The way a solo artist is finally convinced, in case he had any doubts, that he is, precisely that, a guy who remains alone just doing what he is doing: approaching Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Maybe he has a choir of about 80 people that are around 15 meters away drawing up a straight line from a neck that is better not to scratch. Around him, a symphony orchestra that comes marching by from three movements ago with a whole artillery of musicians riding on their instruments and gliding through the air between a muddle of arches, arms and metals against a director who has no choice but to have brought from home his vital pulse.<\/p>\n
Moreover, there is a moment when, both the musicians and the public, jointly interpret the same part of the score written by Beethoven, and that quite agree with all three silences that concern all of the sound before the baritone starts singing without more accompaniment than their glances. Such a silence, that is only reached after so much music happens, is similar to the crest of the wave before resolving in a water tube. There is a moment of weightlessness and free fall where baritones climb ahead to sweep away lots of years in which symphonies were silent regarding to singing. What is then heard, said in a German language which, since then, has met every accent is “Oh friends…” that is the beginning of what will be the end to which we arrive wanting to postpone it.<\/p>\n
I have never met anyone that after this\u00a0work does not have the need to share a few beers, a walk or a hug. Perhaps we cannot see this as, sometimes, people dismiss at the ending of the concert politely and march the path that leads them to their lives, leaving behind the gift that we all have made to ourselves. But if wishes and desires took a break, we would find all cafes overflowing with the joy that a guy, apparently shy and unsuccessful in life, left us spread in his last symphony in such a way that always feels like brand new. There is something enigmatic in knowing that the music that reintegrates us in what is human and gives us back part of what we are, is always heard as a premiere.<\/p>\n
After Beethoven, I often think about Beethoven, and I miss him and I have the idea that it would be nice to send him an email to thank him about all of that, we really do not know how to name, but it is what is left after giving life to his works and that we then drag to breakfast, in the same way as closing a book or taking a call.<\/p>\n
Beethoven travelled to Lisbon after the failure of his Symphony No. 10 and it was there where, not only he burnt his originals, but was also the place where he found the mysterious pleasure of sitting on a terrace in front of a warm sea filled with promises. In addition, it was this place that relieved his absent and injured ears.<\/p>\n
Lisbon revealed Beethoven that his harshness could be a source of fascination. As the south is a place where the noise of life does not bother those who live it, the shouts and blows that uttered his piano were part of the everyday voice that tossed to the streets of the city on the passing of days.<\/p>\n
The haze and the desire to have a nap, that is the way of living there, ended up changing the corners of his character and making happiness a part of his rooms. Apart from that, everything else was full of walks, submissive afternoons, soups brought out of time and nights sitting on a bench to talk until any calm day ends up shutting down without moving any of its seconds.<\/p>\n
If things that usually happen in the universe remained in my hands for a moment, or if they rent to me for a while the course of things, this would be the way I would give back Beethoven the tone of his last days, a Mediterranean way to thank him for such well placed notes on a way that we are still going through.<\/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
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The way a solo artist is finally convinced, in case he had any doubts, that it he is, precisely that, a guy who remains alone just doing what he is doing: approaching Beethoven\u00b4s Ninth Symphony. Maybe he has a choir of about 80 people that are around 15 meters away drawing up a straight line from a neck that is better not to scratch.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2586,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"
La manera en que un solista termina de convencerse, por si le quedaba alguna duda, de que es precisamente eso, un tipo que se queda solo haciendo lo que hace, es abordando la novena sinfon\u00eda de Beethoven. Puede que le hayan puesto unas 80 personas de coro que le quedan a unos 15 metros seg\u00fan se tira en l\u00ednea recta desde una nuca que es mejor no rascarse. Alrededor, una orquesta sinf\u00f3nica que viene cabalgando desde tres movimientos atr\u00e1s con toda una artiller\u00eda de m\u00fasicos montados en sus instrumentos y surcando los aires entre un jaleo de arcos, brazos y metales frente a un director que no tendr\u00e1 m\u00e1s remedio que haberse tra\u00eddo de casa todo su pulso vital.<\/p>
Y hay un momento en que tanto los m\u00fasicos como el p\u00fablico interpretan conjuntamente la misma parte de la partitura escrita por Beethoven y que coincide en los tres silencios que ata\u00f1en a todo lo sonoro antes de que el bar\u00edtono cante sin m\u00e1s acompa\u00f1amiento que el de las miradas. Ese silencio al que se llega despu\u00e9s de tanta m\u00fasica es parecido al de la cresta de la ola antes de resolverse en un tubo de agua. Hay un instante de ingravidez y ca\u00edda libre en el que los bar\u00edtonos subimos para llevarnos por delante un mont\u00f3n de a\u00f1os en que las sinfon\u00edas eran mudas en lo referente al canto. Lo que se escucha entonces dicho en un alem\u00e1n que ya desde entonces ha conocido todos los acentos es un \"Oh amigos...\" que es comienzo de lo que va a ser un final al que se llega queri\u00e9ndolo aplazar .<\/p>
Nunca he conocido a nadie que despu\u00e9s de esta obra no abrigue la necesidad de compartir unas cervezas, un paseo o un abrazo. Tal vez no podamos verlo porque a veces las personas se despiden a la salida del concierto educadamente y enfilan la ruta que les lleva a sus vidas dejando que se disipe el regalo que todos nos hemos hecho. Pero si los deseos y los anhelos se tomasen un respiro encontrar\u00edamos los caf\u00e9s desbordados de la alegr\u00eda que un tipo, al parecer hura\u00f1o y fracasado en lo vital, nos dej\u00f3 esparcida en su \u00faltima sinfon\u00eda de un modo que siempre se siente nuevo. Hay algo enigm\u00e1tico en saber que la m\u00fasica que nos reintegra en lo humano y nos devuelve parte de lo que somos siempre se escucha como un estreno.<\/p>
Despu\u00e9s de Beethoven me ocurre que suelo pensar en Beethoven, y me pasa que le echo de menos y caigo en que estar\u00eda bien ponerle un correo para agradecerle eso que no sabemos muy bien como nombrar pero que es lo que nos queda despu\u00e9s de darle aliento a sus obras y que luego arrastramos en el desayuno, en el modo de cerrar un libro o de atender una llamada.<\/p>
Lo bueno de escribir historias es que uno puede narrar con total impunidad como Beethoven viaj\u00f3 a Lisboa despu\u00e9s del fracaso de su sinfon\u00eda n\u00famero 10 y que fue all\u00ed no solo donde quem\u00f3 los originales sino el lugar en el que encontr\u00f3 el misterioso placer de sentarse en una terraza frente a un mar c\u00e1lido y lleno de promesas. Y fue ese el lugar que calm\u00f3 sus o\u00eddos ausentes y heridos.<\/p>
Lisboa le revel\u00f3 a Beethoven que su aspereza pod\u00eda ser un motivo de fascinaci\u00f3n. Como el sur es un lugar en d\u00f3nde el ruido de la vida no incomoda a quienes lo habitan, los gritos y golpes que profer\u00eda a su piano fueron parte de la voz cotidiana que arrojaban las calles de la ciudad en el transcurrir de los d\u00edas.<\/p>
Las calimas y las ganas de siesta que se dejan caer por all\u00ed terminaron de cambiar las esquinas de su car\u00e1cter y hacer de lo risue\u00f1o una parte de sus habitaciones. Por lo dem\u00e1s todo estuvo lleno de paseos, tardes sumisas, caldos tra\u00eddos a destiempo y noches de banco y charla hasta que termin\u00f3 apag\u00e1ndose un d\u00eda tan cualquiera y calmado que no se movi\u00f3 ni uno solo de sus segundos.<\/p>
Si las cosas que suelen ocurrir en el universo quedasen de mi mano por un instante, o me alquilasen por un rato el devenir de las cosas, este ser\u00eda el modo en que le devolver\u00eda a Beethoven el tono de sus \u00faltimos d\u00edas, un modo mediterr\u00e1neo de darle las gracias por dejarse tanta nota bien puesta en un camino que a\u00fan seguimos transitando.<\/p>