{"id":2548,"date":"2011-02-28T00:38:00","date_gmt":"2011-02-27T23:38:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/alfredogarciabaritono.wordpress.com\/?p=117"},"modified":"2015-09-06T17:36:06","modified_gmt":"2015-09-06T17:36:06","slug":"80-km-away-from-bach","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alfredogarcia.com\/english\/blog\/80-km-away-from-bach\/","title":{"rendered":"80 km away from Bach"},"content":{"rendered":"[et_pb_section admin_label=”section”][et_pb_row admin_label=”row”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″][et_pb_text admin_label=”Texto” background_layout=”light” text_orientation=”left” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid”]\n

There is no sound that follows us coming from the invisible stomach of an elevator because it has not been invented yet; the railways of all trains in the world are still sleeping on the bowels of where, someday, they will be called to the forge and the air smells of cattle, onions and manure that shares the same space where men are twinned with the beasts. The busiest roads are a composition of clays that are kneaded with the passage of men and animals, leaving writings on trapped puddles that birds know well. The snow and cold will put harshness into the roads and the air is filled with voices of the market, work and flour. There is no precooked music escaping through the plastic pores of any creature of silicon. We have already said that they still hibernate waiting to fill the world with outbursts.<\/span><\/p>\n

People do not know that they are living in the Baroque, and that God is not a certainty. They will never see Casablanca, play in a casino, take a cruise or see images of a guy in an inflated suit stepping on the moon. The walls are not really used to hang pictures because, as we have said before, they are living in the Baroque although they do not know inhabitants of this time with that name.<\/span><\/p>\n

In order to eat some music, there is no choice but to make it for real, with your own hands or in the oven and on the spot, with no possibility of postponing it by wonderful cupboards that hold on to it. It is impossible to find it wrapped in coloured envelopes, or find it running away from the neighbour\u2019s window. It does not fall from the roof of a department store or comes out of nowhere accompanying the words of a guy shown in a movie screen. It is not in the atmosphere of an airport, nor on the images of toothpaste.<\/span><\/p>\n

In those days, having a chat with music involves extracting it, in that right moment, from the domesticated guts of wood, from the metals that are bent and twisted at will, from ingenious devices crossed with strings that come from the depths of a pig, which enigmatically suggests that we travel with a well inside of us that whispers immortality.<\/span><\/p>\n

And in the middle of this landscape, there is a house 40 kilometres away from L\u00fcbeck, a city where, during the public holidays, Buxtehude plays the organ, a guy who probably will not know about Hitler, cars, metro and, furthermore,\u00a0he has missed the Beatles. He cannot know because he also is involved in this Baroque thing and when he is going to play a concert, he does not send emails or messages to his acquaintances.<\/span><\/p>\n

In any case, Bach, that was not named in that way in this place for the same reason my friends do not call me Garcia, walks that far to go to an organ concert. We know he goes by foot, but it has been so long since then, that it is difficult to know the details, as there is no one to ask about it. We do not know what footwear he wears to endure the walk, if he puts beef fat in them to withstand the cold, if he has a bit of water or eats what is stored in a bag. Nor if he talks to some neighbours along the way, if a postman takes him on his horse for a while or if he has an intimate experience that he will never talk about to anyone. We do not know if he gets bored with his life, as he did with his breakfast, if he is talkative at lunchtime or if he had enjoyed reading Vargas Llosa. All that comes to us by the phone in history, along with his works, are some sketches of his life and a portrait with a white Elizabethan jurist wig, which will set his figure for the future, and is gossip that, to hear the music playing Buxtehude, he travelled by foot 80 kilometres.<\/span><\/p>\n

And that distance he walks, tangles me the staves from the moment I met the Baroque organ of the Basilica of San Miguel embedded in the Hapsburg Madrid and surrounded by a church that supports it. That, and the suspicion that the Baroque organs are nothing more than a way to travel back in time, to put a contemporary voice to tubes that were part of another era and which received passers of that world in a terminal which has changed little since then, in fact it is the same station with the same rails, altars, religious figures and archaeologists of faith.<\/span><\/p>\n

I could manage to adapt myself to the idea that I have not changed of era if it were not because, in the middle of the rehearsal, a casual public of amazed tourists slide down the nave of the Basilica wearing rested clothes and cameras that digitize their experiences. Most of them are unaware that the music they are listening to unintentionally is nothing but the result of a journey through time in which an artefact of the past makes music with a voice from nowadays. The fact that in this case is my voice makes me, at last, the astronaut I always wanted to be like in my childhood.<\/span><\/p>\n[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row admin_label=”Row”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″][et_pb_text admin_label=”Texto” background_layout=”light” text_orientation=”center” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid”]\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

The concert<\/h3>\n

<\/div><\/div>\n[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_blog admin_label=”Blog” fullwidth=”on” include_categories=”72″ show_thumbnail=”on” show_content=”off” show_more=”on” show_author=”off” show_date=”on” show_categories=”off” show_pagination=”off” offset_number=”0″ background_layout=”light” use_dropshadow=”off” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid” posts_number=”1″] [\/et_pb_blog][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

There is no sound that follows us coming from the invisible stomach of an elevator because it has not been invented yet; the railways of all trains in the world are still sleeping on the bowels of where, someday, they will be called to the forge and the air smells of cattle, onions and manure that shares the same space where men are twinned with the beasts<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2577,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"

No hay ning\u00fan sonido que nos persiga saliendo del est\u00f3mago invisible de un ascensor porque a\u00fan no se han inventado, los ra\u00edles de todos los trenes del mundo duermen a\u00fan en las entra\u00f1as de donde un d\u00eda ser\u00e1n llamados a la forja y el aire huele a ganado, cebollas y un esti\u00e9rcol que comparte el mismo espacio en donde los hombres se hermanan con las bestias. Los caminos m\u00e1s transitados son una composici\u00f3n de barros que se amasan con el paso de los hombres y los animales y que dejan escrituras de charcos atrapados que conocen bien las aves. La nieve y el fr\u00edo le ponen dureza a los caminos y el aire se llena de voces de mercado, de trabajo y harina. No hay m\u00fasica precocinada escap\u00e1ndose por los poros de pl\u00e1stico de ning\u00fana criatura de silicio. Ya hemos dicho que a\u00fan hibernan esperando llenar el mundo de estallidos.<\/p>

La gente no sabe que est\u00e1 viviendo en el barroco, y que dios no es una certeza. Nunca ver\u00e1n Casablanca, jugar\u00e1n en un casino, har\u00e1n un crucero o ver\u00e1n las im\u00e1genes de un tipo con un traje inflado pisando la luna. Los muros son de verdad y no sirven para colgar fotos porque ya hemos dicho que viven en el barroco aunque ellos no se saben habitantes de una \u00e9poca con este nombre.<\/p>

Para poder comer algo de m\u00fasica no hay m\u00e1s remedio que hacerla de verdad, con las propias manos o en el horno y en ese mismo momento, sin posibilidad de aplazarla mediante armarios maravillosos que la retienen. Es imposible hallarla envuelta en sobres de colores, o encontrarla fugitiva desde la ventana del vecino. No cae desde el techo de unos grandes almacenes ni sale de la nada acompa\u00f1ando las palabras de un tipo que se muestra en la pantalla de cine. No est\u00e1 en la atm\u00f3sfera de los aeropuertos, ni en las im\u00e1genes de los dent\u00edfricos.<\/p>

En esos d\u00edas, tener una charla con la m\u00fasica supone extraerla en ese mismo instante de las tripas domesticadas de la madera, de los metales doblados y torsionados a voluntad, de ingeniosos aparatos cruzados de cuerdas salidas de las profundidades de un cerdo, que enigm\u00e1ticamente nos hace pensar que viajamos con un pozo en nosotros mismos que nos susurra la inmortalidad.<\/p>

Y en mitad de este paisaje, hay una casa a 40 kil\u00f3metros de L\u00fcbeck, que es una ciudad en donde los d\u00edas festivos toca el \u00f3rgano Buxtehude, que es un tipo que tampoco se ha enterado de que habr\u00e1 Hitler, coches, metro y adem\u00e1s se ha perdido a los Beatles. No puede saberlo porque tambi\u00e9n \u00e9l est\u00e1 metido en esto del barroco y cuando va a interpretar un concierto no le manda correos ni mensajes a sus conocidos.<\/p>

En todo caso, Bach, que all\u00ed no le llamaban de ese modo, por la misma raz\u00f3n que mis amigos no me llaman Garc\u00eda, se va a caminar esa distancia para ir a un concierto de \u00f3rgano. Sabemos que va andando, pero ha pasado tanto tiempo desde entonces, que es dif\u00edcil conocer los detalles porque no queda nadie a quien preguntarle. No sabemos qu\u00e9 calzado lleva para aguantar la caminata, si se ha puesto grasa de vaca en ellos para aguantar el fr\u00edo, si lleva un pellejo de agua o va comiendo lo que tiene guardado en una saca. Tampoco si habla con algunos vecinos en el trayecto, si un cartero le acerca a caballo un trecho o si tiene una experiencia \u00edntima de la que nunca le hablar\u00e1 a nadie. No sabemos si se aburre con su vida, c\u00f3mo son sus desayunos, si es animado en la mesa o si le hubiese gustado leer a Vargas Llosa. Lo \u00fanico que nos llega por el tel\u00e9fono de la historia, adem\u00e1s de sus obras, algunos esbozos de su vida y un retrato con peluca blanca de jurista isabelino, que fijar\u00e1 su figura para el futuro, es el chisme de que, para escuchar la m\u00fasica que tocaba Buxtehude, se recorre a pie 80 kil\u00f3metros .
\"Recital<\/a><\/p>

Y \u00e9sa es la distancia que anda enred\u00e1ndome los pentagramas desde el momento en que me encontr\u00e9 con el \u00f3rgano barroco de la bas\u00edlica de San Miguel incrustado en el Madrid de los Austr\u00edas y rodeado por una iglesia que lo sostiene. Eso, y la sospecha de que los \u00f3rganos barrocos no son m\u00e1s que un modo de viajar en el tiempo, de ponerle voz contempor\u00e1nea a unos tubos que se las entend\u00edan con otra \u00e9poca y que recib\u00edan a los transe\u00fantes de aquel mundo en una terminal que ha cambiado poco desde entonces, en realidad es la misma estaci\u00f3n con id\u00e9nticos ra\u00edles, retablos, figuras religiosas y arque\u00f3logos de la fe.<\/p>

Podr\u00eda acomodarme a la idea de que no he cambiado de \u00e9poca si no fuese porque en mitad de los ensayos un p\u00fablico casual de turistas se deslizan asombrados por la nave de la bas\u00edlica luciendo ropas descansadas y c\u00e1maras que digitalizan sus vivencias. La mayor\u00eda deben ignorar que la m\u00fasica que escuchan sin propon\u00e9rselo no es m\u00e1s que el resultado de un viaje en el tiempo en el que un artefacto del pasado hace m\u00fasica con una voz del ahora mismo. Que se trate en este caso de la m\u00eda, me viste, por fin, del astronauta al que en la infancia siempre quise parecerme.<\/p>[caption id=\"attachment_130\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"655\"]\"Btexto<\/a> 25 minutos antes del concierto. No recuerdo en qu\u00e9 pensaba[\/caption][caption id=\"attachment_133\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"655\"]\"\"<\/a> 23 minutos antes del concierto. Despertando al \u00f3rgano de su sopor[\/caption][caption id=\"attachment_134\" align=\"aligncenter\" width=\"655\"]\"\"<\/a> 14 minutos antes del concierto. Me sorprende la distancia que me hace tan difuso all\u00ed arriba[\/caption]

Recital canto y \u00f3rgano<\/a>. 2 de marzo de 2011. Bas\u00edlica de San MIguel en Madrid. XXl Festival Arte Sacro de Madrid<\/p>","_et_gb_content_width":"","_mi_skip_tracking":false,"_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[56,71],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\n80 km away from Bach - Alfredo Garc\u00eda<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"There is no sound that follows us coming from the invisible stomach of an elevator because it has not been invented yet; the railways of all trains in the world are still sleeping on the bowels of where, someday, they will be called to the forge and the air smells of cattle, onions and manure that shares the same space where men are twinned with the beasts\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/alfredogarcia.com\/english\/blog\/80-km-away-from-bach\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"80 km away from Bach - Alfredo Garc\u00eda\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"There is no sound that follows us coming from the invisible stomach of an elevator because it has not been invented yet; 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