06.02.2013 călin torsan
I met them, in a somewhat symbolical manner, inside one of Bucharest's many temples of superficiality and consumerism: a shopping mall. The spirit of the upcoming holidays was reflected, in a far too simple manner, in the razzle-dazzle of shoppers attracted by the promise of a bargain. In the senseless agitation, I easily spotted them at the meeting place, which was also a favourite meeting spot for others besides ourselves.

I was fascinated by their stubbornness of planning their future while still fixed on a past they were trying to generously give back to whoever was curious about it. It was enough for me to look around in order to realize the enormity of such a choice: the Contemporary Man was everywhere. Blinded by the dazzling shop windows and made dizzy by the dark abyss of the bottomless shopping bags, the Contemporary Man was interested in anything but baroque music and its expensive instruments, manufactured using a completely different technology than the one we employ today, making cow intestines vibrate over the lascivious bodies of lutes of varying sizes. How can one explain to the Contemporary Man, for whom intimacy equates performance and the body is nothing but a sensuous accessory, the emasculation of the renowned castrati, neither men nor women, done with the purpose of helping their voices reach the Heavens, where they would lend them to chubby angels? And why would the Contemporary Man be interested in the way freedom insinuated itself amid the restless Baroque notes under the innocent and frisky guise of the jazz-like improvisation fragments, while he lives his days untroubled by his strangely silent conscience and the monodical score of the chase for the immediate interest?


I, for one, listened to all these stories at a table inside an expensive café. Boisterous creatures were raising their scaly heads from inside the café stalls, disturbing this dialogue. A waitress, tired of the effort of smiling constantly, took her time to bring us our absurdly expensive drinks: a few cups of bad coffee no one could have used to divine the fact that my companions, Mihai Ghiga and Adrian Buciu, teach at the Conservatory and play restless violins and flutes in a masterful way, while, at the same time, trying to clear the thoughts and insecurities of students lost in the present day. Attentive parents of the Barockers' Orchestra, the two brought to my mind the innocent insanity of Don Quixote, to whom Cervantes gave a famous line referring to poetry, that can also be applied to music, namely that [poetry/music] must not be left to fools or to illiterate mobs, who cannot know and appreciate its treasures.


Just as we lamented the disappearance of the masters, the senseless blabber of the mall bimboes was swelling as much as the cold wind outside. Next to us, music students were swarming around with their chockfull shopping bags. Next to them, those who wanted to teach them music were leaving their table.


Photo Bogdan Vuluță, Translate Anca Rotar
călin torsanSour and cold like Romanian ground beef and potato salad. Queasy like mayonnaise. Good on the holidays and bad during the rest of the year. Has olives instead of eyes and bell pepper slices instead of lips.
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clara

06.02.2013 la 11:46

Ce bine spus!
Ca o binevenită scrâșnire a dinților.

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