There is an old legend that I have just invented, that the good Lord, at the time of Judgment of each one of us, will order to put an initial bonus on the plate of good things to Saint Michael, who is in charge of this task. , if it is that the judged soul, we know Music. Then, the Archangel will be putting facts and misdeeds, until exhausting the file. In the end, divine mercy will dictate sentence. But that bonus that I say, will be there in principle if we know music. It is not my case, unfortunately.
And it is that the pleasant and festive fact of the music bands returns before me again. It happens on the occasion of the Holy Week processions. After each step, its corresponding band. I have a lot of love, affection and consideration for them. Every Spanish town has its band. Exceptions don’t matter. They play the corresponding passionate marches, barely updated by the Saeta de Serrat or the military man Death is not the end. But the repertoire is, fortunately, the same. And so be it.
My teaching task took me to three towns in Murcia: La Unión, Torre-Pacheco and Espinardo. In one of the three, this happened to me. I was explaining I don’t remember what in class, when I observed one of the good students, although not excellent (that is, the best people, because they owe what they get more to their effort, than to their talent) with his head down and embedded in what he had on his desk. I approached, I think without leaving a clear record of what he was doing, and I immediately verified that he was studying a score. I immediately understood what was happening. He was studying the march, or some of them, of those that would have to interpret in the imminent Holy Week. I knew that the student, like others in the class, was part of the town band. Discreetly, I walked away without being noticed, and continued explaining what he was occupying me with. I thought it was excellent that he used my class for such a worthy task.
And it is that the musical bands of the towns (what a worthy word: town!) are first of all Music Schools, like conservatories in immediate humility. That’s why I like to see and hear the bands. I know, of course, that they don’t just go out on the streets for the aforementioned reasons of passion. And that increases my admiration for these musicians who bring traditions many centuries old behind them.
I somewhat deplore the paramilitary uniforms some of them wear, but I forgive them immediately. Rather, I prefer to see those young men with shaggy hair, sparse beards and unbuttoned shirts, with a tie at an angle, which denotes obedience to the suit uniform, but reveals their rebellion in the background, while they play perfectly in tune with the others. . Or those who grew up and have not had a new suit made for their new height and complexion. They add cuteness to the whole. Very cute girls in perfect uniform always, tailored and neat. But, make no mistake, what I do most is listen to their funeral sounds and chords.
And, nothing, there are the bands, the Archangel Saint Gabriel walks among them noting that they all know music, and writing them down on his list.
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