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Richard Jernigan -> RE: A Santos video just for fun (May 20 2014 16:44:45)
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quote:
ORIGINAL: Joan Maher
What made you remember it Richard?
John Ray's video, of course. But here's the story, if that's what you are looking for.
In Mexico City there is a large music store in the old original part of the Spanish city, in the ground floor of the Convento de las Vizcaínas, which covers an entire city block near the Salto del Agua, where the aqueduct from Chapultepec terminates. There often used to be interesting instruments in the used department of the music store. One day in the 1960s I walked in, and to my amazement, saw a Santos Hernandez blanca. I asked to play it.
In those days in Mexico City, if you could afford a jacket and tie, you wore them. I did. The woman behind the counter was perhaps in her late 40s or early 50s, dressed in a nice sweater, a pleated wool skirt and sensible shoes. She was an olive skinned blonde, and spoke with a Spanish accent.
I took the guitar and seated myself on one of the row of chairs against the wall, facing the counter. I took out my tuning fork (el tono La) in its tooled leather case, tuned up and played a bit of rosas. Two young boys on the sidewalk peered in through the plate glass window, came in and seated themselves beside me. They gaped in apparent amazement at the torrent of notes cascading from the Santos.
Then I played Escudero's version of his teacher Ramon Montoya's Rondeña. I had never felt anything so exquisitely responsive as the Santos. It was wonderful. I played the piece far better than I ever had before. I was totally immersed in the music.
When I finished, there was silence in the immediate vicinity. A couple of shop customers had paused to listen. The two young boys sat with wide eyes.
I took the guitar back to the counter, and apologized that I couldn't afford it. The Spanish woman had tears in her eyes. She said she was from Ronda, and had heard Montoya play the piece.
I thanked her for letting me play the guitar, and returned to the row of chairs to collect my fancy tuning fork in its tooled leather case. It was gone. The two young boys were gone, too. I dashed out to the sidewalk, but they were nowhere in sight.
I walked a couple of blocks north on the Calle del Niño Perdido to the Cafe El Moro for a cup of hot chocolate to console myself for the loss, and to reminisce on the sound and feel of the Santos under my hands.
RNJ
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