My father was very fond of classical music.
When I was small, it was thanks to him that he came home a little gramophone (we are in the late fifties and still no one talked to certainly stereo Hi-Fi). What he brought also allowed to listen to old LPs 78's, some of which were still available in the few existing stores in Palermo.
And he began to buy hard disks and to listen (and listen to me know about them).
He liked everything, even if his attention, over time, went on polarizing the great composers of classical music and opera.
But it was still home and took a listen voracious all his visits to the store because of Memories (which had become a regular customer) were particularly frequent.
I'm passionate about some of his choices, nowadays, would be very current, but then could only bizarre opinion and expressing a recovery of ancient traditions of folk song.
For example, once brought home a disk with old songs of whaling, and another on traditional songs from Latin America.
When we moved into the new house, bought a stereo cabinet, at that time quite advanced in terms of playback quality, and this led him to the rest of his life.
When he died I was to inherit it, together with the use of room used as his studio, and I used then, until, jack 10 years after his death I bought my first Hi-Fi stereo system. But the mobile stereo
I still have it in perfect conditions of use: those objects - in the sixties were made to last, they were not "on time" as those manufacturing today ...
The unit that closed, had all the appearance of a low, elegant coffee table was placed in his studio.
Dad, when he was in Palermo, immediately after lunch (but, sometimes, at night), he retired to his room and devoted himself to listening to your favorite music, sipping two fingers of whiskey.
His was a tireless quest: discovering new things, never stopped to what we already knew, and so, the club was growing more and more.
At the time of the release of Antonioni, Death in Venice, Mahler discovered this composer and to devote himself passionately. He claimed that he was a musical genius, a great deal.
On Sunday afternoon, when he was not traveling, he devoted himself to long sessions of non stop music listening: having more time, he had the chance to listen to the entire reproduction of an entire opera.
On Sunday afternoon, sometimes involved in listening to his uncle Armando, husband of my aunt Jolene's sister, mother. Dad had an amazing ability to come up with each person points of contact and abetting and on these similarities, although perhaps there were differences also on many other things we were building good, solid friendships. I
, music, followed at a distance: after lunch on school days I retired to my room to study (especially in high school, when the commitments became more pressing), and then listen to his musicapotevo only very muffled, comme subtle soundtrack.
Often, Dad was making raids up to my room and asked me to join with him to better hear some music.
was clear that he wanted to share this with me at his pleasure.
But I was adamant.
not think I have ever met this call.
He lingered a few moments and then I explained some passages of which, from afar, you could follow the harmony, or telling me some story about the life of the composer of that music.
Sundays, when there were pressing school commitments, he wanted to take me with him in his music room, but I do - especially in his last years - I had developed divergent musical tastes and shut myself in my room listening to my records with a small portable record player that he had given me.
On the other hand, my father - a precursor - that some of his travels had taken me discs that, at the time, had taken little account of just because came to him and, instead, after some time, I discovered to be absolutely at the forefront of pop music scene of that time, such as the famous Bare Wires by John Mayall.
If there's one thing I still regret today is to not give him the pleasure of those moments of sharing music listening as he claimed. But we realize
ge of the things that we could have and have not done, when it is too late to remedy.
In recent years, my father, driven by his passion for music, every July he went to Salzburg to follow the events of the festival of Mozart. There was
formally as a journalist, but - in reality - this was one of his mode of escape to freedom and autonomy.
Regarding his passion for music, used to say (a little 'joke, but a little' seriously) that he would like to make the conductor, as if this was his dream, never realized.