You can buy those cucumbers at the market!
I spent hours and hours conversing with Raymond Paul. And the happiest were those in which the Master abandoned the chatter, thinking calmly and deeply about his life.
“We won’t fix the whole world the same way,” he says resignedly, “but we can prove something.” Listen to the popular song “Aija, žužu, the children of the bear”! What do parents do when they are not with their children? They work. It’s a good story. What can parents tell their children about their “jobs” now? I’m afraid it’s often no good… Many young people, who have completely evolved out of the clutches of their parents, have a completely broken, wrong perception of life. How can these crooked landmarks be changed? The soul must be developed, made sensitive. How to do it? Only with love. With love for everything: for people, nature, the world.”
When Raymond Paul’s nieces were young, he tried to show that love. No, not to talk about it, but to show it. “I told him: look at that bush! Take and clean the ground around the bush, it is overgrown with weeds, make it beautiful. And the girls understood this. The man himself must create the environment in which he lives. As a result, he it also forms the person himself”.
Paul nods and continues again: “Earlier, when I saw my father darting around the garden, I laughed in amazement: why does he grow those tomatoes and cucumbers? You can buy them at the market or in the shop! Now I clean, cut, take care of my garden… It’s probably called a feeling of cleanliness – tidying up the piece of land where you are. But it’s disgusting when you drive into the forest and see: someone dumped a load of dung, someone behaved like a pig. Why?… Are you writing a book again?It should also end with a question mark: Why do things happen the way they do?
“A musician from Liepaja”
Raymond Paul has never shied away from praising musicians or remembering his fellow musicians who died in Viņšaule, and there are many. Too. But what if he had such power in his hands that he could call someone back? …
“You can’t undo anything,” the Master says sadly, “you can only show respect for those who have done something good in the field of art. And don’t underestimate the Soviet period either: I’m not talking about the political system, but about the music created by talented artists. Well, for example, the famous Liepāja rock ensemble “Līvi” – despite all the opposition, they slowly slipped into the field, into the light, but I remember how they were pushed, tried not to be in TV, forced to change clothes and the like. But they survived! And how he survived! We take out the old video footage, it turns out that there were very good musicians.”
Should “Livus” have been revived? “Nothing can and shouldn’t be resurrected. I think “Līvi” once had the same role in Latvian music as the English “Rolling Stones”. It was then, and it was cool.
“Now” also has advantages. In the fall of 2020, Raimonds Pauls composed a song with lyrics by Jānis Peters – “Dedication to Poets”. The song was like a thank you to those who have helped keep the spirit of Latvia through the ages. The maestro entrusted the performance of the piece to Jānis Buķelis, soloist of the revived (again!) “Līvu”. “You already know who I was going to give that song to… But he hurried to leave,” Paul said at that moment, patting me lightly on the shoulder. For some reason, I guess—who would he give this song to… However, Buk sang one of Paul’s “more practical” songs in honor of him.
At one time “Līvi” performed Raimonda Paul’s song cycle “Game Night at Dunte’s Pub”. It was a dramatic rock piece in the spirit of “Livu”. When Paul first heard it, he was silent for a long time, then said, “That’s not my piece.” When Paul listened to him a second time, the moment of silence was brief and he wryly said, “This is what talented musicians can do with the work of a talented author!”
Paul also had other adventures with “Livas”. There is a funny story circulating among musicians about how rockers from Liepāja recorded a song by Paula in the Latvian Radio music studio. The recording took a long time because one of the musicians brought bags of wine into the studio with enviable regularity. Evening passed, morning came. The song was recorded – history is silent about that. However, on the second morning, when Paul came to the studio and inspected the “works”, he allegedly said the sacramental words: “A musician from Liepaja comes here, sings crookedly, touches my dear studio and returns to Liepaja for the its nationalism gatherings…”
Whether it was so or not, real, objective history is silent about it. But he looks so much like “Livs” and Raymond Paul you want to believe it.
Of your autumn and your winter
“Was it worth doing what I’ve been doing all my life? I can answer with certainty: it was worth it. In spite of how some good people explain me and my music today. Sometimes my music was good, sometimes not so much… Whatever it was, it was. Like every person: life goes like a see-saw: up, down. One might wonder: was this path I followed the right one? For me, yes. Definitely yes.” Paul says.
“I don’t ask anyone to praise or blame me,” he continues, “it’s best to evaluate everything honestly. For me, of course, it’s nice to hear when they say, “We grew up with your songs.” This is the highest praise for any composer. I don’t want to use the banal phrase: “I work for the people!” I don’t know who I work for! I work for those who listen to me”.
Paul winks again: “They call me legendary? Well, it’s an invention of journalists! So what is legendary? ‘years: how people will react to the name Raimonds Pauls, to what has been done here in Latvia”.
Many say: well, Paul is like this: he finds someone, develops, and then leaves. But that’s how it should be: not that Paul is always clinging to the collar of his jacket. Yes, it develops and then allows the person to develop.
“I’ve parted ways with people I’ve done something with, but that’s my profession… There’s no mercy in art,” he continues, “every now and then you’re forced to do something to others – not for subjective reasons, but because it has to be done differently, that’s all. The creative process inevitably leads to controversy. I think I managed to keep myself as I was all my life. I didn’t even know how to take advantage of the enormous advantages that popularity gave me, and if I knew, maybe only ten percent…”
I once asked Raymond Paul about fall. No, not for that autumn, to which the night belongs, with ever wider brushstrokes, overshadowing the narrow arrow of the day, until it almost completely disappears. I asked about “my” autumn. And – do we look into the cold eyes of “our” winter with due respect?
“Yes, I thought about it. You have to look at these things calmly. Philosophically. I feel that one fine day I will have to stop performing: I can’t take it anymore. I won’t be able to do it physically anymore. You know, it’s called age,” Paul smiles smugly. , “and you need to know how to swim in this harbor with honor. I will no longer go on stage when I feel that people feel sorry for me. If I can still work with the audience, if I can still dictate my musical rules, then I will. But as soon as I start to swing, cross talk or lose control of what I’m doing on stage, I’ll interrupt my performance by myself. It will be the logical conclusion of my whole career. In fact, I’m glad I managed to last so long on stage”.
“But…every possession ends at some point,” he continues, “and I look at this realization with complete calm. As long as the inner spring torments you and pushes you, as long as it forces you to do something, everything is fine. at a certain point it will lengthen… And then… And then we will have to say: goodbye.”
What will you say to God when you stand before Him and He asks: What have you done to people? “What shall I say?… I will tell him that I have lived like all people. Thank God I have not been in prison, I have not robbed anyone. But I have done the work assigned to me by God. I had to do it, just like any other person has to do their job. I have tried to be honest. Of course, I could say that I have always been honest, that I have had an abnormal talent, but it would be disgusting to boast like that. You say: is this my harsh irony? Yes, yes, it surrounds me like a protective wall, but with this irony, I really mean what I mean. So… it’s better that God accepts me as I really was, not as I would like to see myself.”
