After some days without writing, I've felt compelled to get back to it again. Today I want to share with you today one of my pleasurable hobbies: to run away from the city and escape to the mountains. I enjoy discovering paths of the more or less wild areas in my region, as far from civilization as I can be: taking the car early in the morning with some friends and spending the whole day out, trekking all around. Of course, there is no need to do so every week: if you feel like it, there are many fine options, or you may have, for example, a busy day.
In my case, I'm lucky to live in an area which, though being an urban city, is surrounded by nice places where you can go in almost the twinkle of an eye. And today, this is what I did: with one of my closest friends, we went up the hill and tried some new paths for a few hours. Why? It's difficult to sum up: to step upon the earth instead of cement, to be shrouded by trees instead of streelights and maybe some bicycles instead of cars. And also, the strange and nice conversations which grow in an environment like that.
A musician who also likes mountains (among other things, I suppose) is Joan Colomo. He is a catalan songwriter who makes music that is quite difficult to describe. He has a strange voice that can go from being soft and whispered to strong and comical, lyrics that relate to people and society or compare falling out of love with a dead vegetable garden. Anyway, he has something in his music that I am addicted to, and I had a very nice time on Friday, when I had the chance to see him live (again).
So, I think he should be the best soundtrack for this post with a song called "El fong i el llangardaix" (The fungus and the lizard), a song that talks about all kind of life: life that appears everywhere, life that conforms to everything, even lives that pass away. And the video that accompanies it reflects this forest magic, being shot in the Montseny mountains, not too far from home. Enjoy!
Today is Maundy Thursday, Jueves Santo, as we say. This week, there are lots and lots of processions going on every day, even though this year the rain (again) has prevented some of them. Anyway, today I won't write an analysis of the processions, how you should or should not feel toward them. I preffer to think in these days as a chance to revive spirituality, in any form that you preffer. Christianism has impregnated our society and our culture, and specially our art, so I will take advantage of this chance to remember the huge amount of wonderful sacred music that has been written in the course of the centuries. Particularly, today I discovered a piece especially written for this day: Lamentaciones de Jueves Santo, by Juan Gutiérrez de Padilla, a composer born in Málaga (Andalusia, Spain) at the end of the XVI century.
Personally, I love to listen to spanish polyphonic music from the Renaissance on days like this: Cristóbal de Morales, Francisco Guerrero, Tomás Luis de Victoria. All of them great composers whose sonorities, heard from today, can throw you directly into the past and connect you with some part of yourself which appeared forgotten. Gutiérrez de Padilla was not that well-known, maybe. Maybe it was because he left to Mexico, territory of what was then known as New Spain, when he was 32. There, he developed his career as maestro in the Puebla cathedral, composing masses, motets, psalms, responsories, hymns, a litany and even a St. Matthew Passion, works that make him equal of any peninsular composer of his age in both talent and technique, according to scholars. Apart from this Latin sacred music, he wrote numerous vernacular villancicos, intended for the large and enthusiastic crowds attracted to services at Puebla cathedral, in which he included examples of musical styles popular among working-class people from various ethnic backgrounds. As Michael Ende used to say, but that is another story and shall be told another time.
Let's go back to the piece I wanted to share with you, the Lamentations for Maundy Thursday. In my case, I like to close my eyes and mesmerize. This feeling can take you inwards, something that, with the appropiate attitude of mind, can be a transcendent experience that only art can lead you to. Enjoy.
Today has been a rainy day in Barcelona. Quite unusual, because for the last few weeks you could almost anticipate summer, but April wants to drives us mad, it seems.
Being a Tuesday, I had to work. And I, as lots of people (I guess), enjoy rainy days more being at home than when locked up in an office. Anyway, I tried my best to make the most of the grey sky and the wet weather by listening to music, something that my job, fortunately, allows me to do.
So I chose an album to accompany the weather, and even though the post's title comes from a Garbage song, my choice today was Coles Corner, an album by Richard Hawley which I discovered some weeks ago. I came across it following a streamed interview on a newspaper's website with the singer and songwriter of a spanish band called Sidonie(maybe another day I can introduce them to you...). Marc Ros, the band's leader, was explaining his musical recommendations to the audience, and I thought it was a good idea to create a Spotify list. Amongst the list was this album.
After playing guitar on tour with Pulp, Richard Hawley started his solo career in 2001. His voice sounds deep and velvety, and it can't help but make me feel nostalgic. I confess that I haven't heard any other of his albums, just this one, which came out in 2005, and I like the feeling of it: the strings and arrangements, the slow tempos. Today, when I was working at my table, I enjoyed imagining I was elsewhere, drinking something, with a low light, and of course, the rain falling outside. The combination of melancholy and happiness can be a great feeling, all the better if there is music on in the background and raindrops against the window.
Once started, the task is to carry on! So, here I am with my second post. During the day, I've been thinking of what to write, trying to focus in on everything that comes to me, new music or issues, or maybe not new, but at least something that catches me in some way. And, as always when you are receptive, it comes. Listening to some new recordings of classical music, I bumped into a new rendition of a collection of pieces that I have had a special relationship for a few years now. These are the Cantigas de Santa María, written by the medieval king Alfonso X of Castile, called The Wise.
I admit: I have a crush on the medieval age. I've always loved reading about history, visiting places, imagining moments in those supposedly grey times. Maybe it seems childish, all those stories of castles and kings, and maidens, and poets. Those courtiers worrying about their courtly loves meanwhile the peasants not even being able to change their clothes, which, I add, were actually quite different (and nowhere near as pleasant) as those we see in films.
But beyond that, there's something more appealing to me from those centuries. The way we are connected to them, to the people who lived and died then, to people who -after all- feared, longed, and (sorry for the cheesy moment), loved. And as well as this, they also created, and wanted not to be forgotten. And this is when music comes in.
Alfonso X of Castile lived between 1221 and 1284, over sixty years, which was a pretty fine age to reach in those days. In addition to all his conquests, battles, women, sons and daughters, he was known as "The Wise", because he had a royal scriptorium which was responsible for the creation of lots of written works, in which he participated actively. Many different issues were addressed: maths, astronomy, chess, law, history; working together with a group of latin, hebrew and islamic intellectual men, known as the Toledo School of Translators.
And yes, music formed a part of that huge collection, being the "Cantigas de Santa María". They were a group of lyrical songs, written in the Gallician language, with a religious approach that praised the goodness and highness of the Lord, and above all, the Virgin, who is sometimes treated as a beloved one, in the most earthly sense of the word.
Those were the pieces I first played when I performed medieval music for the first time (did I mention I play violin?), and they caught me. I still play them (the full collection includes 420 songs!) and their sound is truly magical to me.
Anyway, I don't want to make this post too long, so I'll finish with introducing the album I heard today. Cantigas de Nuestro Señor, by Eduardo Paniagua and his ensemble (the same as the group performing in the youtube clip above), includes some of the songs devoted to the figure of Christ. I just hope after all these lines, that you can hear a bit of it and feel a little closer to that time and those people. I can't help but do so. Enjoy!
Con la excusa de preparar un examen de inglés que se acerca peligrosamente, he decidido abrir un nuevo espacio, un hermanito para LibertadSonora. Se trata de The lunatic on the grass, un blog donde en resumidas cuentas, seguiré explicando estas cosas que me pasan y me rondan, y que inevitablemente llevan una banda sonora detrás.
¿El título? Sirva de homenaje a Pink Floyd, con esa cita de Brain Damage (una de mis preferidas, se encuentra en el álbum Dark Side of the Moon, 1973). Ya lo cuento en mi primer post allí: la letra a primera vista puede no parecer demasiado optimista: locura, apartarse de los demás, perder el norte. Pero, ya sea porque pasaron muchos años de oír esta canción sin entenderla, o por el peso que la propia música tiene en ella, a mí me lo parece. Optimista, incluso alegre. Porque, ¿qué hay mejor que, incluso cuando te hayas perdido, alguien te espere en la cara oculta de la luna?
Starting a new blog! Even though I know I'm really busy, even though I know the huge amount of time it takes, here I am. And being the lunatic on the grass! What a responsability... But sorry, I started a bit too directly, without "warm cloths", as we say in Barcelona. I'm a girl coming from this great city, born here, living here, working here. But if there's something important in my life, it's music. I have another blog (did I mention I am really busy?) called LibertadSonora, written in Spanish. At the beginning, I used to write about music in general, music news, nothing really personal. But after many attempts at making it better, even thinking of shutting it down, I decided it to make it more intimate, more mine.
And now here it is, this Lunatic on the Grass. A new sibling, written in English, to continue expressing myself on the internet, on my music, and sharing it with all of you, with those who are kind enough to read the words in this space.
So, I couldn't start with any other piece of music than the song itself: Brain Damage. From the album Dark Side of the Moon (1973), it's one of my favourites of Pink Floyd, a band which has always played an important role for me. Why do I like it? Because out of all the band's songs, this one seems to be crazily happy, strangely optimistic. And before someone starts saying something, I know, the lyrics are maybe not that happy, talking about losing your way in life, about falling apart from others, about madness.
In my case, I've been listening to this song since I could barely speak, and my feeling toward it have always been based on the atmosphere the music communicates. But anyway, all of us can get lost sometimes, and is there anything better than having someone waiting for us, even on that Dark Side? In addition, that Madcap laughing makes me think of a particular wild genius: the true lunatic on the grass. May that act as a tribute. Hope you enjoy. And welcome.
