That ability to imagine, proper of a tireless creator has kept her from much bitterness. “Today I am thinking that perhaps you exist/ The imagination is having a party” she says in one of her works. In her, wisdom is above all a question of won trade together with a correct poetic intuition.
#Marta animal donde vive how to#
More than from a coherent academic trajectory, the artist has known how to learn from her vital career: listening to José Antonio Méndez she nurtured that “tonal concern” that is discovered in her songs, as well as her years in Teatro Estudio not only earned her the prizes for the music she composed for El becerro de oro by Joaquín Lorenzo Luaces, directed by Armando Suárez del Villar, and for the unforgettable production of La zapatera prodigiosa by García Lorca conducted by Berta Martínez, but rather they increased in her the knowledge of the nuances and the gradations of the dramatic expression. Someone I knew, who was well informed and had a certain musical sensitivity, told me at the time: “Yes, Marta’s songs are very well composed, this one is nice, but it won’t stick, because it’s difficult and no one can sing it.” It’s true that I’ve never heard someone whistling her melody on the street, but, at least in my case, I cannot pass by the modest statue of Milanés in front of the Matanzas cathedral without remembering that very delicate piece that is a declaration of complicity with the bard gone mad: Several decades ago she won a popular composition prize for her song “José Jacinto,” composed in 1974. That is why her way of composing is neither too associated to the fact of building, but rather to the ritual that conjures all the fears: “A song was always, from now on, the best thing I could invent to get over the late afternoons and nights of fear of the unknown.” It was more a question of vibrations than of memories and lessons. The first physical contact with them, when I was a little girl and couldn’t even reach the balcony’s iron rail even though I lifted my arms as high as possible, was not by ear but rather that I felt a stab in the middle of my chest that was moving to the left. His music remained going round in my head when I hadn’t even become aware of the power of memory. She offers us an insight into her relationship with the art of sound when she explains how during her childhood when she listened to songs interpreted by Pedro Vargas: If it comes to it, it would be necessary to speak of alchemy: of the lively vigil marked by the half-light of the filin of the song that is not satisfied with a run-of-the-mill lyrics and requires the truth of the usual verse, the one that never stops being current of all those components, and also from the lessons she got from Leopoldina Núñez, from Vicente González Rubiera, from Harold Gramatges, flourished such a personal way of creating that t cannot be labelled it is not purely bolero, or filin, or protest song, or the new song movement, it is…Marta Valdés, with her unrepeatable experience of life and music, if you’ll excuse the repetition. The critics say that something called the “new song”, that something so difficult to define like the things that are essential in the world, begins with her and with Teresita Fernández.
Mart Valdés is 80 years old and I am reviewing her career, I am revisiting her songs before writing these lines. What at that time was forbidden for me was to know that that was simply the experience of the poem. Without knowing it, I sensed something more behind that song, perhaps a great deal of anguish, perhaps an entire drama. Not being old enough for that, I suspected that that line of “that I already love you” was a desperate confession that because of the inevitable law of gravity would be followed by a rejection of the invisible interlocutor.
I remember that the end especially moved me, because the singer did a small pause before singing the final verse, which came out like a sob.
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