The voice of Emiliano Ramirez walks as ringing nightly through the streets of the Historic Center of Cartagena, while his guitar smiles melodies that compliment the bolero, brazilian samba, bossa nova and jazz from all over.
He also smiles.
Always has used his smile dark, but clear, for orificar the hearts of those who end up being your friends, just for the taste towards music and good conversations.
It is not difficult to be the friend of Emiliano, nor is the listen to him converse with their ways of thinker accustomed to the intoxicating world of the night and its corners…a maze of corners, carved centuries ago by the hand of the same colonizer that was in the Dominican Republic, where Emiliano was born forty-something years and where it went to wanting to die in another land that, for many reasons, it reminds him of his beloved Santo Domingo-Cartagena.
There’s something in him that reminds Sofronín, the guitar unquenchably, the old ever-young of the bohemian cartageneras, who was also his friend, irreplaceable, a “being of light”, as described by Emiliani, “because he was always giving light to the people, music, smiles and life to the people around him,” he explains.
Emiliano still manages memories, not only in his guitar, but also in their memory and in their dialogues loaded with nostalgia by Olguita Guillot, Alfredo Sadel, Miltinho, Frank Sinatra, Jhony Albino, Ray Coniff, Diana Rose, Hot dogs and The Beatles, voices and melodies that flooded the house where he grew up watching Maria Cristina, her mother, sitting at the piano; and to Emiliano, his father, weaving loves evening for each child.
For them, he learned the poetry. They focused on drawing and advertising. By them became the wanderer who one day jumped out of Santo Domingo towards the Islands, Margaritas, Bogotá, Valledupar, Barranquilla and Cartagena, by only mentioning the cities that really molded the ride and the character, leaving behind the classes of solfeggio and musical language that had started in the academy High of the Seville province of Santo Domingo.
There’s something in him that does not let him forget the figure of Nando Neighborhoods (q.e.p.(d.), one of those musicians complete walk through the cluttered streets of Barranquilla without making a lot of noise, but delivering the best of his personality to sensitive people such as Emiliano, who ended up grabbing the tip of the friend Nando and by he came to Cartagena: “over There you can go well,” he said.
Since then, the days of Emiliano in Cartagena have passed under the assimilation of exquisite bohemia, the conquest of friends, the life lessons, the anecdotes inexhaustible, and the creation of songs that are waiting any day to nurture some work record as a testimony to all the posteridades.
A night of Emiliano is to get to the rooms of the coffee The Holy of holies, tune the guitar, check the sound, and arrange the list of boleros that will parade up the middle of the night as the hum of bee, as a melodic instrument in the gigantic cathedrals of the soul’s night and lies in wait of those who have the evening as a language lens to say the life.
An evening with Emiliano it is to see you smile between the pre-columbian pieces that rest in the corners of your house, making play with the baskets of San Jacinto, the paintings of the impressionism and the representation of the contemporary art; it is to see him tell anecdotes, as she prepares a rice dish with chicken, a vegetable salad, or any soup that you created in the moment, inspired by the beer that has flowed to the seas to enjoy the music of Serrat, Sinatra or Juan Luis Guerra, which he hides in his closet of books and tapes legendary.
“Cartagena is a garden of sensitivity —he says—; the beings more sensitive than I have ever known are the sellers of red wine and a cigarette in the street of The Arsenal, the plaza de San Diego and the street of The Blessed sacrament, where I work now. They are always silent, but also willing to talk, to tell one of their sentences and it is not difficult to become your friends.”
Of both reading poems and novels, Emiliano has composed a wealth of boleros, when he sings, do remember the minstrels antilleans, but also invite you to uncork a beer in front of the sea filthy neighborhood Marbella, where he lives since some time ago, in an apartment that looks like his soul.
“You had my heart” is the bolero that you just sing, and that makes it part of his songs you love the most, of which he has written thinking of the people who listen to their shows daily, and that extends to drinks, greetings, invitations and applause that he receives, or parries with the same elegance that handles up to apply a scolding.
For some reason, Emiliano says that not all nights are like, even if it is the same public yesterday which prompted songs today; although to continue the binge that started in their home or to the shore of the sea, even if what is sung is the same repertoire that comes from setting up from which he learned the guitar in its earliest years.
Speaking of Viviano Torres and Conrado Marrugo as two of his brothers musical and spiritual closer together in this life of separations: “with them, I learned to create guilds beyond the music and the engagements. With Conrad, we organize the best group to which I belonged until the time; and with Viviano I went into the popular soul of Cartagena, at the end of the group Anne Zwing”.
The anchor and drove in Cartagena has its basis in the “powerful peace that here you can breathe”, according to him, a peace that also breathed in Santo Domingo, but which in these parts is almost wild. “Everything breathes tranquility here in Cartagena: the people is one of peace, the air of peace, the street is peace…,” he says with that optimistic tone and smiling that sometimes it seems its border with naivety.
Do not speak evil of anyone, but shoots truths without aggression to friends who need them, which makes part of the same generosity that he does receive visitors until the wee hours of the night without the conversation times out and with the music always in the background, because her life has always been music, the music in all its forms and senses.
Apparently, little is agree of the era of Trujillo, but just bought “The Feast of the Goat”, the novel by Vargas Llosa that has started to read to two hands with his hermanazo Heriberto “El Chicho” Martinez. “Where is this slip of paper, I go; and for this other, will The Chicho. Let’s see who finishes first”.
The case is that nothing is of no one. It is all of all.
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