Chilly Gonzales
Solo Piano

It's a Saturday afternoon of a first whisper of spring. No, it didn't go that way. It's a crappy April and like every year, I experience the change of weather badly, with a string of paranoia and neurovegetative dysfunctions that make me need to hold onto the wall when I walk because I stagger like any old drunkard.

I stagger but I don't give up, I think. And I take time, a breath, and better living conditions. I take the desire to make an emoticon out of my limits.

But above all, I take a Chilly Gonzales record, on a Saturday afternoon of a first whisper of spring. No, it didn't go that way. It's a crappy April and Paul Smith, through a super cool email, tells me he won't be able to send me the pair of shoes I bought online in time for a ceremony. So I get my revenge and go on Amazon to make a dream come true that I've had for a while, ever since "Armellodie" entered my life, like a kind caress in a life full of punches.

There, I wanted to have "Solo Piano" on vinyl because it would have sounded good on that Saturday afternoon of a first whisper of spring. It would have added to a piano work that I consider the best of the new century, that vintage crackle, so much that it made it even more real, more soft oil light, more Satie, more early twentieth century.

What went through the mind and soul of this guy, to conceive a piano work of such high level, I don't know. It sounds so good that even someone who doesn't love music horizontally continues to listen to those melodies, basically easy and immediate, with deep admiration. Singable. Logos turned into melos. Many say Satie, and I too hear a lot of my friend Erick in it, if nothing else the intentions. Let's say it's a sort of Satie ending up in the credits of a melancholy film set in Paris. But on Gentle Threat, perhaps the highest moment of an already extremely high album, you can also hear the not so well-known Heino Eller. Heino Eller who plays it gently, is an experience I feel like suggesting.

Solo piano, logos turned into melos, says beautiful things. It says that a cup of steaming green tea could alleviate the ailments of the season.

It says that the little light you see in a field of darkness is the kitchen of a family about to have dinner.

It says that the waves which rock the ship are beautiful to watch from the bow, with a blanket over your legs.

It says that if you stare at the light from your lamp, your serotonin rejoices. And you feel your eyes brim full of strange and senseless joy.

It says that Trastevere is beautiful on June nights.

The record, on the other hand, crackles a lot, and I don't know if it's a manufacturing defect or if it's an explicit request like: "Make it crackle and pop like a fireplace fire."

The vinyl is white. And when it ends, it's a bit like when your best friend who came to play at your house leaves. That doorbell sound at 8 PM that welcomed the friend's mom and with her the end of the afternoon of play.

No, it didn't go that way. When the mom came to take her son after an entire afternoon spent putting his hands on my toys, I would jump for joy.

The same kind of joy my soul feels when I understand it's time for Solo Piano.

Like now. Now it's time for Solo Piano. And even though not much time has passed, I think it's going just that way. But I'm ready to add this to the list of mistakes and misjudgments. After all, any old drunkard eventually collapses limply onto a tavern table. Listening to Gonzales. Yes, it went that way. And it doesn't seem bad at all.