Well, I was trying to avoid continuing this post as much as I could, but due to some unexpected popular demand I am obliged to finish up this sad and cursed story.
For the sake of my new readers who are too lazy to scroll down the page and read the previous entry (god bless them), and for those who intentionally skipped the first part, because it was too long (god rest their souls) here is what happened, in two phrases: I was invited by M., a well known pianist of a nationality in which every second woman has a mustache and is not Mexico, to come and stay in her desolated farm, to study and assist her, while being completely disconnected from society. After some of the loneliest weeks of my life I fell in love and starting going out with her daughter B., which, of course, didn't help my relationship with M.
M. had four daughters, J., the oldest, who had 4 kids of her own, M., who was living in California and was high on weeds, B., my girlfriend at the time, and A., a dog breeder and one of the funniest and most misanthropic people I've ever met (I still remember her very first words to me, meeting at a party- "I'm A., and I hate people"). When she was in the farm we were enjoying marathons of bad movies, while I was trying to poison her dogs. Once she obliged me to teach her how to say- "I want to fuck you" in Hebrew (not my idea, promise), and after that, these were the first words she said to me whenever we saw each other again. One time, the Belgian ambassador was dinning in the farm, and it turned out that his wife was Israeli. I was sitting just in front of her, when A. came to table, shouting- "Daniel M., I want to..."
Another important character in our story is R., M.'s close friend and 4-hands partner, who was also in love with B., my girlfriend, and absolutely hated me for being with her. Every time it was possible he was saying bad things about me, and finally, when I went to Brazil with M. and B., he managed to convince her I was trying to steal her money (!), and run away.
And so, after coming back from heaven, I was doomed in the farm. M. was barely speaking to me and I felt even worse staying there by myself. In a rebellious act, I went to the place that was as opposite to her as possible- Juilliard.
I was moving to the big apple (future posts will deal with this time), and started a continuous, painful period of a long distance relationship with B.. Her mother was still mad at me, and every phone call with B. has started like that: "Daniel M., I love you so much. By the way, my mother told me it's a shame you were not killed in a car accident". During that year we broke up, and more or less around that time her mother had discovered, finally, that I was fully innocent and was calling me to apologize. She had invited me to do some concerts with her; had commissioned an opera from me; and wanted me to be part of her new pretentious project in Japan, "Art Impressions".
As I like adventures, and a part of me is semi-masochistic, I agreed. But the worst was still to come.
**********************
In summer of 2005, I came back to the farm for preparations to the project.
The project was supposed to be a five day festival, each to include a piano recital, which was to accompany dances, series of bizarre acts and other things I will soon talk about. There were five pianists- M., R., myself and two young talented brothers, aged 8 and 10. Each day had a very modest theme- The world, death, life, children, and recreation. I was to represent... life.
[who thought of death? Raise your hands!]
First thing I had discovered coming to the farm was that B., who was not my girlfriend at that time, was working on that project and was starting to flirt right in front of me with a guy from Venezuela, who was also coming to help with the project. Although I am known for being calm and relaxed most of the time, I didn't forget my Mediterranean hot blooded manners. After a series of manipulations I didn't know I had possessed, I won her back. After one evening I saw it was a mistake, but it was too late for me.
Meanwhile M. was furious at the Japanese, because in promoting the festival they had put her name in a bigger font than the other pianists, and decided to cancel the project there and move it to another location. After one day, this very expensive thing (over 3 million Euros) found a new place, in the beautiful coliseum in Alhambra, Granada- Palacio Carlos V.
The other people involved in the project started to gather in the farm. The list of these most extraordinary people includes:
"Fish" (this was the nickname of this woman, as she looked like a local market fish seller, and I forgot her real name)- Stage director and designer. Was chosen for the job after M. had seen one of her street shows and mistakenly thought she is capable of running a big thing. Hated B. and Diego.
Diego- Choreographer. Spanish to his bones (looked like a strange tormented version of Don Quixote), and a very weird character. Every morning was waking up at 4 am for a series of yoga exercises, which didn’t help him to get calmer, as he simply refused to work with “Fish”, threatening to kill her and run away.
João- In charge of the lights. Was working in movies, but never did theater before. Was always drunk, and never knew which buttons he should press.
In the public general rehearsal, I was playing Bartok’s Out of Doors night-music in a complete darkness, only because he thought “night” meant black-out...
Mauricio- Director of the nature. Do not ask me what this title suppose to mean, but that was his job title. A very strange Italian guy, who told everybody he was an architect, but later was found out to be a fraud. While he was there, he convinced M. that the most necessary thing to do was to bring a special 2 tons stone, all the way to Granada, to be put in the middle of the stage.
Tanaka- Japanese painter. Was brought all the way from Japan only to paint a Japanese letter for two seconds in the third day of the festival. Did not talk to anybody during the whole month of rehearsals, and except one unforgettable phrase, was totally mute.
Dominique- French hermit. One of the coolest older guys I’ve ever met, Dominique was sleeping on trees, was walking around with some sort of a tent on him (sadly, with no underpants, fully exposing his valuable organs while he was sitting), and was a world specialist for harmonic singing- a technique that allowed you to whistle the overtone series while singing a fundamental note. Was brought to the project to unify the five days, and gather everyone on stage to experience the harmonic singing.
Frederic- French philosopher. Was brought to the project in order to sit down on the stage and draw his ideas while listening to the music, half naked.
And so, the craziness has begun. From the start, it was clear that “fish” didn’t know what she was doing. Her stage designs were all very nice and imaginative, but her direction was pretty much the most awful thing and wasn’t even a bit related to the music. The tension between her and Diego has become more and more clear and it was obvious that something is going to explode very soon.
One night Diego has confessed he is in love with M., and is going to try to get rid of “fish” as soon as possible. R., who was a friend of “fish”, became soon also an enemy. The following evening Diego told everyone he is refusing to continue working with “fish”, and is going to do something radical. The next morning he was nowhere to be found. Apparently he was to pack his suitcase and disappear, walking the whole 20 km from the farm to the nearest town by foot, before 6 am.
The only thing that was left after his departure was a note in R.’s room, saying: “Thank you very much”. For the next three days R. was sure it’s a note from Diego, who is going to come back and try to kill him. After a close investigation, I found out that this note was written by the guy from Venezuela who was simply writing a thank you note for borrowing a pen from R...
It was only two weeks before the first concert, and there was no choreographer for the whole show. On the internet M. found a Dutch guy, who agreed to do it for a ridiculously high price. As money was never a problem for that production, she agreed immediately. Meanwhile, Mauricio has found a rock that could fit his plan and figured he needs 20,000 euros in order to take it to Spain and back. Of course, no problem!
I had a lot of free time that month. The recital wasn’t a big problem (the biggest challenge was to play in time with the dancers) and my main concern was to make Tanaka speak. He looked like a Zen master, the kind that will say one sentence every three years, but that one sentence will change your life for ever. And then, one day, I was successful. I was walking past him in the fields, and suddenly he said these profound, unforgettable words: “You know, cigarettes in France are so much more expensive than here. I don’t care, as I’m not a smoker, but still!”. What a man.
Well, we somehow managed to put something together and bring everything to Spain. Nothing made sense at all- it looked like a surreal show that would seem strange even to the biggest Monty Python fan.
On top of that, we were asked to put on the most bizarre costumes. Yours truly was wearing a transparent gaza tape which was painted in red, and was obliged to dye his hair to red as well, and play barefoot. I do have pictures, but I will not sell them to save my life.
Upon coming to Granada, everything that could have gotten wrong, went wrong.
João was fired on the first evening, and the lights were now operated by a 12 year old boy, pressing random buttons. Mauricio’s stone didn’t come on time, and he begged to cancel the whole festival. Tanaka, who was needed only for five seconds was entering in the completely wrong cue, causing some of the dancers to fall of their feet. In the opening night one man was shouting some things from the audience and looked terribly familiar. It was Diego, in the most impressive Hollywood-like entrance. After each night Dominique was doing his harmonic singing with the artists and the public. I am telling you, if aliens didn’t land that week on earth, they probably do not exist. Nobody understood the general story (I forgot to say- there was a story, unifying everything, but it was so strange even us players didn’t get it) or the meaning of the five days, and everything looked so bad, it could almost gain a cult figure among the various mental hospitals around the world.
In the fifth and last day, M. has invited a famous Moroccan singer to sing 5 minutes before the last piece. After 50 minutes, she refused to go out of the stage, and was forced to go away by “fish”. When everything was officially over, there was no party, and everyone were just running away to their homes. I didn’t get payed, as B***** got bankrupted the next month, and didn’t see M. for another two years.
B***** was completely burned by a fire one year ago and was sold to a rich banker this summer.
B. is now married to a successful doctor.
M. is living in Brazil. Still crazy, but still plays the piano like no one else in the world.
Daniel M. is now partially living in London, completely addicted to earl-grey tea and writing this blog instead of doing more useful things in life.
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