“I’m praying for all of you.” - Phenella Duplessis Perez
February 6th, 1926 + December 2nd, 2011
“Wake up and live!” - Robert Nesta Marley
February 6th, 1945 + May 11th, 1981
Peace to you and yours, Dear Reader and… Happy Tuesday. Here’s some thoughts to connect us for a few moments on whatever day or night that you receive this. I hope that you are well and trust that you, as I, we all get what we need through all of this circumstance of history. America, as a nation, is just reaping what it has sown; as every manifestation and being on earth must. Healing to all who are dealing with serious illness. Mercy and oneness for us all. And before we go any further, may I say for the record: The United States of America is, “bathed in racism,” and dressed in hypocrisy. And now has a significant - epic battle on its main stage. To yours truly, it appears that there is a fight for civilization on earth just getting started - again. I don’t like it. Nevertheless… The handwriting is on the wall. [Pregunta: es la ultima?]
Doom is a conman. I shall not listen to him. I’m not crying for pain… Hearing all of the voices crying out, I send: safety, protection and healing to the people. Healing to the land. I am commencing this round on a the last day of January, 2017 - exactly one month from Mardi Gras - yes, this year falling on the last day, of February. I have checked into Maria’s Casita here in the, Palermo SoHo district and am getting the quiet that I need. The Verano Porteño sol, thru the french doors, over my right shoulder, descending to its evening glory; having had a cloud shrouded rest all day. I myself have had to move around as well so to find a calm. I have already spent several nights on, Avenido Corrientes which could aptly be described as the, Broadway of Buenos Aires, save for the apparent fact that it also constitutes as the nation’s, Hollywood Walk of Fame.
And yes, El Gran Compositor, Astor Piazzolla is the star that guides me here. It is quite a, Libertango indeed. Nevertheless, I am thankful that I have made it to this big, great city. I have been reminded in many ways of the power of great metropoles as I am humbled by the degree of strength that it takes to take on a city such as this one. I have also spent a couple of nights on Calle Talcahuano - which I can only describe as the, “48th Street” of B.A. (You musicians with any bit of knowledge of NYC will get my drift.) Only a few blocks from Corrientes, and Obelisco, Talcahuano #35 still proved to be too much a thoroughfare for yours truly. I did my best to enjoy the french provincial balcony yet, can now only hold a grudging respect for the municipal bus lines that run rather swiftly and frequently, sometimes in caravan eastwardly down the street.
Already, I have seen two Tango shows; both impressive while obviously being served up to touristas… Teatro Tango Porteño presents an artful historical revue, in a retro super club environment when, WHAMO! A smiling, python-like aerialist appears and performs a gracefully agitated rise and fall and rise routine from two draping ropes of red fabric, while a silverdaddy cantante delivers Piazzolla’s, “Balada Para Un Loco.” I characterize it as a good show of death defiance, hand in hand, also terrifically erotic. The second show, Raices de Tango told a more personal history of the nation’s emblem. With stunning yet uncomplicated visuals the production was satisfyingly more evocative than the revue. So unfortunate though was the audio that I had to move from my seventh row isle seat. There was also something very strange in the apparently directed intonation differences among the instruments of the nine piece band. At first I thought, Ok… this is to evoke a vintage quality. But then it didn’t let up - not even for the orchestral interludes which obviously exhibited virtuosity. As the show went on I bargained, Tango is about tensions and this is an… exploration. By the closing scenes I was rearing in my mid-house seat. The small upright keyboard which may or may not have been electronic seemed to be in an other tempered scale.
Palermo, SoHo is somewhere between… Greenwich Village and, Bywater… Silverlake and, Treme. (By the way, it has been stated: by others… Bywater doesn’t need a preposition.) I myself like the sound, ‘da bywater’ - and I am sending this message in a bottle on a Monday, first one of February. It begins with the respective universal declarations of two distinct enlightened beings, Aquarians. Both of whom mightily overcame a significant amount of childhood poverty and paternal abandonment and, I will add at this time, both could claim Syrian ancestry. In the epic case of icon, Bob Marley, his paternal Great-grandfather - a Jew. In the remarkable story of my mother, her maternal Grandfather, a Christian. (Syria… a very holy land.)
And as always, I say: Peace to the people, peace to the land. Paz. Salaam. I have been asked by a close friend as to what is it that I do on these “jumps…” I suppose the heart of the matter is: I think freely. And pray a lot. It’s a feeling I get when I enter another country or shall I say, the feeling of not being within the borders of the U.S. There’s a clarity. A lighter grace, or darker truth, that is revealed. A willingness to ascend… And a greater perspective looking down on everything. In this my first trip in the so called, Southern Hemisphere, things have been turned up-side down. The amount and quality of the Sun’s radiance is significant and potent here. And these sharper shadows which I cast upon your wall are dispatch… An uploading of consciousness. (WARNING - Not for mobile device consumption!) What do I call it? The name of this blog is… Code Purple. Print me and place on your shrine.
New Orleans has to its mantel, an official grieving period. One year and one day was the span of time that the legendary above ground graves had to remain sealed, after any corpse was placed inside. In the 19th Century version of, “the beautiful crescent” this was a necessary concern during either of the two legendary epidemics which swarmed the town with death. (There had to be “holding tombs” for any other family member who succumbed within the 366 days.) In my previous post, I allowed for a documentation of my memorializing of Prince. It would come of no surprise that it was just some of my thought. There is much that I think about Prince which I cannot leave here on these walls. The tomb is sealed although the silence cries from within. I shall begin to utilize the, Comments section to capture the moments between publishing and further desire.
In a mood indigo sky, the moon begins her, “February Fandango” - once again, mocking all of this madness on earth. And doing what’s necessary to keep human beings under the love spell… I have a breathtakingly marvelous vantage point to experience her. This is, of course, the first time we’ve met below the Equator…
“Precious is a baby with a mother.”
This is a penultimate line in Prince’s, The Love We Make. There’s a biting irony to the double imperative represented. In latter performances, the Artist had taken to delivering the line as, “…without a mother.” And thus, yours truly cannot turn away from the collision. As, El Seacat Buquebus gently rocks towards Uruguay, and I eagerly anticipate arrival into South America’s most progressive nation; I thank you for reading. I invite you to share via the various net-casting methods which escape yours truly. I am grateful to have, TJNW (this corner of the room.)
There is also much more I can say about, Buenos Aires - which would characterize the Autonomous City as, Aries - The Ram… I am. My generalized opinion, Porteños are an intense people, and thus belies the power of Tango. “Everything that can happen between a man and a woman.” Astor Piazzolla’s own summation of the music which he transformed from a popular style that heralds its origins in the early 20th Century bordellos of the city, into the virtuosic, Nuevo Tango which is rendered in concert halls in Argentina and all over the world. My farewell evening of the art form was contextualized with, sabor de Jazz. A reworking of Piazzolla’s Verano Porteño, the show featured a potent cantanta who possessed impeccable vowels and marvelous stage presence. And over the course of the week-end, I have also heard Jazz i.e. Monk, Miles etc. impressively played by, two guitar trios and a trumpet/guitar quartet all evocatively rendered at a small spot down the road from Maria’s.
It is still a curiosity which I follow: Both musical forms are ultimately centered around the feeling manifested by the players, and their audience of listeners/dancers. And yet, Jazz - now with its own various performance halls and academies - still has not achieved the level of national respect held by Tango in Argentina. By now, I have already said, Adios Porteños… I don’t know if I will meet you again. Nevertheless, you can call me for a gig!
From Casa Sandra in lovely, Playa de Pocitos, Montevideo (much akin to Playa Redondo, California) - I cast this into the “Sea of Ki” and bid you: love, gratitude, and wellness.
Peace and impeachment,