Chaos Black On Gpsphone

As a prologue

The following article is a summary (though long) of what I always thought it should be the aim of this blog, as I said from the beginning, telling pieces of life, experiences of an era, as Gardel said, "That will not come back." Norberto
Kleiman is an excellent storyteller who describes with simplicity and freshness, a whole era. Those who were born in the forties, these glimpses of life shared experiences will make us remember, because who has not tried to sing the lyrics published in "The soul that sings" or tried to learn, even if heard, to play an instrument or as in my case, sit with the teacher piano, the "Pocha", to play four hands? What ice cream after tonsil operation? Common situations that many of us have lived, marked by a long running more smoothly and less haste.

BIT OF HEAVEN

"... the years of childhood, passed, passed ...". What a beautiful night!, The starry sky, the music in the distance, the moon, crickets and a great peace. Contact with the earth, the smell of grass, so I could stay indefinitely, lying on his back looking at heaven, it is true that in the field the sky is clear, even seems to have more stars. "In heaven, the stars in the field ,...".
Every so often, a star blink, it seems as if someone winks at me.
I did not like to recite, but just had to do it, I climbed on a chair and from there and asked my age around me, recited. The audience were my grandparents, my uncles and my parents, of course. And I recited with "German", moving my hands. I do not like my aunt dressed me de Carmen Miranda, but as an only child, nephew and grandson only one, I'd had to endure, was the cost to have that privilege. " How would that be?, "Three years?. And, yes, because the four recorded my first album, in the exhibition that was on the Avenida 9 de Julio to the first anniversary of the revolution of 43, was a cardboard disc, "June 4, la la la la, la la la, history, ta ta ta ta ta, ta ta ta ta ta, ta ta so, so ta ta, ta ta. " "
And as always, your busy, boy leave a cut and say that it is"; imitated Alberto Castillo. "I will give, give you beautiful girl, I'll give you one thing, a thing that begins with c, coffee, coffee" was an artist!, Forgive, Lord, do not know what does!.

was a precocious child, a kind of Pierino Gamba, and the reference is not casual, since I was told - because what I honestly do not remember a pit - a year earlier had "led "the orchestra at the wedding of one of my aunts. The following year came the consecration, "born of you, looking for a song that would unite us, and now I know that is cruel, brutal punishment may I give you, without words ...".¡ Without words!, A success , a hit!, I heard everywhere in the house of my uncles, as my grandparents, let alone in my house. Just a few years later someone appeared singing like me: Ranko Fujisawa, she also sang phonetically, as I guess I should do. Lord, forgive, do not know what does!, Or what he says. For what idea could be, at that age, what it meant to cruel, brutal, punishment? Unfortunately - or should I say lucky? - Has not been documentation of the time - except for a picture where I'm up for a "pony" in Palermo, which even though I did not leave Burrero - and therefore, I could not tell if I wore for recordings of "sailor" - as Gardel - or I put the "tapadito" I had done my Aunt Lydia, the same that I have put in the photo of Palermo (circa 1945).
In that same period, approximately, it is also the recitation of the poem, "the shoes pinch me, means me warm ..." The artistic side of my father inherited it, like father, like son, they say. "... The gate is asleep, so quiet ...".
order to consolidate my career, I had to remove the tonsils - that the time was operating in the throat - but to avoid being traumatized, they told me they would take me to buy a poncho - obviously, I should wanting a poncho, God knows why and for what - and then make ice cream. All I remember is that I sat on his lap de mi madrina y me pusieron un algodón en la cara. Cuando me desperté, el algodón - no sé si era el mismo - me lo estaban pasando por la cola. Mis amígdalas habían pasado a mejor vida. No tuve el poncho, pero sí me dieron helado.
En una foto posterior a esta época, en la que estamos mi hermano menor y yo montando sendos "petisos " en Palermo, mi hermano tiene puesto un poncho; de manera que, o a mí me compraron el poncho, que al quedarme chico pasó a mi hermano, o bien a él también le extirparon las amígdalas; esto último es lo más probable, ya que, unos años después, mi hermano también cantaba. La nuestra era una familia de artistas.
Muchos años después, cuando vi lo que le hicieron a " Farinelli " perdoné definitivamente a mis padres pues comprendí que pueden suceder cosas peores en la vida de un artista. Dentro de todo, no nos podemos quejar; tanto mi hermano como yo tenemos voz gruesa, aunque, quién puede saber como habrían sido nuestras vidas con voz finita. "...y en aquel pedacito de cielo, se quedó tu alegría y mi amor...".

La terraza de la pensión " Apolo " - Tucumán 950, frente a la casa de mis abuelos maternos - es el nuevo escenario de mis aventuras artísticas. En la misma pensión vivía "otro" gran artista, el maestro Andrés Chazarreta, folklorista (¿habrá sido por eso the poncho?). San Juan had reached some families who had lost their homes in the earthquake.
I played with the boys on the terrace had a small bike and as I had learned to walk, had taken the wheels. He practiced with the bike - probably to work in a circus, I suppose - doing tricks when one of those lost my balance and fell, with the bad - or good - so that the handle crushed me - oh, what a pain! - The thumb of his right hand finger swelled and I was all black. I was told that I would fall down the nail, but it did not matter because it would grow, but as I was going to have to make hot water baths of alibur. My mom was trying to convince me that the water was not hot, when I had the luck - good or bad? - It got my grandfather Pedro. My grandfather was very tall, was good but had a very strong character - it was very authoritarian - and little patience. Why not stick your finger?. Is very hot. Why not try? Is very hot. Probe. It is very ..., I grabbed the right hand and tried to force her into the container, the water alibur went to hell, to me sent to hell and my grandfather retired angry and defeated. Over the years I learned that the geniuses have always been misunderstood by our contemporaries, even if they were family. And with Don Andres Chazarreta learned the importance of the nails, to be a good guitar.

"... the years of childhood, spent, spent ,...".
I still on earth is the sky above and then comes the music, far away, that croak, will they be toads or frogs? Free association, I remembered the piano teacher of my childhood.
already had more than six years because we lived in Almagro, at Sarmiento 3815, ground floor, "B" - Sarmiento and Bulnes - off the square. I wanted to study piano, my friend Osvaldo studying piano with a good teacher, but had to travel, so I went to a teacher who was to return home, Bulnes between Sarmiento and Valentin Gomez. I did not study a long time, I can not give any opinion about his professional qualifications, not in a position to judge and - to be honest - do not even know if that was what mattered most to me at that time, more honestly, I think was not what mattered most to me or was this the reason why I left my teacher. What I really was away from her she was ugly, it was not too old or too ugly, just ugly and that was enough. I had pimples, curlers in her hair and smelled like "Manuelita" - Divine Treasury - not the Pehuajó, but the Federal Soap.

Maybe I was not quite developed my musical approach, but obviously if my aesthetic criteria. I think it is also clear that for the time, and it was not enough to spiritual beauty was beginning to need more material things. I imagine that my fantasies were to be become the Kalender Prince - the average program Himalaya - and terminating in the notice of a famous perfume, kissing with the violinist. While I took many years to recover from that experience and reconnect with the piano, I never gave up music. I always liked music, I always liked the piano, I never liked the ugly women. Sounds hard but it's the truth. Over time I realized that in reality did not matter if the piano teachers were nice or ugly because at that time were those who studied piano and girls or babies of mother, ie ladybugs, my friend Osvaldo was the exception to the rule.
I still had to prove what he was, for which they had to first be clear about who I was, that I was not easy. With a fearful and overprotective mother and surrounded by women - my aunts and my uncles premiums - to which also seemed really fun to paint and dress up as Carmen Miranda - As I told you - now do not play with dolls, is a miracle. Why, when we were playing the ball to the square or cut "of" Valentín Gómez, I always put me in goal?, Everybody knows what that means, it was a terrible player. Confirmation that my future was not in my legs I had when my aunt tried to teach me to dance Sofi, was a log. But, as then, dancing was the only way to hug a girl, there was no alternative, had to dance. And I danced, danced, and I still have not lost hope that one day learn.
I think only then began to perceive what that somehow had sensed but could not find my piano teacher, the sensuality of the music.
"Arrorro my child, my lullabies sun ...";" sleep now, sleep now ..."; the lullaby, the first contact with music and sensuality.
"Singin 'I gave my heart with love and since he left, I sing my pain. I found singing, singing I lost it, because I can not mourn, I will die singing."
Ana - Anita, brunette and Entre Rios - working on my house Almagro sang all day and was in love with Julio Martel, it said. On Saturday night, when my parents went out, got into my bed - dressed - And it was nice.
listened to the "Glostora Tango Club" with the orchestra of Alfredo D'Angelis, Carlos Dante with his singers and Julio Martel.
"comes meandering through the gorge, the pastor, his flock and his tarararará ..." I was in love with the shepherdess "blond color of wheat fields, but it was an impossible love because he had fallen to the Pedregal (?) And there was a star back because it had led to "where it will not return" (?) and for that reason I was not going to hear more "its tararararará." I was sad and suffered greatly from this impossible love, yet I was not prepared for the possible love.
The stars are there in the sky above me, every now and then, blink, which of them will be brought to my pastor?.
"... the years of childhood, spent, spent ... The Corsican
Avenida Saenz - Pompeii - knew the street musicians and the Cine-Teatro Medrano - Corrientes and Medrano - the groups, these were my first contact with art underground.
My dad gave me a harmonica, but for now only play "La Paloma" - "... Ay ay ay, dove of my soul! ... "- But when I grow big and be famous as Hugo Diaz.
" ... the gate is asleep, so quiet ... "
If I could remember - with clarity - exactly when started pass something, or at what stage began to not pass something, maybe I could understand some things.

"of poets and crazy, we all have a little." For example, when I became a poet and when I started not to be, if they ever left? Apparently - from what I remember - I went to eight years. At that age, I wrote a poem about the "Tracker Fournier" or, rather, on its collapse, which was published in the journal "Mundo Infantil" publisher Haynes. The "Tracker Fournier" disappeared into the "cold" waters of the Atlantic. I remember what struck me at that time - for some reason I still do not understand - was that of "cold" water. As if the cold made more tragic, or terrible, or more painful. I do not know what happened to the poem, if you know what happened with the publisher Haynes: disappeared, as the Tracker, "and the poet, what happened? When I stopped being a poet, if it ever be stopped?; Do not know, just know that many years later, when they sank the General Belgrano, in the same cold water, I did not write any poem. "... And that little piece of heaven ..."
What the artist child what happened, what I did with him? Did I have done the same thing they did to "Farinelli", or just grew up and forgot to play?. Today I'm not interested in explanations, I do not care back memories.
"So many things have gone to the realm of oblivion ...".
Then I went to commercial, then studied economics, then I cinema advertising, spent many years next to an artist who had studied architecture, he studied music and was director of cinema now what?
"... it is not returned because you've forgotten, is that I lost the way back ...".
If, as Tom Thumb, had been throwing stones, instead of crumbs, maybe ...
In the sky, the stars appear bright pebbles ...
"... the years of childhood, gone, gone, the fence is so quiet and asleep in that little piece of heaven, it was your joy and my love ...".
Now, in this slice of heaven, my old man winked. Norberto


Kleiman - 1997.