•
Rating: A long time has passed, but I remember some details well. The alleys of the historic center illuminated by signs, a daylight in late May that's a bit like hope, the cool air, and the throat always well hydrated. Moving between the city walls and at the same time glimpsing its past and present was like dancing not in space, but in time.
Every Wednesday, we would arrive early: the large windows of the place captured your attention even before reaching the imperial entrance door that marked its magnificence.
An endless counter with sanguine tones and golden details allowed the eyes to wander through the eternal variety of alcoholic drinks that seemed to climb up the wall, towards the ceiling, until they coincided with a balcony overlooking the entire room, observing it, and studying its meaning.
When sunset came, and we had largely completed our task, accomplished without the slightest sobriety, I had time and space to observe the majesty of nothing, of such elegance serving a perimeter that contained little more than the result of base times height.
Exiting with difficulty, but still on my feet, mouth half open and eyes questioning, remained there, petrified, chained to the refrains of Hôtel Costes remixes, particularly the fourth volume, the one I didn't understand how it ended up in my hands, definitely the most wrong ones, but now that it had, it was worth questioning its meaning. And what place, what occasion could be better than those Wednesdays in May, evenings during which the music had the relevance of centerpiece olives at ceremonies. Blossom Dearie keeps saying that she likes London in the rain, surrounded by percussion, reverberated piano notes and strings, vocal harmonizations, and cowbells, and everything remains trapped like the horizon, which seems to end but it's not clear where.
That night I understood what a mix of emotions could represent, and I understood that at least for me, as long as they remained such, they could not be considered neither empty rhetoric nor without meaning.
Loading comments slowly
