It is the poetic and evocative title, with Lorca overtones, mysterious because of what it says and does not say, of a melody written at the age of nine and interpreted with the sovereign grace of composer by Narciso Yepes. A small, bald man, with the appearance of an accountant from the Hispano-American Bank, who only lacked his visor and muffs, and who, nevertheless, dressed in a tailcoat, his short and apologetic body, on a bare stage, was capable of enrapturing an audience. whole country and contained as Japan.
They played their lively fingers, almost in ‘pizzicato’, like the legs of a spider binding silk, up and downon the frets of the ten-string guitar that he designed himself. I don’t understand music at all, but I know what makes me dream, what makes the daily commute from home to work filled with different ideas, making transportation suddenly take on a certain significance, and spirit soaring above the perhaps already written score of our life.
Everything, through the quintessential Spanish instrument, our zither with the body of a woman, torn by the brilliant and overly long fingernails of a man from Murcia. A demiurge who exercises priest between the sublime and the real, two kingdoms created by him. Yepes seems to be telling us a secret, which is his and we didn’t know he was ours too, until his music whispered it to us.
His ritornello jumping dances in our heads and lightens our hearts, making us believe, for a little while, that we are masters of our own destiny. Free will is the fiction of free will. Three thirty-five minutes of true existentialism, without the need to read Sartre. It’s not little. It’s a matter of putting the song on a loop, and we’ve beaten tedium.
“Anonymous Romance” it was never recorded, and served as the soundtrack for an old post-war French film directed by René Clément and titled “Jeux interdits” (Forbidden Games), name by which the song is also known outside of Spain. However, the baptism of the work is much more accurate in its original. As much as the melody takes us mentally to the movies and to the playfulness of romance, there is nothing forbidden about it. Quite the opposite.
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There is something inexplicable but that we all understand, a skein that unravels as the music flows, taking its thread from the caution of the walking from the first notes memory of a lack of love through which you want to tiptoeto a present that laughs in the mind of the musician, for something that only he knows, and that amuses the rest of us to intuit.
In that Spanish vibration, in those first chords that are of universal anguish, of twisting, one imagines a man sad for someone who leftand then to that same man, when the maestro raised the tone, in a different scale from the neck of his guitar, in another time, in front of the new romance, trotting over the notes of a life that seems to make sense again. A man in love whose feet tingle in the street, like a guitarist’s fingers and spirit, and whose perspective of beauty makes him want to run down Gran Vía, without running away from anyone other than his past. , for embrace the moment and the person who embodies itin a scene that, yes, could be from a movie.