to rest or licking wounds, but also to compose myself, laugh, smell, and love. And when I get to feel the hair wet and I can smell the salt and iodine despite 800 kms. away, I know I'll be back next year, with the certainty which gives the blind faith of a child and experience of 3,000 years on wet skin.
JM Serrat (1943). Mediterranean. In album Mediterranean. Fixes: JCCalderón and GPReverberi. Sapphire, 1971
to return!
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