Soluciones

 Tan pronto termine de aportar soluciones a los problemas del mundo, me pongo con los de casa.

As soon as I end up providing solutions to the world's problems, I´ll get down to those at home.

Northern Picture Library - Last september's farewell kiss

Beso de despedida el pasado septiembre

Los fans de Bobby Wratten (Field Mice, Northern Picture Library, Trembling Blue Stars) estamos de enhorabuena. El otoño es la ESTACIÓN.

Jean-Luc Godard

Si algo recuerdo de las películas tempranas de Jean-Luc Godard es que salían muchos personajes leyendo libros.

 

If there's something I remember from early Jean-Luc Godard films is that they showed many characters reading books.

Tierno Galván

!Que a lo mejor en las próximas elecciones municipales se puede votar a Tierno Galván!

Asalto final / Final assault

 El asalto final de los números sorprenderá a las letras al borde de la guerra civil por la colocación de una coma.

The final assault by the numbers will surprise the letters on the brink of civil war due to the placement of a coma.

The Day that Magic Flooded Madison Park

 

I remembered having read some or other review about Ron Sexsmith when I saw one of his records in the library. A genuine and sensitive songwriter, one of those enjoyed by savy journalists. Besides, the poor guy is Canadian. I took it from the shelf with illusion.

My intuition proved to be right. I like Ron Sexsmith. I enjoy his sensitivity and his talent. And I don’t mind if he is Canadian.

That day of June, dry and sunny, I decided to take his record to Central Park instead of more recent ones. “Today is your turn, Ron”, I said to him.

I listened to the record sitting on the shadow under a tree. A collection of moods from which even the most fragile ones make you feel good.

As I listened to his music I told myself that surely Ron Sexsmith would play some time in New York. Here it’s not a matter of intuition. Everyone does it. I wondered if he would chose the Bowery Ballroom, or probably the more intimate Mercury Lounge. And I told myself that it would be nice to attend one of his concerts.

The sun was still strongly projected on the skyscrapers on the West Side when I got on the way back home. Step by step, in no hurry, I made my way to Fifth Avenue and I stopped to check books and movies on tape in the library on the corner of 41st Street. As if I hadn’t checked them enough already! But I don’t mind, it comforts me.

The evening was falling when I got on the way back home. In the street there were less people to be seen that moved around less urgently than before. Around 25th Street, when I was close to reach the sidewalk that runs along Madison Park, it came to meet me the sound of live music. I went there instinctively.

I had barely taken a few steps when I recognised the guitar chords coming my way through the trees. Even more surprising was having them so fresh in my head.

I sped up towards the corner of the park from which the sound came out. There, on a field, two or three hundred people were sitting on the grass around a modest stage on which some musicians played.

“I brought a song into this world,

Just a melody with words...”

Blond haired children barefoot run around circumventing adults and the ochre reflections of the sun climbed on the fachades of tall buildings the day that Ron Sexsmith songs flooded with magic Madison Park.