By José Gandue @Gandour
In one hundred and seventeen days of fluctuating quarantine in the city of Bogotá, I've only gone out once, and that was to see the doctor for a small wound on my foot.. I went, they treated me, and I came back and locked myself in again. I haven't had my hair this long in a long time (mine actually grows upwards). And at times I resemble the famous boxing promoter Don King, (From whom, by the way, I haven't heard anything for quite a few years now). I haven't kissed him or received a hug from anyone in all this time, and I've barely seen my friends through the webcam. In all these days I've watched I don't know how many series, a ton of movies, I've read several ebooks, and I've rewatched, with great pleasure, the episodes of Monty Python, the stand-up comedy routines of Jerry Seinfeld y See the story, that 13-episode program that Argentine public television made with Felipe Pigna Since they're available on YouTube, I highly recommend them. We made them through Zonagirante.com. Castaways at home, a compilation album about which I've been overly insistent with my acquaintances; we did a series of interviews using Zoom under the same name, with varying results, and, furthermore, We created a couple of playlists on the go, one dedicated to the continent's female talent, simply called Women and another, a product of our collaboration with the French platform Groover, where we showcase new sounds from the rest of the world. All this without even leaving my room.
And no, I'm not trying to be a hero by any means. On the contrary. I've had some anxiety attacks, and I've gotten used to talking to myself. Mind you, I'm aware of doing it; don't think I'm imagining imaginary beings. I prefer, even though I am an atheist, to remember those words of Antonio Machado, in which he says that the one who speaks only hopes to speak with God someday. I listen to my own voice when I'm writing. I like to review my texts aloud and discuss them to improve my writing, confronting my vocal quirks. Then I usually call a friend or two, especially when I really like the writing and want to read it to them, waiting for their feedback. Every day I have a couple of minutes, almost always a little before going to sleep, in which I am overcome by fear. I don't believe (but I'm not certain, I'm not that stubborn) that there is anything after life, and for a moment Shakespeare It convinces me that this makes no sense, that «"Life is a tale told by an idiot, a tale full of noise and fury, signifying nothing.". Who am I to contradict Mr. William?
Still, though, I naively believe that music, good music, saves. I believe that instead of erecting monuments to some old tyrants whose terrible past we forgive, We should pay tribute to those who created the best songs, Those songs that truly shaped our lives. I still cry every time they play. Tom Traubert's Blues, of Tom Waits, And I ask that, when I depart this world, someone play it at a gathering where my loved ones will remember me. I treasure in my memory and listen to it whenever possible, the last track from the album made by Gustavo Cerati and Daniel Melero., Holy Colors, especially when it sounds «"I miss you in the afternoons/Perhaps it's not love that makes me look for you/Decisions/Always come too late.". I think they're telling a good part of my story there.
I almost always say it: I don't like nostalgia. I don't like the speeches of people of my generation who say that the music of the past was the best and that there is nothing new worth listening to. That is an unmistakable sign of his old age, of his bitterness. During this quarantine, I've dedicated myself to listening to many wonderful things I never expected to discover. From that cavernous blues voice that brings Maine in Havana, including all the EPs that my admired Fran Straube has recently released with her project Blond. I'm liking instrumental hip hop more and more, and exotic mixes where the musicians are brave and ask questions. «"What happens if I combine this with that?". Curiosity leads them down wonderful paths they never suspected at first. In the midst of the pandemic, examples of daring sound have emerged that thrill and move us. To cite just one example, look up Blue, one of my friend's last recordings Pepe Mogt, And tell me if you didn't find genuine beauty in its three and a half minutes of duration.
I've been in lockdown for one hundred and seventeen days and the truth is, despite all the ups and downs, I've learned a lot. I'm eager to keep learning. I don't want to die foolishly, and I'm not leaving here, even though I feel the same desires as any single mortal., to meet someone and swallow them whole in a hurricane of kisses and touch their entire body (Some friend will suggest, at this point, that the sexting and other technological gadgets). I'll tell you that we're already preparing the second album in the series of Shipwrecked And I will soon present a video we made with one of the songs from the first album, in which we pay tribute to Russ Meyer. Today I'll look for hidden material from a comedian I admire or I'll watch another documentary about the history of the Southern Cone. Anyway, I'm still at home. One day we will hug, meanwhile today there are other urgent matters to attend to.
