July 17, 2005
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Flamenco Guitar
I had every intention of starting back on the book. I even wrote the storyline for the post but then I ended up talking to Brenda (wonderful visit). Maybe some of you have met over the phone, too, those people you’ve come to feel a special connection with. But it was a first time for me. I told her I was going to a Flamenco concert tonight, and she asked me to write about it.
He looked like a difficult young man, moody. When the guitar was tuned to his satisfaction, and you could tell he was only settling because of time constraints and heat — It must have been 80 degrees but “the air conditioner made too much noise” — the chiseled-faced perfectionist began his fight with the instrument. He’d left his heart at home. Without the aid of his foot I’d never have know the beat, for he adroitly raced around the rhythms; fingers flying, lips pursing, puckering and disappearing. In an especially dicey section he would curl them in like a little boy. Once through the rough spot, keen, blue eyes would fix on the audience, and his lips would be revealed again: flushed and pleased.
Dark hair was back in a ponytail, long sideburns the only facial hair outlining alabaster skin. I say “difficult” because he probably never measured up to his own expectations. The only time he shared that orthodontically correct, glistening white smile was when he said the song reminded him of horses.
Several times he found his way in and out of beauty, losing himself momentarily in the power and ease of the chords. Young and frenetic, he needed something to wrap his brain around, dismissing the obvious, easier harmonies. This was not music to dance to.
She was everything he was not, and he introduced her as one of the few Flamenco singers in Portland. Clap, clap, clap, her cupped hands went, red nails against a black dress. She clapped one rhythm, tapping another with her high heel, and when she let out a wail, it was a deep alto; warm. Using her voice as the chord he never played, she sang what his heart couldn’t. Each accompanied the other with care and respect, and, as he found his stride, there mounted a passion between them that was safe.
© 2005 pd Brown
Comments (12)
Orthodontically correct? Must’ve been an American!
i know where to begin… and so do you!
Now I wish I could write a review like that. Sorry he wasn’t “in the flow” that evening. I, on the other hand, listened to two singers (folk) who got into their performances and connected with the audience.
What else is life about but giving yourself fully to it? And if your gift is music, playing Spanish guitar, or dancing flamenco, then give everything, each performance give everything, you never know, it might be your last. And that’s the same for everything else meaningful to us too…
Though I know there are nights when you can’t ‘get there,’ when your dance doesn’t open out, when you’re pushing and pushing against your limitations, and maybe you’re tired, or you have your moon, or you can’t let go of the jumble of the day, or the energy in the room doesn’t allow you to blossom somehow, and that can be disheartening and difficult.
But still, you can open out fully to the expression of your frustration with your limitations, or your boredom, and explore that, and then the dance opens out…
I liked your review because I felt this way of approaching life, which our art embodies, lay underneath the assessment.
You weren’t so much a dance critic, though that’s there, as a Zen master…
xo
ps I loved talking to you! Felt very natural… an extension of our friendship here, like we’ve been talking for a long time already. Let’s keep in touch both ways, you’re one of the best people in my life. xo
sounds pretty amazing. I probably need to get out more.
I’ve talked on the phone with a handful of xangans… and it’s really never quite as I expect it would be…
sounds like a good time that I would enjoy. I wish we had more of that available nearby here.
oh, RYC: it’s an eagle. Beautiful to see.
You and another person I know have made me much more aware of dance lately. I like that.
…very vivid description…who wrote that for you ; ) …and thanks…
Excelent description. I love that it’s not just a dialoge on what happened, it’s a perspective. I often find that “event reporting” or “show reporting” lacks the crutial element of the author’s response to what they saw. You may want to consider submitting this to your local “entertainment” paper. Maybe you could get some freelance work out of it. Which would be cool, because I think that it would be really interesting if you could use it for research for your book. Perhaps our heroine could go out to see a local band play with our young man, and you could show how that unfolds between them.
I’m sorry that my posts have been few and far between. Lack of regular access to computer.
The rebuilding is going well. I think he’s learnt something. So have I.
Love is love though, and we humans are foolish to throw it away when we find it.
My favorite new comments are:
1. Don’t throw away the baby with the bathwater, however dirty it may be.
2. The hard makes it great
3. There’s no crying in baseball
4. Where there’s love, there’s hope.
Much of my love,
*Jean* (my new code name…god I love x-men!)