Andalousia!

(version française en bas de page)

The time had already come for the final concert of the European season! It would take us right back to where we had started our three-month tour in November 2020. The trip took us to Spain, France, Italy, Austria, Poland, and Germany but we were returning to Andalusia.

We spent five days in Málaga, a city that neither of us were familiar with. Ludmilla had found us a place on a narrow, breezy little street that was unaffected by all the noise from

summer activities that were in full swing, despite everything, including the masks and the hand sanitizer. The historic centre’s plazas and pedestrian streets teemed with groups of spirited young people and vacationing families. It was very lively! The more tranquil side streets were an invitation to take a leisurely stroll, to scope out the best tables, to wonder at the grandeur of the churches found along the way, even to get lost, and―if the wait wasn’t too long―to visit a museum, specifically the one dedicated to Picasso.

Finding ourselves in this historic, austere space with dark wood ceilings, we were stunned by the modernity of most of the famous Malagueño’s paintings, drawings and sculptures. The aesthetic of his creative licence is, to me, more demanding than that of our own era. The alchemy of disproportion and counterbalance plays like oxymoron; it never fully captures the meaning, blurring the distinction between beauty and ugliness: sculptures of birds with painted feet resting on a base, studies of a lusty minotaur, surprisingly sophisticated Surrealist and Cubist muses,

sensual fleshy nudes that captivated us for a long while, David and I each taking it all in at our own pace and in our own words. “Whatever form Picasso chooses to use, he goes to the extreme. When he paints, he turns it inside out, as I like to do with my music. His work caves in on itself, as if a building was imploded. That becomes the story, and he puts it back together the way he wants it to be, more beautiful than it was. When you comprehend Picasso’s work, there is always more to see.”

All I can say about Andalusian cuisine is “Mamma mia!” A medley of seafood and fish that left you with eyes bigger than your stomach. Tuna, razor and softshell clams, cockles, anchovies, sardines, octopus, scampi, bar and porgy, served grilled, deep-fried or raw, with olive oil, garlic and a squeeze of lemon, add it as you go! The slightly smoky local white wine

and alcohol-free tapped beer―the absolute best of its kind, according to David―added to the novelty of being there, strangers delighting in the brouhaha of conversations and the clattering of cutlery that filled the old Atarazanas Market at lunchtime.

We left Málaga sated and headed to Almuñécar for the Jazz En La Costa festival, which had invited David to close out its 32nd edition. I had expected to find concrete like that found almost everywhere along the coast from Valencia to Tarifa but instead was pleasantly surprised. We arrived at a small place by the sea: the hotel-restaurant where we would be staying, just steps away from the old city, had three stars and flirted with a fourth, you know, the kind of place where you could easily become a regular. It exuded the traditional family spirit of things done well and with love, an innkeeper’s ode fashioned with elbow grease, which reassured me even as it reminded me of the childhood I

spent in my parents’ establishment, at least the sweeter part of those remembrances. The Hotel Casablanca had that same somewhat old-fashioned atmosphere… The feeling of nostalgia persisted when we went to our room, whose balcony overlooked the restaurant’s patio, which was covered with a fabric awning, and further off, on the other side of the place, overlooked the ocean, which would wake us with the sounds of the surf and the seagulls in the wee hours of the morning.

We were thrilled to learn that the Brad Mehldau trio would be playing that night. All the concerts were given in a park, which we had to circle before finding the entrance. We were accompanied by the big red parrots’ squawks we had mistaken for those of the seagulls. The stage was surrounded by gigantic palm trees and dwarfed by the walls of an illuminated fortress, the dark night, and the full moon. On the left stood the Roman ruins in a shadowy area tinged by the lighting effects projected onto the stage and then a curved row of little white houses leading into the old city. The picturesque beauty of this setting was absolutely extraordinary! An invitation, an aesthetic beckoning that required our attention! Glued as they were to the notes of the piano, audience members made no exceptions: they shushed anyone who dared to chat while Brad

Mehldau brilliantly played a solo… “He has absorbed the art forms from masters. He can be flamboyant like Oscar Peterson, he understands the touch of Count Basie. I could hear all the great piano players inside of his own style, people like Paul Bley, too. I even heard some John Hicks in there. It is beautiful, he has his own thing, very inspiring!”

The next day, David’s concert would be equally impressive with its creative, visual and musical beauty. Another great pianist, Pepe Rivero, joined the trio: his joyful virtuosity permeated every piece!

As a prelude to the concert, the festival unveiled before an audience of journalists and officials the David Murray plaque on the city’s Jazz Walk of Fame. I saw the man I love moved, honored, and happy with this symbol of recognition… Everything was certainly very festive!

Friday, July 30, New York

photos : 1- Málaga 2- Museo Picasso 3- Atarazanas market 4- Casablanca hotel 5- Jazz En La Costa: The Brave New World Trio

VERSION FRANÇAISE

Le dernier concert de cette saison européenne est déjà là! Il bouclera les trois mois passés entre la France, l’Italie, l’Autriche, la Pologne, l’Allemagne et l’Espagne, juste où nous avions commencé la tournée en novembre 2020 : en Andalousie.

Nous faisons escale cinq jours à Málaga que nous ne connaissons ni l’un ni l’autre. Ludmilla nous a trouvé une location dans une petite rue étroite et fraîche où ne filtre aucun

bruit de l’activité estivale qui bat son plein, malgré tout, entre masques et gel hydroalcoolique. Les terrasses et les rues piétonnes du centre historique grouillent de grappes de jeunes très en forme et de familles en vacances. C’est très vivant ! Les rues adjacentes, plus tranquilles, invitent à flâner, dénicher les bonnes tables, s’émerveiller de la richesse des églises au hasard des rues, se perdre aussi et, si l’attente n’est pas longue, visiter un musée, celui consacré à Picasso en l’occurrence.

Dans un décor ancien très épuré aux plafonds de bois sombre, nous sommes étonnés par la modernité de la plupart des tableaux, dessins et sculptures du Malagueño. L’esthétique de sa licence est, me semble-t-il, d’une plus grande exigence que celle de notre époque. L’alchimie des disproportions et contrepoids joue les oxymores, elle n’épuise jamais le sens, brouillant la frontière entre le beau et le laid : sculptures d’oiseau aux pieds peints sur socle, études de minotaure lubriques, muses cubistes et surréalistes à

l’élégance singulièrement sophistiquée, sensualité des nus charnus qui nous captivent longuement, David et moi, chacun au rythme de sa propre visite et dans ses propres mots.

« Whatever form Picasso chooses to use, he goes to the extreme. When he paints, he turns it inside out, as I like to do with my music. His work caves in on itself, as if a building was imploded. That becomes the story, and he puts it back together the way he wants it to be, more beautiful than it was. When you comprehend Picasso’s work, there is always more to see. »

Quant à la cuisine andalouse, mamma mia! Une farandole de fruits de mer et de poissons qui vous fait les yeux plus gros que le ventre. Thon, couteaux, coques, palourdes,

anchois, sardines, poulpe, langoustine, bar et dorade, en grillade, à la friture ou crus, à l’huile d’olive et à l’ail, avec un trait de citron, se commandent au fil de l’appétit. Le vin blanc local, légèrement fumé, et la bière pression sans alcool - nec plus ultra du genre selon David -, ajoutent à la fraîcheur d’être là, étrangers régalés dans le brouhaha des conversations et le cliquetis des couverts qui emplissent le vieux marché Atarazanas à l’heure du déjeuner.

Nous quittons Málaga repus pour Almuñécar où le festival Jazz En La Costa a invité David à clore sa 32e édition. Je m’attendais à du béton comme presque partout sur la côte de Valencia à Tarifa, et non, agréable surprise ! Nous arrivons sur une petite place au bord de la mer : l’hôtel-restaurant où nous logeons, à deux pas de la vieille ville, est un 3 étoiles qui flirte avec une quatrième, vous savez, de ces adresses où on aurait bien son rond de serviette à l’année. Il y règne l’esprit familial et traditionnel des choses bien faites avec amour, une poésie hôtelière façonnée à l’huile de coude qui me rassure tant elle me rappelle l’enfance dans l’établissement de mes parents, en tout cas

ce que le souvenir m’en a laissé de douceur. L’hôtel Casablanca a ce même esprit un peu désuet… La nostalgie se prolonge dans notre chambre dont la terrasse donne sur celle du restaurant, couverte par un auvent en tissu et, plus loin, de l’autre côté de la place, sur la mer qui nous réveillera de ressacs et de mouettes au petit matin.

À notre grand bonheur, c’est le trio de Brad Mehldau qui joue ce soir. Tous les concerts sont donnés dans un parc autour duquel nous tournons avant de trouver l’entrée au son de grands perroquets

rouges dont nous avions pris les cris pour ceux des mouettes. La scène est posée dans un écrin de gigantesques palmiers dominés par les murs d’une forteresse éclairée, la nuit noire et la pleine lune. Sur la gauche, dans une pénombre teintée par les effets de lumière projetés sur la scène, des ruines romaines, puis une ligne courbe de petites maisons blanches qui annoncent la vieille ville. La beauté pittoresque de ce lieu est absolument extraordinaire ! Une invitation, une injonction esthétique à l’écoute ! Le public ne s'y

trompe pas d’ailleurs, collés aux notes du piano, faisant taire ceux qui s’aventurent au bavardage alors que Brad Mehldau joue merveilleusement un solo … « He has absorbed the art forms from masters. He can be flamboyant like Oscar Peterson, he understands the touch of Count Basie. I could hear all the great piano players inside of his own style, people like Paul Bley too. I even heard some John Hicks in there. It is beautiful, he has his own thing, very inspiring! »

Le lendemain, le concert de David sera tout aussi impressionnant de beauté créative, visuelle et musicale. Un autre grand pianiste, Pepe Rivero, s’est joint au trio : sa virtuosité joyeuse contamine tous les morceaux !

En prélude au concert, le festival dévoile devant journalistes et officiels la plaque de David Murray sur le Jazz Walk of Fame de la ville. Je vois l’homme que j’aime touché, honoré, heureux de cette marque de reconnaissance… Tout est décidément bien joyeux !

Vendredi 30 juillet, New York, NY

photos : 1- Málaga 2- Museo Picasso 3- le marché Atarazanas 4- le Casablanca 5- Jazz En La Costa: The Brave New World Trio

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