Hello fucking losers, here i `m again, once more like always. Today with great, great news: I’m a father, yes, yes, you sucker I’ll have the opportunity to ruin some else life. So life is good, or seems good, that, in any case, is the same. So here I’m on my own sharing music with the boy in the crew. But this is, all of this blog, is just an excuses to write.
Well, today I share a latin jazz`s record. I don`t know if you meet Michael Camilo but in pretty sure you don`t (It`s to god dam difficulty to get him). So, this old man (1954) play piano. He write some parts and play some covers. Very cool.
Maybe the question is: what in the hell is doing a latin jazz record here, Miguel? And tell you: because I like this one. For be honest is not a kind of music that I ever choose latin jazz. I prefer raw and crude rock and roll. I prefer troglodytes sounds and punk spirit. Latin jazz is too much refined and don`t have this kind of mood I’m talking about. However, there was a time in my youngness that I meet a very cool guy who plays drums. He used to listen this genre. He makes me hear it and like it very much what I heard. Because I find a raw band, with only bass (¡Oh hell yes, how I love whem bass have a notorious place in band!), drums and piano.
Obviously the record was this one today I’m sharing with you. I have heared, through years, another records of latin jazz. I like it, but is not what I choose every day. However, this days – somehow with this thing of been a father- I have flash back tom my youngness and have recover some stuff that’s define me. That`s why I put this one right here right now, boy. So take a good listen and enjoy the powerful of latin jazz. Here you are going to find a excellent bass players, great drums and, of course, a demon pianist. Here you have: Michael Camilo. And rise your glass in my son`s because he/she will continue with my words in future. Because he is the future and is my, better than me, always but he is me, definitely.
I let you, right here a poem. Very bad:
A veces las palabras anudadas en el corazón
pugnan por latir
más allá del vendaval
que sin saber por qué
o para qué
me empeño en creer.
A veces las palabras anudadas en el corazón,
esas que callan acobardadas
pero sangran hirientes,
se disipan inconscientes
entre líneas de monitores
y poemas de carne.
aunque sea un poco
me dejo sentir.
And, of course, a video: