The Bird Making Machine

Carlos M. Mérida (lawyer by training, occupation tour guide, devourer of music and books by his own decision) has come to Magazine AM:PM to make our lives happier on this second anniversary. Worn-out record, the column that we are launching today, opens a new stage for the magazine: that of Cuban views on music that is not necessarily made from Cuba or by Cubans. These intimate and delicious texts were born like most of the children of this strange year, in quarantine, in WhatsApp messages to friends, to whom he tells how the music of these albums that make up his personal list changed his life. How lucky we are to be able to publish them.

How great Charly, my God! Look at this, from the third topic Tickets, passes and subscriptions: “Who spits out the eyes without resistance of the one who brought the sweet wine to be able to drink? Who for little money knew how to make you happy? Who was a friend of your children? And who got the tickets to see me sing? Who gave you a finished painting of your mother? and these vignettes of the next track, I can't see myself anymore: “[I can't see myself] Scary Face said to the costume: 'I need to look scared.' [I can't see myself] There's no makeup for those who can't see their reflection anywhere."

Charly is one of the godfathers of reinvention. Sessile is not his thing. The risk is. Waiting is not for him, patience, calm. You cannot sit for a long time in the same position. If the shirt is sweaty, he takes it off and shows his chest to the audience; if it is very cold in the room, he puts on his Russian coat and we continue.

This band was a pioneer of progressive rock in the language. Charly himself baptized it as “the Yes of underdevelopment”. Sui Generis had been outgrowing the child prodigy of Caballito. There was too much noise in his head. Just as Dylan at one point had to connect his guitar, drop the harmonica and put on his leather jacket, Charly at the beginning of the second five years of the '70s, the body asked for more instrumental passages, more symphonic breath, more keyboards.

Also noticeable here is a change in the images of the letters, which become more symbolic. Remember that we are in Argentina, in 1976. Censorship to the chest. It was no longer possible to say, face to face: “[…] and even though I had never drunk, I had to end up in jail. Bail was paid by a friend. The wounds are from the officer.” He had to encrypt the message, so that it could pass through customs, like this: “How the north wind kills when August is in the day, and space illuminates our bodies. A beggar shows jewels to the blind on the corner, and a puppy of the man amazes us.

The Machine made only two albums. the other is Films, which I like better but I heard it later. The crush came with this one. It must have happened in my second year of college.

Several albums on the list had me hooked from the first note; that, when I put my hand in the jar of my memory, I can grasp the precise moment and place where I heard them for the first time. This is one of these. It was such a resounding impact, a mixture of surprise, emotion and happiness, that later, whenever I returned to him, it was inevitable to relive that night, most likely in 2009, when I met him, lying face up on my bed. It is because of albums like this that the list exists.

As it also happened to me other times, at first I didn't listen to it following the original position of the songs, but they came out in alphabetical order (it bothers me so much when that happens); until I realized it and organized it to hear it as God intended. For that reason the first chords of La Maquina in my life were those of the monumental, exciting and beautiful Ah, I saw you between the lights, which is actually the closing of the album.

This piece is one of the highest peaks of Argentine national rock, and one of the most beautiful things I've heard in my life. With 11 minutes of duration, in her the touching passages follow one after the other. Everyone has their moment: the piano solos by Carlos Cutaia (ex Pescado Rabioso, suffice it to say) and the guitar by Gustavo Bazterrica, the very fair bass of the He showed José Luis Fernández, the balance of Oscar Moro, the playfulness of Charly. Another level this. Very difficult to stay with a single scene, but if I have to, I go for one of the several climaxes that it contains: the one that arrives at minute 5:11.

Charly has been doing a keyboard solo since 4:20. The atmosphere tightens and the molecules multiply, until a moment arrives when the balloon can no longer hold any more air and then all the instruments burst, shouting in chorus a symphonic phrase of those that close your eyes while you say no with the head, of which can not be described here. Look that up, sir, if you haven't already heard it. Those who are in Cuba, spend the data, use the Telegram Spotify Bot, but for nothing in the world miss that magical and devastating moment.

I search and find no faults on this disc. Perhaps the lyrics are not well understood, but already; nothing that genius do not solve

I found myself telling someone in college that the poor southern Bird-Making Machine was as good a band as Camel or Emerson, Lake & Palmer. “As good as”, what a jerk.