Cherri by Guillermina
The day I fell Jazz
I tend to be categorical and remember exactly one day of my 19 años, when I first saw them live piano quartet, battery, bass and saxophone. They were of Buenos Aires and was in the theater of the small town where I live off. Since that time I did not stop anymore, investigate, listen and read everything I could find on this genre (remember that very early 2000 We did not use internet in the way we do today, searches were handmade and hand, read what appeared in the newspaper supplement art, paid and recorded discs peer; He had its great charm) and it was love at first sight. From that day, my link with this music was in crescendo. I bought my first jazz album, the chosen one: John Coltrane and his Blue train, a classic super. Trumpeter Pedro Casís, director of the Santa Fe Jazz Ensemble- I once said that Coltrane was not the easiest to start and that a more traditional ear might find a mess.
More I know this was not the starting point. I know it very well. It's just a pragmatic and effective way to respond. I know my history with jazz is much older, and I take from old neighbor drummer, every evening stopped to narrate their stories of how they worked and turned with his orchestra playing swing -reproduciendo those danceable classics of big band jazz- and how they "stole" all those Brazilians of late 50; even the oldest and perennial images of my childhood, listening every day a different Beatles album in the combined Dad (because all he had them all and we could afford to choose), the well-tuned voice of my mother reading me and singing to me every night, continuously, beside my bed or the long mirror that was in the house entrance, where he played Ray Charles showgirl be a symbolic object with microphone. Because one of the many things he dreamed of when he is older girl was to be like one of those showgirls. And so I come to my last year of high school and attempt to read Rayuela and brands in the book (because I am one of those readers who use and make off with everything from books, I write, I smell, protecting you, the preservative, transported me everywhere, subray and scored the outside everything known and unknown, I discover the intertextualities, the references, everything that makes noise) I did with the names cited Cortazar; although at that time they were not familiar to me. Lester Young, Dizzy Gillespie, Bessie Smith, Monk, Ellington, Erroll Garner and Oscar Peterson among many other names. Now I look for the novel in my library and I find those brands with ink pen; do not bother me, They are part of my history, but now I replaced the graphite ink. I read with great nostalgia for the innocence of those years, to the voracious curiosity to know more. I could never read literature and cinema (another of my passions) without stopping in jazz. How not remember the frustrated drummer of The Man with the Golden Arm, that excellent novel by Nelson Algren (sentimental friend of Simone de Beauvoir), Otto Preminger made into a movie and starred Frank Sinatra; how not notice the ever-present Bill Evans in the novels of Murakami, or even disgust for jazz mixed with admiration Harry Haller, that Steppenwolf Hesse.
What the hell Scott Fitzgerald had written without the jazz? Undoubtedly it would not be in the top of the best American novelists. What would Woody Allen's films? Who would you choose Cormac McCarthy how the greatest composer of all time if he had not existed Coltrane? What would ART S. XX without JAZZ? Perhaps an incomplete picture of Boticelli to which escaped the muses? Or the Renaissance outside the city of Florence? I'm sure, It would be like a Dalí without exoticism, the most usual, ordinary.