The sound of our music, once upon a time

we all loved Celi. It was the time when it seemed everything was somehow going to be fine, everybody could only turn out to be good, and both would eventually get even better; that time when we would not miss any of the Friday concerts and would long revel in unforgettable performances: Grigore, Ruha, Estrella, and always our beloved local stars. Then, there were the idle Sunday afternoons of pure delight and inner rumminations at the Dome or Millenium, witnessing again and again the happy marriage of light and sound. Trio Contraste and their contemporary teasers. The rite of spring: the annual symphonic music festival.The rite of fall: the concert in the cave at R. LB, under the bridge year round. An irreplicable August fortnight of music, gracious life, companionship, and mountains: Rimsky- Korsakov, Rachmaninoff, Stravinsky, Beethoven, Brahms, Mozart and gentle-and-joyous all-encompassing classical education on winding Northern roads, sharing the car with the superb, beautiful, funny, and exquisite pianists D, M, &, then very-very young Di Mi, as well as KP & our perfect guides and hosts, the 3Ms. Day after day, the sound of instruments in study practices filling the streets and tramway stops around the Old Town-hall. You had no choice but catch the tram and a, say Mozart,  movement. Year after year, they were the true signposts of our living in the city and breathing in the world. At first, precursors of unadulterated freedom and later on its constant, precious iteration. As a culmination, in one of those years, I taught a few classes at the Conservatory. Martha & Dino Ghezzo visited the school and I had the chance of showing them around and interpreting during their official visit. I ended up translating one of their textbooks and I was formally thankful to offer a modicum of service to what was always and forever the best of all possible worlds. Once upon a time we all loved Celi and we were incredibly lucky he was an unforbidden love.

* In essence, if you ask when you ask, are we free we who are free, the immediate unnecessary answer surrenders, it depends who (sic!) you love.