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There are theaters by the sea. There are people by the sea who stare at it with a fixed gaze, without a reason. There are evenings when you want to dive into the notes, try a few strokes, and see if you can go offshore. That evening I no longer remember. It seems it was a Monday, but it doesn't matter the century, the year, the time doesn't matter. They found me wandering the alleys of Naples with a bewildered look. With the look of someone who had the sea in their eyes. But I knew that wasn't the sea... because emotions love to hide behind tears, they don't become the sea.
In my head, I have flashes... voices, whispers, that make me tremble, like ghosts. I remember a jam-packed theater, a triumphant entrance amidst applause. I see it: it's a small man, or maybe it was the piano that was bigger than him. And at a certain point, they were one thing, a magma emitting sounds, voices, colors, silences, pauses, echoes of dodecaphony, blues, melodies never before heard by us mortals. But I know that little man, I've followed him to Venice, to Milan, to Rome. Yes, he has a familiar air...
They told me: "don't go, you risk getting lost, never finding yourself again". I didn't believe it could happen.
The first musical seed seems like a tribute to Naples, you can tell the noise of the city has been enclosed in a musical score, but perhaps it's just the suggestion taking over. Then a blues starts. Then a melody. No, it's not a melody, it's the sea invading the San Carlo. It’s music that makes souls tremble, that shakes ghosts, that submerges any thought. It's music that perhaps is trying to escape the theater to reach the sea. At the end of the first set the concert could end, because everything has already been said.
Perfection cuts the air. We all understand we are in a prison we never want to leave. The theater is a thousand miles away from everything earthly. Those melodies can only pin us to a night none of us will ever forget. Like the mad, who have in their heads things normal people don’t understand, like the mad, we are invaded by notes that will make us suffer for the rest of our lives. The second set restarts turbulently. That little man is exploring the depths of the piano, shaking the wooden parts inside the piano, as if the keys are not enough for him.
The sea rises, people drown in the notes and remains in apnea. People in suits look around but can no longer see the stage, they only hear a celestial music coming from afar. I remember the looks in apnea during the 5 encores: from Billie Holiday to Over the Rainbow, and the continuous roar of applause. But I was there, we were all submerged by the sea, those applauses were pranks of ghosts emerged from who knows which era of jazz.
The people of San Carlo were under a spell, believing they were hearing and seeing a concert, but in reality, nothing that was happening had any relation to reality.
The end. The last note of Over the Rainbow. The San Carlo empty. He exits the stage. Some swear that the audience of San Carlo slowly walked towards the sea. And in everyone's eyes, a tear fell. But I saw that tear slip over a smile, and the sea seemed incredulous in front of so much humanity.
The last memory is a dive, in an unreal silence. But whoever found me in the alleys of Naples with a bewildered look understood that I was coming from an experience too intense for a human being.
I wrote on a paper with a pen, the meaning of the voices I hear in my head: Keith Jarrett. I had to do it to return to reality.
P.S.: dedicated to Enzo, Angelo, Gianluigi. And to Primiballi whom I don’t know personally, but I always read with the utmost attention.
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