Dedicated, among others, to my friend Herman Dermer
Perhaps the Colombo Hebrew School was a rather peculiar place. At least my group of friends was. Some of our discussions revolved around the usual topics of our age: the girls we never won over, soccer, the next movie at the cinema, and the latest invention of the class liar. But another topic captivated us, proving that we were hopeless nerds: Les Luthiers.
It was the late seventies, early eighties, the era of Betamax, cassettes, and the occasional vinyl record. We listened to records until we were sick of them. Mastropiero who never and then Les Luthiers say thank you very much, you're welcome.. We knew by heart every stanza of the Cantata of the Adelantado Don Rodrigo Diaz de Carreras, sketch where Colombia transforms into Rodrigombia And one after another, all the native rhythms of Latin America played, while the conqueror protagonist of the story fell into all the traps of the region. Another unforgettable segment was The batch, simulation montage of the advertising space of any afternoon program, where they sold pretentious Swiss watches with a worm-shaped second hand or to promote pig filth Porca Miseria, It ended with the phrase "A clean pig never gets fat.".
It wasn't just a matter of humor, but also of fine music and brilliant instrument making. The first was the bass-pipe with rod, Constructed from cardboard tubes found in the trash and household items. The following list then included: A violin with a ham can as a sound box. A Linodoro, That is, a toilet seat to which a mandolin headstock, a bridge with micro-tuners and eight metal strings spanning an octave were attached. A hookah, a recorder inserted into a hookah. A coconut marimba, a hammer-operated bell-ringer, a Cellato (a parody of the cello, built on the base of a cleaning fluid can). And many more, which when they appeared on stage, not only made us laugh but immediately aroused all the curiosity in the world, trying to understand how they worked.
Going to a Les Luthiers show was a must among colleagues back then. Luckily, they used to come to Colombia frequently and perform at the Teatro Colón and other venues. Les Luthiers would stay in Bogotá for several weeks at a time, and because of friendships, they would often spend some afternoons at the city's Jewish club, which was next to the school. We would skip class to sneak into the club and see how we could greet them. We didn't have much to say to them, except to repeat some of their best lines and smile stupidly in approval. They were gentle in their dealings, but I imagine that dealing with teenagers wasn't their favorite plan for their afternoons off.
Daniel Rabinovich was always my favorite. I loved his constant role as the odd one out in the group., the one who always deviated from the line to follow and the one who turned the unexpected joke on its head. I learned the little German I know from the phrases he uttered while remembering his dog in The poet and the echo, And I appreciated the little zarzuela I like because of its character Fernando, in The Majas of the Brigantine.
Some will say that Les Luthiers' humor is for pretentious people because of their constant references to different cultures. I think, on the contrary, that more than one person must have learned something about classical music, jazz, or chamamé through the works of these Argentinians and their vast universe. They always used the tuxedo as a work uniform, but they never separated themselves from popular tastes. His special show on the Cosquín folk festival This is irrefutable proof of it. After all, even Rabinovich himself confirmed it in a television interview: His original aspiration was to be part of Los Charchaleros.
Rabinovich, according to his colleagues, had been experiencing heart problems for some time. Therefore, Les Luthiers' latest tour, currently underway, replaced their presence with two guest musicians. Rabinovich had not officially retired; he hoped to return someday, but a final heart attack ended his plans.
When I meet, at least virtually, with my schoolmates, it's not unusual for a Les Luthiers joke to come up in our conversations. It sounds like an old wives' tale, but it's clear that these Argentine artists knew how to help us build a collective memory among us. My friends from back then kept me company by laughing at how the hen said Eureka or what they are (and were) like young people today. Thanks to Les Luthiers, I wouldn't be surprised if one of us, on his tombstone, warned, in the manner of The Batch, That out of every 10 family members who will come to mourn us, 5 will definitely still be half. At least that's how we are now, remembering Daniel Rabinovich himself.
