Here we have
some funny anecdotes related to the guitar. To have some fun. With no other
hope. It is only an invitation to have a nice time.
THIS IS A SALE.
For those who
didn’t know the shop in Concepción Jerónima 2, I will describe it briefly. It
was a two-story building. The shop was downstairs, it was a long room, the
office was at the end of it – at my grandfather’s and father’s time, such as I
knew it – and the workshop was upstairs.
The
guitarists that came to test guitars would sit on some chairs that were in
front of the counter, next to the wall that hid the stairs that took to the workshop.
When the workshop closed, the skilled workers and apprentices would walk down
the shop and pass between the counter and the chairs to leave the shop.
I was told an
anecdote about a gipsy man that was trying a guitar in one of the chairs of the
shop. When it was time to close the workshop and the workers began to go down,
the gipsy man looked at them as they were passing by almost in front of him. At
the beginning nothing happened, but as they were showing up, he started to get
a bit tense. One of these skilled workers was a lame person, and the woman in
charge of the varnish, who was not very young, was one-eyed. They said goodbye
to those who were in the shop and walked to the door… and the gypsy man,
watching them go by one behind the other, woke up overwhelmed, put the guitar
on the counter and before going away through the door exclaimed: “Gosh, thiz iz
a zale!” and he left to never come back.
PERICO DE
LOS PALOTES (MR. ANYONE)
That happened
to me about eight or nine years ago (I’m writing on 2012). I received an e-mail
from an upset man because he had seen a letter from Andrés Segovia to my
father, which we had published in his book Things
about the Guitar, to his disappointment he had discovered that the
signature had been forged.
Before going
on, I must say that Andrés Segovia wrote a letter to my father, in its last
paragraph it said: “In his tenacious pursuit to realize his life’s ideal, José
Ramírez, I’m sure he will be able to build the most sonorous and beautifully
timbred guitars in the whole world”. But some time after that, in one of the
visits my father paid to his studio in Concha Espina Street, Segovia asked him
to take this letter because he had to do a rectification. When he was given the
new letter, in the last paragraph he had written what follows: “In his
tenacious pursuit to realize his life’s ideal, José Ramírez has built the most
sonorous and beautifully timbred guitars in the whole world”.
Well, so we
had the two letters framed – they were identical in everything but the last
paragraph – at that moment the only thing that was done was to swap the old by
the new one and leave it this way. But when the shop was moved from Concepción
Jerónima to La Paz Street, apparently, as we didn’t pay enough attention, we
hanged the old one, whereas in the book Things
about the Guitar it was the, let’s say, good one, corrected by Segovia.
On top of
everything else, it seems that, although the editor of my father’s book had
published the good letter, I don’t remember the reason why he did a copy/paste
in an old-fashioned way (that is, a copy/ cut / paste as you can) of Andrés
Segovia’s signature, so the sticky mess could be clearly seen. As I realized
that, I told him that he had to change it, not only because it looked like a
forge, but it was also crude and ugly. To avoid destroying the whole edition,
the editor decided to print an extra page with the original letter and
signature, not patching it up, and he added it on the botched page on which,
moreover, he stamped several times the editorial’s stamp to hide the signature
of the cut/ paste; as it can be seen a very subtle way of concealing facts, so
if someone decided to remove the superimposed page (a temptation impossible to
resist, I think), the super-corrected, crossed out and sticky signature of
Segovia could be found. To avoid entering tricky fields that have nothing to do
with the topic we are dealing with, let’s leave it, simplifying, that we accept
the patch-up job. It is also convenient to clarify, before going on, that this
only happened in the first edition, as in the following ones this affair was
definitely and adequately corrected.
The gentleman
that wrote me indignant – and let’s admit it, quite right – had apparently read
the book, he had seen the patch-up job of Segovia’s signature in a letter that
said that Ramírez had built the most sonorous and beautifully timbred guitars
in the whole world, and after that he had gone to the shop and he had read the
old letter we had hanged there that said that the truth was that Ramírez would
be able to build the most sonorous guitars and so on, and, obviously he reached
to the inevitable conclusion that we had forged everything.
Once he exposed
his disappointment with a wealth of detail, he said goodbye signing as Perico
de los Palotes (Mr. Anyone).
Soon
afterwards, I phoned the shop and I talked to the manager, and I asked him to
check the content of the Segovia’s letter we had hanged in the shop. Indeed,
that was the “bad” letter. Now we had to look for the “good” one and substitute
it immediately. He searched, found it and substituted it.
Then, in no
time, I answered to the e-mail more or less this way: “Dear Mr. Anyone, you are
completely right. It seems that, after we moved from Concepción Jerónima to La
Paz Street, we hanged the first of the letters Andrés Segovia wrote to my
father, as it didn’t occurred to us to read the letter before hanging it on the
wall. Thanks to your e-mail we’ve been able to detect the mistake and
substitute the first letter with the one corrected afterwards by Segovia that
was given to my father by him. You can come to the shop whenever you want and
check it is not a forge”.
I phoned the
shop manager and I asked him to pay attention to everything that took place
around the letter. After a while he phoned me to tell me that after about half
an hour later, a guitar teacher he knew entered the shop, walked to the frame
in the wall where we had the letter, was having a look for a while and he left.
I had the
temptation to ask him who he was, but I preferred to respect his desire of
privacy and the enchanted mysterious hidden behind the name Mr. Anyone. This
way I have no idea of who he was, but I’m really graceful that he detected such
a great mistake, allowing me to correct it appropriately. As usual everything
happens for a good reason.
MR. JUAN BAELLO AND LUST.
I think this
is the correct spelling: Baello, but I’m not sure, as this is the funny
anecdote that a friend told me and she wasn’t sure either if it was written
with a V or a B. So we will
leave it as Mr. Juan Baello, this way, as it sounds.
This story
has nothing to do with the Ramírez House in particular, but it has to do will
all Spanish guitars of the world. And I found it so funny that I thought it
deserved a place in this brief collection of anecdotes.
I am going to
write in first person, such as my friend told me. “I was about
four or five years old. I was in Angelines’ house; she was my brother’s godmother.
She was a very religious woman (from Catholic Action) and the image of the
Sacred Heart was periodically taken to her house, and sometimes the Miraculous
Virgin, and during the week she had these images in her house some friends,
faithful and devote people used to go to pray to them.
“One of the
times when my grandmother took me, a man appeared, he was highly respected by
everyone as he belonged to the Night Adoration, and in my four year old image,
I remember him as a very tall man, wrapped up in a Spanish cloak: Mr Juan
Baello.
“At this
occasion I was playing and suddenly a Spanish guitar music sounded on the
radio. The man stood up his chair and said outraged to Angelines (he lisped a
bit): ‘thiz muzic zould be forbidden, becauze it inzites people to lust.
Guitarz, with itz zhapes that remind the zhapes of women are zinful, and thiz
muzic inzites lust and it zould be forbidden on the radio’.
“He savored
in such a way the word ‘lust’ that young as I was; it seemed to me something
really desirable as he pronounced ‘lust’, as if he was savoring a chocolate
that melted in his mouth. It was something strange and fascinating. I remember
this conversation due to the pleasure with which he savored the word ‘lust’. A
lot of years later I learned the meaning of the word ‘lust’ and it seemed to me
even more fascinating”
All these
events took place in Ferrol, at the beginning of the sixties. And although I
know the association of the guitar with the body of a woman is not original al
all, I do think the emotional intensity that the guitar awakens in this man is
really curious, that’s why I think it’s worth mentioning it. The truth is that
I know several wives of guitarist jealous of the relationship of their beloved
with guitars. In fact, one of them even told me that watching the way her
husband would hold the guitars, look at them and play them, she would feel
jealous. We will leave it here so that everyone reach their own conclusions
that, by the way, don’t have to be shared; but it would be funny to take this
opportunity to invite the readers to tell us their own experiences on the
matter, of course anonymously, as Mr. Anyone did.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario