.the language of music.

I close my eyes and listen. I haven't heard such passionate playing in a long time. Flamenco with Pablo Guevara. I keep my eyes closed and follow the story he's telling through his guitar. Amazing the way his fingers move up and down that guitar neck. A beautiful,cheerful and complex melody develops into a sad, almost hurting one. It gets louder and rougher,I can hear the fingernails on the strings. Chills. I open my eyes, to look at his face. Every wrinkle goes hand in hand with the feeling of the song. He leans closer to the guitar, it almost looks like they're making love to each-other... it get's intimate and soft. In the next second a sudden stroke of his hand changes the mood. A cloud of emotions hovers over me. It's about to rain. After I see his teeth because of the pure intensity of his playing, he starts to sing. And it pours... I close my eyes and let go. Every cell of my body is weeping. I sit there still but my inside is dancing to the rhythm of flamenco. After a short silence, I open my eyes and we applaud. This was the first song and I'm glad my friend asked me to accompany him. We didn't need to speak or share what we felt, one look was enough. The sincerity, the passion and devotion to music that some people possess is incredible. I feel we understand each-other, speak the same language - the language of music.

"I'm convinced that the guitar must have been invented in a bar by some drunken Spaniard, some guy who'd just been kicked out of his house. I mean, you listen to it—you get it in tune in G and it's never in tune in E major, and when you get in tune E major it's not in tune in G. It's a beautifully chaotic instrument." JB