In the long, sweaty, tiring process of the moving to my new room/studio, after living for almost 30 years in same place, in a quite secluded, quiet town area with almost deaf neighboors;-) and offices, I'm facing a new, strange evenience: I hear - on the first floor on the centuries old palazzetto where I now listen to my music - some steps... I know it's not that rare, must add the floors (from my perspective ceilings) are traditionally made - i.e. wood on wood - and very high for normal italian standards (3,60 meters).
This feeling of a presence, actually a cute lady, a single-teacher, I met and chatted with a couple of times, gives to me strange, seldom felt, emotions...
When I listen to "my" music, I have, all the times, the definite feeling I'm showing myself, better yet, my most very, true "self" as naked, like walking in the park in underware.
Imagine: I put a disk in the player of Stockhausen or Cage or Anouar Brahem or Beck... Fairport Convention, Nick Drake, Pentangle, Allan Taylor or Robbie Basho... and she will know more about me than my wife, some dozens meters from the new room, as she used to do only few weeks ago...
"What a filthy music you listen to!" was the "compliment";-) she used to address to me when listening to Meredith Monk's weirdness or David Van Tighem's In a Gadda da Vida;-))) or... "Nice! What's this?"... fill in for Keith Jarrett's solo, Fournier's Cello and many, many others...
I both miss the just above, "controlled" sharing-at-a-distance, my music at home and I'm living with a "uncontrolled", mixed sense of novelty and worry, the naking myself with the new neighboor... she will know when I'm sad, happy or simply lazy and/or groovin' and groovy.
When meeting her on the stairs, the day after a listening session, alone or with friends, it's - as seen from my side - like saying "Hello" to your lawyer while in underware and different colours socks, at the club;-)
... mmmhhhh... fuckin' intriguing...
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