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tribus
irene aranda, germán díaz, lucía martínez
Opposite me a window, almost as big as my eyes can reach. It leads me to the breadth of the horizon, majestic, of such abig country, sometimes broken, complex, rich, difficultto explain and to understand. You have to go through it, imbibe it and get to know, know so much.
Many people think of it on identities, blood or roots; I like to imagine it in tribes. Tribes that do not nourish on lineages; tribes with community-based hierarchies, all working for shared goals andneeds.It does not matter where you come from, what you did, if you were born among cotton or among rubble. The tribe adopts you, warms you,it makes you give the best you can give, for you and for all. The tribe is unrelated brotherhood.
Irene, Germán and Lucía,are three, but they are one, in that sense. Listening to "Tribus",so are we. We feel close to thembecause their sounds build bridges to our ears. They make usas one of them or we make them as oneof us, anywayit doesn't matter. The tribe is communion, understanding, company, sharing the sky above our heads, though it might only be when they intertwavetheir instruments together with the images they make us evoke, with oureyes closed,as we listen.
They lead us, they do...
Lead us to that indeterminate horizon, crowned by a blue and placid sky as the garden of Juán Ramón Jiménez. No, they are not the steeple bells that are tolling this afternoon, in this disjointed and thousandsof times patched land, but the tribes of three musicians who own much of the future of improvised music in our country.
I chew this music, I enjoy tirelessly, like the clay that climbs up my soles when I walk among orchards and forests. It tastes of Mediterranean, of Cantabrian and of Atlantic. It tastes ofgreen and ocher,of rain and sand, ofsuggestion and melody, of imagined Folk, then destroyed and reinvented. Just like melancholy, itgets inside between flesh and bone, into that microscopic space, almost nonexistent, in which the soulkeepswhat it wants to keep, though it may not understand it.
The sun is yet low, almost touching the ground, and the light that bathes the fields conveys a definite peace, the kind of peace coming always with the sunset, every day, when life is simple.
Being part of something, whatever one chooses. Finding our own truth in the reflection of the day and the sounds from others, when they are also ourown sounds.
Yahvé M. de la Cavada, 2016