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Mantrash zinkin flow Mantrash zinkin flow, by Abel Lescay. Illustration: Alejandro Cuervo. Illustration: Alejandro Cuervo.

Confession of the wind, The desert and Tempera

There are three songs that I like. One is called tempera, a man hallucinating tensions finds colors on a canvas. Other,  The Dtrue, the freedom to lose love. Third, wind confession, a whisper charged with the pain of existence.

Chilean guitars sound, and the double bass. Soon a conflicted boy begins to tell us about his problems. There are so many difficult things that he manages to transform them into poetry. He saw "the stars of the day shine brighter than ever in a canvas sky." Colors thrown at random, a being who suffers interprets them. A painting like a mirror, a cry of guilt, like someone who wanted to live in another reality.

Manuel García, Chilean composer, surprises with direct and disturbed verses in this song. He finds tensions from a torn sanity, which does not allow him to move forward, which makes the meaning of life difficult for him. “Difficult to play the guitar if the wallpaper comes off for nothing”, but also “difficult to make love without feeling that we are holding on to a board”. Assume that life is a shipwreck.

His melody starts on the highest note, almost screaming, and starts to drop during each verse. It is always a complaint, a voice that does not understand. "The blood that goes to the heart is red tempera that hardens time." And it transforms existence into an image that encloses man, “tearing the crystals out of your thoughts that are my giants. Giants, giants…” With a tragic melody he turns them into quixotic “giants”, the illusion that he has to overcome in order to continue his life.

Lhasa de Sela, on the other hand, knew how to shipwreck in the desert to overcome lack of love. His strength impresses by abandoning everything, by staying with the kiss of the thorn. the rhythm of swing laid-back, friendly western guitars with a melody that rises and falls evenly, as well as Mexican bass and rhythm guitars. “I have come to this center out of nowhere to shout / that you never deserved what I wanted to give so much”. But she is not suffering, she is detached. Sometimes she breaks, like a branch, when repeating a verse, but then her voice reappears with another body. “Now yes”, and he says again from a sensual power “I have come to the desert to laugh at your love / that the desert is more tender and the thorn kisses better”. His voice rises and as he falls he traces an arc, a free impulse through the sand.

The song began with a high-pitched whisper, yellow and rough, tender and sensual. "Give me a birdie kiss and don't be scared, hummingbird." She is among the flowers, and she smiles. She also lost the thread of her reality, and has come out of it, to the “center of nowhere”, disappointed, hurt, lets out a guitar solo, of strings that almost shoot arrows, between the rising sand, her hair that they turn, their eyes that cry. 

"Because the soul catches fire when it stops loving." Beneath his fiery speech, a violent percussion over the calm passage of the landscape. A woman escaped from society, full of power, creates her reality from the void. Will he be seen returning, or will he be lost in the dunes forever? The landscape that curves according to her presence, like a soft friend, and she drunkenly dancing, or falling from so much pain that it escapes her. Each step in the sand is an ephemeral spell, and he goes deeper, walking towards the twilight sun, with his arms in the form of wet firewood.

A man enclosed between giant crystals. A woman lost in the dunes. The third song has passed through their fingers, it is an ancestral voice.

The same demons in all centuries. The same needs, searches, ambitions. Always the same madness, the same sanity. The moon waxing and waning, and between the tides, a shadow alone in his boat. Along the river the poor houses, among the children who play, one who simply listens. Looking at the sky, the silence of the clouds, or the storm over the rough waters. We all hear the confession of the wind, but we don't always remember the pattern of repeated guilt that it carries on its back.

A blow that unleashes whispers: “the wind entrusted me with things that I always carry with me”. A female and a male voice sing the melody together. Like around the campfire, the androgynous song reveals the sorrows that the clumsy wind is whispering. “He was loaded with guilt and kept confessing / on his back of distances he did not ride a single bird. / That wind was a ghost / a sorrowful soul / and on that loom of anguish / the devil wove his slimes”. 

Liliana Herrero, river witch voice, this time betrays the culprit, like a sleepless demon who doesn't want to, but it must be the hurricane and the fire. “That the willow tree was very weak / that he really didn't want to” but he doesn't stop.

The melody, monotonous on the same note, always ends up ascending in the last two syllables, without closing the idea and giving it imbalance. But it does not interrupt the calm of the one who counts. Accompanied by a classic Argentine rock sound, it includes folkloric percussions, like a striking color. The electric guitars also confess, and the bass in steps, precise. Liliana sounds above the cobweb of the accompaniment her liturgy that causes pain, and in her voice you can hear branches rustling to the gentle fire in the circle. At night, as in a children's story, sadly invokes the breezes.

In the middle of the song he begins to interweave the previous verses randomly. It generates new tensions with the same elements. "In that loom of anguish / the fire embracing the tree / the willow was very weak / and kept confessing". It leaves complete empty bars, like when the gust stops, and then, with a bang, the voices mounted on top of each other come back. Without claiming to represent the millions of years that the wind has been “loaded with guilt”, his voice resonates here and there, saying the same thing between the mountains or over the sea.

Different ways of dealing with power are hidden behind these songs. There are those who suffer from it, lock themselves up and break: “my girl buys a dress and the whole country seems different to me. / My girl puts on the dress and I take it off to give it a sense / giant”. There are those who escape and get lost in nothingness: “I have come running and forgetting about you”, like someone who goes out to found their path, liberated. And there are those who keep the secrets of power and let them run: "I didn't want to stop him / well when he's right / well, who wants to stop him". 

Also readIllustration: Alejandro Cuervo.

Mantrash zinkin flow

Abel Lescay27.07.2022

The Latin American song, the tradition of brothers from Yupanqui who seek the path along which sorrows and vaquitas go, hunted Lhasa born in New York in the sand network of Mexico, Manuel García in Chile and Liliana Herrero in Argentina . A song that carries a centuries-old sadness, the sorrow of the Indian, of the poor man who lost his land to an invading culture and who lives lost among the hills looking for his place. It is a song of ancient wisdom that opens a path to freedom, to the will to reconquer a culture that listens to sacred nature. 

"Because of that grappa de grace that we have to drink / Because of that misfortune smoke that we have to cough / Because of the scaffolding of people to climb and fall / God pay him," says Chico Buarque at the end of Building. And it is that the crisis of Western man, his existential conflicts, imported into America with suit and tie, cover the hope of the poor, and blind them. That is why Atahualpa Yupanqui escaped on his horse, from hill to hill, looking for the ancestral information that returns the magical communication between the human and the earth, losing his personal history to be part of infinity. The power of Latin American magic is embodied in the song, and it remains, hidden by western structures, like a seed in the voices of those who sat before the colors of a tempera, or in the desert, or before the terrible wind, to read the signs that unleash the freedom of our spirit, before the laws of the universe.

Avatar photo Abel Lescay An animal (laughs). More posts

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