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...”
2 comentarios:
Me ha gustado volver a leer una de esas anécdotas vitales que me reafirman en la creencia de la primacía narradora de cualquier existencia sobre el mejor de los relatos. Un cordial saludo.
Sigo a Ron Sexsmith en Twitter desde hace mucho tiempo y, además de un gran artista, parece una persona con los pies en la tierra. No va de divo, prueba de ello es que también él me sigue en Twitter, aunque no me lea. El gesto dice mucho de él.
El caso es que se me ocurrió que estaría bien que leyera el capítulo que le dediqué en De paseo por la ciudad que murió de éxito. Por eso lo traduje y lo subí al blog, para así permitirle acceder al texto.
Me contestó que era una bonita historia y que recordaba vagamente aquel concierto. No sé si lo dijo para quedar bien pero fue una alegría saber que le llegaba.
En cuanto a la creencia que apunta en su comentario, tengo la impresión que en buena medida le define como narrador. En lo que a mí respecta, me dan un poco de envidia los narradores que parecen tener las ideas claras.
Un saludo cordial.
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