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(ENGLISH AHEAD) Corría el año 1986 cuando un LP de música instrumental vino a acompañar un época difícil de mi vida. Esa en la que estás a punto de cumplir los dieciocho, a punto de empezar una carrera universitaria, de empezar a ser alguien, al mismo tiempo que te das cuenta de que te enfrentas a un tiempo sin objetivos, arrastrado por decisiones tomadas a medias entre tú y los demás, haciendo todavía las cosas que tu entorno supone que debes hacer. No era fácil salir de la adolescencia sin separarte de todo lo que te recordaba a ella.
El disco era un recopilatorio de Windham Hill, el sello norteamericano especializado en música New Age. No recuerdo cómo llegó a mis manos, pero barajo solo dos opciones: la primera, y por la que más me decanto, dice que lo pedí contra reembolso a través del desaparecido catálogo de venta por correo Discoplay, haciendo caso de sus recomendaciones y quizás atendiendo a un buen precio de oferta; la segunda opción rastrea la posibilidad de que lo comprara en mi tienda habitual simplemente por la bella fotografía de la portada y mi intuición, de la que siempre me he sentido bastante orgulloso.
Los primeros acordes del disco te teletransportaban inmediatamente a lugares y estados de la mente tan poco transitados que la experiencia se convirtió en una verdadera toma de conciencia de ese yo místico que uno creía no poseer. Un ejercicio de escapismo necesario en aquella época apoyado sobre músicas totalmente alejadas del pop español de la movida que tanto impregnaba nuestras vidas.
Todo este elenco bastaba para conformar un excelente disco, pero ocurre que éste se abre con Aerial Boundaries, la composición más revolucionaria de todas, por muchas razones. Una de ellas, el contraste entre dulzura y dramatismo que la característica forma de tocar la guitarra de Michael le concede. Surcamos los cielos a golpe (nunca mejor dicho) de guitarra; subimos y bajamos de las nubes casi tocando los límites mismos de la atmósfera. Este peculiar estilo otorga a la composición un halo de misterio y de contundencia que la hace, de una forma u otra, eterna.
Al menos para mí es eterna. En aquel tiempo, escuchar este tema significaba asomarme a mis abismos, y eran esos primeros surcos del disco los que me empujaban a dejarme llevar por mis sueños y mis deseos de dejar de ser un adolescente, aunque la línea que me separara de la vida adulta estuviera oculta entre brumas o, literalmente, invisible tras los rayos del crepúsculo.
Michael nos dejó un día de 1997 regresando a casa en coche, emprendiendo su viaje particular a otras dimensiones en las que él probablemente ya había transitado con su música. Gracias a ella, hoy todavía disfruto de su mística, ya adulto, convencido de que no se le pueden poner fronteras a la emoción y a los deseos, y que estos campan a cielo abierto, sin límites.
It was 1986 and I came across an album of instrumental music that was with me all along a hard period of my life. I was about to be eighteen, to start college, to start being someone, while you become aware of what comes ahead: a time of no goals, dragged by decisions taken part by you and part by someone else, a time when you end up doing what's expected by everyone around you. It wasn't easy to come out of adolescence without moving away from the atmosphere that was constantly reminding you of it.
The album was a sampler of the American label Windham Hill, which specialized in New Age music. I can't remember how I got it. I may have ordered it from a record catalogue which was really popular at that time called Discoplay, after reading some recommendation and verifying it was actually a special offer. I might also have bought it directly in my local record shop, just because there was a nice photograph on the cover and I just felt I had to rely on my intuition -which I really am proud of.
The first strains of the album used to transport you right away to places and states of mind so rarely visited and that you instantly became aware of the mystic soul inside you, something you didn't even believe to house. So everyhting developed into a necessary exercise of escapism from a time overwhelmingly monopolized by the 80s musicof Spanish 'la movida'.
This is how I learnt about Mark Isham, then an emergent motion picture soundtrack composer; William Ackerman, the guitarist that came to discover Michael Hedges; de moving piano works by George Winston: Shadowfax's exotic proposal; Alex de Grassi and his touching guitar sound; the inevitable celtic touch by Billy Oskay y Míchéal Ó Domhnaill, who founded the successful band Nightnoise soon after, and; of course, Scott Cossu and his essential Oristano Sojourn, a piece that mixes jazz, tropical beats and folk with such mastery that it's impossible not to surrender to its charm.
This line-up would have been enough to make an excellent album, but the thing is that it is the most revolutionary pieces that opens it, Aerial Boundaries. The contrast between softness and drama provoked by Michael Hedge's peculiar way to play the guitar is revolutionary. This way we cross the skies to the resounding echoes of the instrument; we float up and down reaching out to touch the limits of the atmosphere with our fingertips. This peculiar style gives the composition both a mysterious halo and a convincing brushstroke which, in a way, makes it an eternal piece.
At least it is for me. Back then, listening to it meant looking out of the window into the world of my own abyss, my dreams and my wish to stop being a teenager, though the line that separated me from adulthood was hidden by the mist or, literally, made invisible by the blinding light of the sunset.
Michael left us one day in 1997 while driving back home, and so he set off on his personal trip to other dimensions, which he must certainly have explored with his music in life. Thanks to his work I still enjoy his mystic approach, as an adult, absolutely convinced that there are no boundaries to emotion and desire, since they expand, limitless, into the air.
Enlaces/Links:Michael Hedges's official website: www.nomadland.com