Not long ago I suffered a loss and, above all, a reunion with a person who does not always like me: myself. My uncle is no longer here, and I wasn't there to say goodbye. I've always been away, I'm always away from everything and everyone. He was the dearest to me when I was a child, but the misfortune of growing up and becoming an "adult" harden your heart, your selfishness does not allow you to understand that there are people always, without asking anything; on the contrary, just waiting for a call, a short visit, a letter perhaps, something that makes them think that are still loved and valued, something that gives them the certainty that you dedicate a thought sometime and even though it was, I never let him know. Only that and nothing else. For neither of that, nor of anything else I was able to do before his death, I just informed myself about his state of health through others. And things will not be as before, only memories will remain and perhaps forgive me someday for not having approached, as it would have been his desire, just to see me, nothing more. I don't know how many hours I've been listening to Adele again and again "When We were Young", which reminds me of many of the things I lived in that childhood that I lost and I'm sure I won't recover again. That childhood in which my uncle was precisely the one who introduced me to art. They were fascinating and endless hours recording "our radio drama" from the book by Orson Welles: "The War of World's". In an old recorder, he, my brothers and I (the youngest) did not feel that time passed while we read the script that my uncle prepared. They were more laughs than anything else, but that was the most beautiful thing that could have happened to us, having an uncle like him. I spent hours with my eyes open as dishes while contemplating his brilliant way of painting landscapes. I never would have learned to swim if it hadn't been for him. And the guitar that accompanied him whenever there was a family reunion. He was a very basic guitarist, but he knew enough to give us fun for hours. The most beautiful songs of the “Trios” of his time, the most endearing Mexican music and the Rock 'n' Roll of the 50's and 60's could not be missed.
How many LP’s are too many? I don't know, the only thing I'm sure of is that this great guy who just left had a huge collection. It went through all ages, styles, languages and countries. There was no way to not have a perfect pretext to play something, all moods were contemplated in the collection. What was the last thing you heard of that huge collection? Would you say goodbye to this world with something traditional, acid, festive or sad? Was the pain that sent him to the other side or was its loneliness? That loneliness I was part of because I was never there. Maybe if I start listening to his records, let him wake up wherever he is, maybe just get him sadder. What should I do, leave them as they are or listen to all that music? It's probably best to keep crying as I am now while I hear the same song from Adele millions of times. Watching those pictures with faded colors and smiling people, among them that child who became adult and selfishness took him everywhere, except to the indicated places, to those in which we confirm what we are and why we are here, to those places that today I can only see in sepia color. The laughter and the young faces, the furniture and the old televisions, the sweets at Christmas and the family dinners, the reasons why one grows up and suddenly forgets, the beings who only wanted to see you once again and left without being able to do it. The life that continues but leaves memories in oblivion and forgetfulness in the people who ever loved you. The music that accompanies you and makes you more sensitive, but at the same time the things that happen to you and make you run away. The picnics that he and only he knew how to make so much funny, the food that was there all the time, the involuntary jokes and the gossip of the moment. Everything is left in a cloud that retains those memories, the good and the bad, but at the same time isolates them from your immediate memory and you play the bad joke to make you think that never happened or that did not matter and when you have something missing, you realize that those memories should always be present to give to the one who needed a "Hello, how are you." As simple as that and as complicated as that. Who suffers the most? The one who left with the sorrow of not seeing you again or this one that stays with the pain that provokes its own indifference? Places also require your presence; otherwise, disappear forever.
I don't think is fair to say that just one song of this album has occupied all my time to write on this occasion, there are many songs that contains and all deserve special attention however, the power of music is like this, you don't know what song and when it will touch the fibers to rip your soul, fill it with happiness or drown it in sadness. Only that song is a reason to love this album. For the time being, I will not get rid of the discs that my uncle collected with so much love, because it will be in them where he will remain alive for me and in all his splendor. I will listen to every one of them, all styles, all languages, all moods. I will try to revive the spirit that led him to make a very big effort to learn a few chords on the guitar to make our lives happier. Today I celebrate his love for the different expressions of art, his devotion to his nephews and his impetus to always provide us a happy childhood. But above all, I am glad to have known him and that he has been part of my life, that which, although hidden, will be there forever.