There is always a song for each moment of love, hate and rest. There is a song for each instant of life. Small soundtracks for encounters and misunderstandings, luck and misfortune, illusions of hope and disillusion, les petites morts and la grande mort. There are songs like cobblestones under my used steps that resound in my memories. Songs that I would have liked to write them for you with my own hands but someone did it before and better. I am eternally grateful to them for that. Looking back I see my life wrapped in music. It could be presumptuous, but considerer this list below as a quick soundtrack of me myself.
My life started at the edge of the Mediterranean. So that I find Serrat’s lyrics as my amniotic fluid, quizás porque mi niñez sigue jugando en tu playa y escondido tras las cañas duerme mi primer amor, llevo tu luz y tu olor por dondequiera que vaya, y amontonado en tu arena guardo amor, juegos y penas. Yo, que en la piel tengo el sabor amargo del llanto eterno … 1
Youth, wondering times, great questions asked, no answers, how many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?, Bob asked; hopeful times, we shall overcome, Joan said; and above all, fun times. Garage parties, beaches, friends, paellas, wine and spirits, suffering from heat and from being hot. And music, music everywhere, music on every side, in every direction, at every moment. At that time, everything seemed a fantasy. Earth, Wind and Fire reminded us that every man has a place. In his heart there's a space. And the world can't erase his fantasies. Take a ride in the sky. On our ship fantasise. All your dreams will come true right away. And we will live together until the twelfth of never. Our voices will ring forever as one.
Madrid, the end of the 70s. I just have got to the city. I am going to start my first year at university. Grises everywhere, violence and hopes, demonstrations and blood. We are all standing in the centre of a whirlwind, trying to tear down a post. At our backs, pushing us on, sounded Raimon’s song Al vent. I remember the lyrics clearly: Al vent, la cara al vent, el cor al vent, les mans al vent, els ulls al vent, al vent del món. I tots, tots plens de nit, buscant la llum, buscant la pau, buscant a Déu, al vent del món. On our backs the wind of freedom; in our hearts the same proposal: to tear down the post as Lluis Llach was suggesting us when sung Siset, que no veus l'estaca on estem tots lligats? Si no podem desfer-nos-en mai no podrem caminar! Si estirem tots, ella caurà i molt de temps no pot durar, segur que tomba, tomba, tomba ben corcada deu ser ja. Si jo l'estiro fort per aquí i tu l'estires fort per allà, segur que tomba, tomba, tomba, i ens podrem alliberar.
Slowly, struggles were disappearing, peace and hopes were arriving. The movida madrileña took control in the streets and in our minds. Love bloomed, sometimes as plastic flowers. Since then, music has never left us alone. At that time, my first love appeared suddenly. She was so beautiful that Joe Cocker devoted a song to her. Her parents didn`t like me because they thought I was a joker. And they were right because my love`s teacher was Steve Miller; he once confessed to me that some people call me the space cowboy yeah, some call me the gangster of love, some people call me Maurice, cause' I speak of the pompetous of love. People talk about me baby, say I'm doin' you wrong, doin' you wrong. But don't you worry baby don't worry cause' I'm right here at home. Cause' I'm a picker, I'm a grinner, I'm a lover and I'm a sinner playin' my music in the sun. I'm a joker, I'm a smoker, I'm a mid-night toker. I get my lovin' on the run.
After that, a time for beginners in love began. The following first loves came with the moonlight and disappeared when the summer´s last wave faded on the sea. But once upon a time true love came to me. Or, at least, I thought so. Illusions. That time the summer took revenge on me. When she told me she was leaving me, at first I didn’t believe her, then I hated her just for a while and finally I asked her to stay with me the only way I thought she would understand it. So, I borrowed some words from Jaques Brel and said: Ne me quitte pas. Il faut oublier. Tout peut s´oublier. Qui s´enfuit déjà. Oublier le temps des malentendus et le temps perdu a savoir comment, oublier ces heures qui tuaient parfois a coups de pourquoi le cœur du Bonheur. Ne me quitte pas … And I added, ne me quitte pas, Je n´vais plus pleurer, Je n´vais plus parler, Je me cacherai là a te regarder danser et sourire et à t´écouter chanter et puis rire. Laisse-moi devenir l´ombre de ton ombre, l´ombre de ta main, l´ombre de ton chien.
But finally she flew through the bathroom window, as The Beatles sang. And I learned a lesson. True love doesn’t exist, or better, it only exists in your mind. You can enjoy as long as you recognize it is a fake. If not, it will cause you some hurt. So in order to protect myself from the damage of love I had to learn what another teacher of mine, Leonard Cohen, taught me. From that moment on I would be available to every woman who needs a man, as Leonard wanted me to. He encouraged me to offer myself to women by saying something like what he said: If you want a lover, I'll do anything you ask me to, and if you want another kind of love, I'll wear a mask for you. If you want a partner, take my hand, or if you want to strike me down in anger, here I stand. I'm your man.
But, let´s stop talking about songs and lyrics. There are so many songs of love, hate and peace in my mind that it is impossible to summarise them. Lastly I wouldn’t like to say goodbye without recalling all the music without words that makes up my daily soundtrack from when I get up to when I go bed. So, thanks to Miles Davis, Philip Glass, Wim Mertens, Gavin Bryars, Herbie Hancock, Bob James, Chuck Mangione, Marcus Miller, Ravi Shankar, Pat Metheny, Joe Zawinul and too many others to mention. They make me feel so good in a silent way, save me from the sinking of the Titanic day by day, take me to a Birdland each evening, scare me with our unbalanced life while listening to Koyaanisqatsi and tell me a secret story with a happy ending before I go to bed. All of them take turns to care for me every day; they are my musicians on call.
Bart Ptolomy
1 From Mediterraneo, by J. M. Serrat. Translation: perhaps because my childhood continues playing on your beach, and hidden behind the canes my first love sleeps, I wear your light and your smell wherever I go, and piled on your sand I keep love, plays and sorrows. I, that in my skin have the bitter flavour of the eternal crying …
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