Page 101 - Jazz

ABRAHAM BURT0N who always bring together and offer to others, with a kind of matchless joy, from their
faces that are transfigured and as if tortured by the burning within their beings, by
the incandescent heat at which the living substances of memory are combined, their
awareness and understanding of our perishability, a presentiment of the final moment,
sadness about but acceptance of the fact that we exist in a dimension of time that
cannot be repeated. The joy of an existence sublimed by the living-out of art. (From
Gagarin’s Point of View and Dolores in a Shoestand – the final concert in Berlin). Sublime.

We were also talking about the intimacy that generates warmth and about
the incandescence that is reached if one uses a sensor of this kind, and saying that
probably the image of the person playing has the blinding light of molten gold. We
spoke about the exchanges of energy in which sequentiality of events brings into
the ritual in turn the presence of the stage through creativity and the presence of the
audience through their reception of the music and their response to it. We spoke of
the wave of creativity which, if it is received by the audience, returns to the performer
in a richer form, is absorbed and then, as if in an alternative kind of process of
photosynthesis, works within him and then emanates into the surrounding space an
aura for everyone and an aura for each person.
Above the piano (Monterey Jazz Festival). Conversing with the piano in a solo
as I remember Keith Jarrett does, and then the soundless shouting and the soundless
words between the red streaks of the image filters that flood in the lines of the cheek,
the tumult of the rhythmless ringing of the percussion, which have stayed in my
memory as an area of fusion where I can meet the lyric of happenings that seem never
to have happened, with the portion of life that is left to me and with the immensity
of the red shadow that is forming slowly, slowly, more and more fluid and enticing,
more and more definitive, deep and full of hiding places. There (Dublin, 16.03.2007.
Eight hundred streets by feet) can be found in infinity the piano-place where the fingers
of Esbjörn Svensson continue to move in a cliché image. A dance in which the
whole body balances itself above the keyboard, bending over slowly as if in a prayer
ritual, as I have seen Brad Meahldau doing in a fantastic concert that makes him too
part of this miraculous brotherhood of trios, there where one can make a study of
faces worked from within into a mobility that expresses both suffering and ecstasy.
Viaticum. Concert at the Blue Note. 2006. Sublime.
Different faces that cover, hide and display the same interior like living lava
that changes its nuances, colours and shadows that are visible through the transparent
skin. Because the face is a mask, partial, imperfect, through which we can glimpse
the succession of inner states as in a film shown at random slowness or rapidity. A

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