I then asked
him for news of their repertoire. It consisted of many pieces of its own composition,
whose lyrics were inspired by the original and authentic roots of the rock movement,
dealing with his proletarian origins,
class struggle, rebellion against adult society and his most conservative
institutions, also singing on sexual freedom. Other songs were better suited to
the arpeggios and blues sounds and talked of disappointments, youthful
nostalgia, and ideal worlds.
He told me had composed all those songs several years earlier when he was still
attending the Art School in London (where he had met David Bowie, Jimmy Page,
Keith Richard, Pete Townshend and other illustrious names who had established
themselves in the world Golden rock music).
But he refused to sell his art and his songs
to the star system, convinced that the rock-based unit could only be kept by
playing live and sharing in the concert the same emotions; while recording
discs meant the opposite, breaking the unity of movement by relegating the
divas to a golden loneliness, releasing them emotionally and definitively from
their own supporters.
He had chosen to earn his living, at the
beginning playing the guitar in squares, streets or subway stations; he had
later created his group, gaining with it important spaces in the pubs and
clubs of London that allowed him to continue to live the unmistakable emotions
that only the concerts can give the artist when the music is flowing well and
the audience is relaxed and happy and all, artists and spectators, in those
magical moments, forget themselves and their problems.
And you do not care to be none any more, but you just try to flow forever in
that feeling of sweet despair.
Then we talked of our lives, as if we had been friends forever. That
confidential tone seemed to make him slide to a verge of melancholy.
«In the end, he said, every man has his own
life, his fate carved in the brain or perhaps written for him somewhere in the
Cosmos! If you believe it, of course! » He added, trying to slit and return to
the conversation in that compassed, almost suspended tone we had maintained so
far!
- «You mean, God, don’t you?» I
interjected, seriously.
- « I do not know. Maybe …»he replied
without giving too much emphasis to the words, standing up.
- «Shall we go?» He said then to his friends who had spent time smoking quietly.
I
followed them in good spirits, though I would have preferred that nice chat did
not end there.
Outside, in the street, the insignia of cinemas, shops, theaters and nightclubs
began to shine. London night moved its first steps towards another interlude of
triumph and madness against the gray routine of the day.
- «At the next concert in the square I get
a glass from you!» - Ruben told me while approaching with his friends a small street that would
bring them home in the Soho district.
- «Be cool!»Phil told me, packing on my
shoulder.
- «And also fresh!» echoed Jon lifting two
fingers of his right hand in greeting.
«And do not do as Jim did, always putting
much water on it!» Ruben said jokingly, turning to his left shoulder and
greeting again with a gesture of his hand.
I watched them a little further, with
their slouching walk, almost looking to dance with their long hair in the wind
and their colorful and eccentric clothing, crossing with a guy in gray dress
and black tie, carrying a 24-hour briefcase who was coming in the opposite direction.
It was
a moment. It almost seemed to me like the man was walk without his head, carrying it into that square suitcase.
