by Claudia Correia
What’s that? Sounds like an ecclesiastical organ, sneaky, jazzy, intriguing. “Yeah, c’mon”, invites the voice. The drums quickly join, first gently but then stiff, dialoging with the organ, heading forward and holding back. The guitar does its entry, with full confidence, gluing all sounds, and a scream from the depths states that the four friends are now gathered together for the ceremony.
The music progresses more relaxed, each one enjoying each other’s sounds.
“When the music’s over….” Hey, wait for me! I’m going with you, guys! I wouldn’t want to miss this, although I do not know yet where we are going - to the end of the night or to the other side of morning?
“Turn out the lights, turn out the lights…” We’re in tune.
“When the music is your special friend, dance on fire as it intends…” Oh, I got it now. You have put on the mask of Dionysius (so many faces you have in you ancient gallery, king chameleon) and you are instigating me to get rid of all civilized images and appearances. No shapes, rules, nor measures. No limits, no laws. I’m with you. Bring the wine, the new wine! We’ll release our senses and instincts, and dance to the music, on fire, defying fear. “Until the end……”
The guitar shows us the way, strings moaning teased by fingers, with drums spasms reassuring and applauding - release control, we’re breaking through. Carry me guitar player, take me away. Take me to the town of my birth.
What a feast! So primitive and irrational we are, but pure, yes, immaculate!
The drums and the organ bass carry on, steady, to keeps us on the track of the roller coaster. The guitar sweetens the sound and the organ chords are like glowing flashes of aura. You merge sounds of different ages, races and beliefs. All sort of joys reunited.
“Cancel my subscription to the resurrection”. The wordsman begins his journey across the deep forest. Apollo poet, when did it come to you in your dreams that something in your world was wrong (or not quite right)?
“ The face in the mirror won’t stop”… Images and reality. Doors and windows. She and them. Inside and outside. Death and sublimation. Boredom and hope. Sounds.
Music notes, like words, resemble walking sticks. They’re both codes, each one too imperfect to capture this world of infinite perspectives. They have been shuffled and assembled together in this modern Greek tragedy to form a new language and reveal original astounding concepts.
(Nothing else can survive a holocaust but poetry and songs, he said).
“We want the world and we want it… Now? NOW!!!” Dionysus, this is the scream of the universe, of the primal unity. Now you become a god (How do you dare!??- many have said, wanting to take you into captivity. Poor creatures, you are all a bunch of slaves. Wake up!).
I’m still with you all. Look at us now, we have dared to be gods! Each of us is a god in our own kingdom. And we dance, for only true gods dance, driven by the spirit of music, jumping on the edge of cliffs, laughing.
The organ stands in ovation, the drums strike with emotional fury and the guitar is ecstatic. All still tight, together.
“See the light” But… isn’t it a white blind light?
“Save us, Jesus” No, now it’s up to us to save ourselves (I can change the course of nature, I can, I am - remember?)
“So when the music’s over…” The tension is momentaneously ceased, taking breath for the grand finale of this great golden orgy.
“When the music is you special friend, dance on fire as it intends”
You are the heralds of a new realm of bliss, alchemists of words and sounds.
“Until the end, until the EEEEEEEND!!!”
In harmony, the four brothers push themselves to exhaustion (there isn’t another way) to conclude the ritual, sealed by a last drum ruffle.
Silence. I turn out the lights.
The four magicians that have filled the room for the last minutes (or for the last fragment of my life) have disappeared and left me alone. It’s over. I cannot stop, however, for each time we stop we falI. And we’ve got to keep on rising.I blink in the dark, trying to find a way, and I continue on my own.